Ch54 - Drugged

His body was cold as ice, but his mouth burned like fire. 

Julian kissed her with a force that left no room for refusal — his tongue, hot and wet, pried past her lips in a single breath.

The pills she’d just handed him slipped from his hand somewhere; all she could feel was the weight of his arms locking around her waist, pulling her hard against him.

For a split second, Violet froze — then her mind went blank.

The shock of his kiss sent a shiver racing through her, heat and static running wild beneath her skin.

Violet tried to push at his chest, but her hands were trembling, useless.

Her breath hitched, stolen again and again, until all she could do was tip her head back, rise on her toes, and let him take control.

He kissed her like a man starved — deep, frantic, chasing something only he could feel slipping away. The sound of it filled the room, mixed with the uneven rhythm of their breathing.

Not enough. It still wasn’t enough.

Julian’s mind was gone — stripped down to heat, hunger, need. The cold shower he’d taken earlier might as well have been a dream. His skin burned; every breath came rough, uneven.

The more he kissed her, the worse it got — that fever climbing higher until he couldn’t think at all.

His hand slid down, found the curve of her thigh. Before Violet could react, the world lurched — his arms were under her, lifting her, carrying her.

In a blink, she was on the couch, his weight pressing her down, his breath hot against her mouth.

She pushed at him, weakly at first, then harder. “Julian—”

He caught her wrists, fingers trembling, eyes half-shut and wild. Every move was pure instinct, all restraint gone.

And then — his lips brushed her neck. The rough edge of the bandage grazed his mouth.

His hand stilled. His breath hitched.

For one heartbeat, everything froze — the heat, the noise, even the air itself.

Clarity hit him like a slap.

He lifted his head.

Violet’s golden-brown hair fanned out beneath her like silk, her skin flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with heat. The robe had slipped off one shoulder, baring smooth skin that caught the dim light — like a flower opening, too beautiful, too fragile to touch.

For a second, he almost reached for her. It would’ve taken nothing — just one motion, one breath — to break what little restraint he had left.

Heat surged through him again, wild and reckless.

Julian clenched his jaw, forcing it down, every muscle taut with effort.

“FUCK,” he hissed, voice low and raw.

Back at dinner, Lydia had leaned in and said quietly, “It’s about Munich. The fewer people who know, the better. You know how ruthless she can be.”

Munich — that word alone made Julian’s jaw tighten. 

It was about his father and brother’s plane crash. And she, of course, meant Serena — his stepmother. He’d long suspected her of having a hand in what happened. If Lydia, who’d been hovering around Serena for years as her “ally,” suddenly wanted to talk, it probably meant she’d found something—proof.

So he’d followed her upstairs to a private room. There was wine already set out, but he didn’t touch it. He just cracked open a bottle of water, sat down, and waited. Lydia gave him a nervous smile, then said she’d forgotten her laptop in the car and went to get it.

Julian didn’t think much of it as he mentioned will only give her total ten minutes.

But a few minutes later, something felt off. Heat started crawling up his neck, spreading fast through his whole body. At first, he thought it was the AC —maybe too warm. 

He lowered the temperature, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar. It didn’t help. The heat kept rising, burning under his skin and sinking low in his belly, tight and restless.

Julian looked at the half-empty bottle of water. His gut went cold.

He’d been drugged.

By Lydia? Or someone else?

His throat felt like sandpaper, but he didn’t dare drink anything. He stood up, legs shaky, and went for the door. It wasn’t locked — Good. At least no one was stupid enough to lock him in here.

Just as Julian stepped into the hallway, his phone buzzed — Violet. She never called when he was in a meeting. But before he could pick up, the call ended. That wasn’t normal. Something had happened. Maybe he wasn’t the only one being played tonight.

Ignoring the fire in his blood, he called Craig and told him to find Violet — now — and get her in the car.

Once that was done, he forced himself toward the parking lot. The driver saw him from a distance and rushed over. Julian’s voice came out tight: “When Violet gets in, drive straight home. Fast. And once we’re there—don’t let anyone near me. You help me upstairs and into my room.”

The driver nodded without question.

Julian leaned back in the car seat, eyes closed. Sleep was impossible. Every breath burned.

He didn’t even register Violet getting in until he felt something cool touch his neck — a wet towel, gentle pressure. His eyes snapped open. She was sitting beside him, wiping away the sweat on his skin.

She was safe. That’s all that mattered for a moment.

But the towel wasn’t helping. The cold against his skin did nothing—until his fingertips brushed her wrist. That… that helped, somehow. A strange calm. He tilted his head, caught her hand, and pressed her palm against his face, just to feel that bit of relief.

She twitched at the contact, her fingers shifting against his cheek. His eyes lifted — and landed on her mouth.

Something primal snapped. The thought was fast, hot, impossible to stop: taste her.

He moved before he thought.

Violet’s hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to stop him. That was enough to pull him back. 

He froze, realizing what he was doing, and dragged his hand away from her like it burned. His fists clenched tight until his nails bit into his palms. Pain — sharp, grounding. It was the only thing that kept him from losing control completely.

He didn’t want to scare her.

So when she picked up the towel again, dabbing his skin gently, he stayed still and said nothing. When the car stopped and she tried to help him out, he forced himself to walk on his own—jaw tight, silent.

But once he got upstairs, the cold shower did nothing. He stood under the water, shaking, cursing under his breath—desperate, restless, feeling like he was losing his mind.

And then she showed up.

For a second, he thought he was hallucinating. But no—she was really there, worry written all over her face.

Her being there—just being there—was already pushing him past his limit. She didn’t have to do anything; just standing in front of him was enough to make his breathing uneven.

And when her fingers brushed his palm, the drug hit him full force, flooding his veins, burning through every last bit of control he had left. 

The thin line of reason he’d been holding on to—gone, completely.

He caught her before he even knew what he was doing—one motion, fast, desperate—and kissed her like a man drowning.

After that, everything blurred.

He didn’t know if it was the drug burning through his veins or something that had been waiting far longer. All he knew was that she tasted like the only thing that could put out the fire — and he couldn’t stop.