Ch55 - Lost control

Everything stopped the second his lips brushed the gauze on her neck.

He couldn’t see the wound underneath, didn’t know how bad it was—but the sight of that white bandage hit him like a punch.

Violet gasped, dazed by the sudden pause.

Julian’s eyes were fixed on her throat. She instinctively raised a hand, covering the gauze. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

His gaze lifted to her face. Their eyes met—and in the dim light, she could finally see it. His eyes were still dark with desire, but there was pain there too, conflict, like he was fighting himself just to breathe.

His hands were braced on either side of her face, their noses almost touching. His Adam’s apple moved hard, again and again.

And that’s when she realized—something was wrong with him.

Violet’s fingers flinched away from his skin, like she’d been burned. “I’ll—uh—get you some ice water,” she said softly, testing his reaction. “Maybe it’ll help.”

But Julian didn’t move. He hovered over her, frozen between pulling back and giving in. The kiss had eased the burn for a second, just enough for him to think he could stand, maybe finish cooling off in the shower. 

But then he’d seen her face beneath him—flushed, trembling, those wide innocent eyes blinking up at him—and that fragile thread of control snapped all over again.

The heat inside him surged, crashing over and over like a wave.

For a moment, the only sound between them was their uneven breathing.

Julian clenched his jaw, forcing himself to push up, to put space between them. “Go,” he rasped.

He drew in another shaky breath, teeth gritted. “Don’t worry about me. Just… go.”

Violet looked up at him. She could see every strained muscle in his jaw, the sweat dripping from his temple, the vein standing out in his neck. His chest rose and fell too fast, too rough.

He’d been holding it in all this time—from the car until now—and whatever he’d been drugged with wasn’t fading. Someone had dosed him with something strong.

And yet, even like this, with every nerve in his body screaming, he still stopped himself. He could’ve forced her, could’ve lost control completely—but he didn’t. He told her to leave.

That’s when she finally understood why he didn’t want a doctor. A doctor would mean questions, noise, exposure—his stepmother might find out, their marriage was fake.

So he was enduring it alone.

But how could she just walk away, seeing him like this?

Julian shifted slowly, every movement stiff and deliberate. His eyes dropped to the coffee table. A glass sat there — the one Violet had brought in earlier — half-melted ice floating in what was left of the water.

He grabbed it, lifted it to his mouth, and downed it in one go.

The sound of water rushing, ice clattering against the floor — then silence.

He gasped for air, still burning inside. Nothing helped. The heat was maddening now, crawling under his skin, twisting into something violent. His hand trembled around the glass until the last thread of restraint finally snapped.

Crash.

The sound of shattering glass sliced through the room.

Violet’s heart jumped. She looked up just in time to see Julian pick up a shard — sharp, glinting — and lift it toward his palm.

“DON’T!” she screamed, throwing herself at him.

The glass hit the floor again, skidding away. His reflexes kicked in before his mind did—he caught her as she fell into him.

They sank into the couch together. Violet ended up on top of him, breath shaky, her lips parted from the shock. One hand braced against his chest to keep her balance, her wide eyes full of panic and something else she didn’t dare name.

The air between them thickened instantly—heavy, charged, impossible to breathe.

Julian’s hand closed around her waist, firm and deliberate, his fingers digging just enough to steal her breath. His other hand slid higher, tracing the curve of her throat — heat following wherever he touched.

He reached her jaw, his breath brushing her ear, his eyes dark, endless, devouring.

A tremor ran through him — and then restraint snapped.

He caught the back of her head, tilted her chin up, and crashed his mouth against hers.

The kiss was rougher this time, driven by hunger more than thought. His hand roamed down, over silk and skin, until he found her thigh. The dress rode up under his touch.

He pressed against her, hard and unyielding, the heat between them slick from his kiss and touch. 

He couldn’t wait any longer — he thrust into her, a ragged breath tearing from his throat.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his mouth close to her ear, his voice rough, laced with a low, shuddering satisfaction.

Violet’s thoughts scattered, her body catching fire under every movement of his. He felt like heat and weight and chaos, dragging her deeper with every breath, every push. Her mind went blank, pleasure swelling sharp and dizzy through her, until there was nothing left but the burn between them.

It felt like standing at the edge of the sea, waves crashing over her again and again — relentless, consuming, each one stronger than the last.

The rush hit her nerves like lightning, tingling all the way up to her scalp. Her legs tightened around his waist before she could even think, her body caught in the rhythm.

And in that rising tide of pleasure, warmth bloomed deep inside her, spreading fast, unstoppable.

——

Lydia didn’t get home until late. She’d barely stepped foot inside Julian’s house before being “escorted” right back out — didn’t even get close to his damn door.

She couldn’t force her way in, not without making a scene, so now she was pacing in the car, gnawing on her fingernail, her mind spinning.

He only drank half that bottle. He should be fine… right?

God, what the hell was she thinking? How could she be stupid enough to listen to Serena’s bullshit — to actually spike his drink with that stuff? 

Supposedly it only took five minutes to kick in. That’s why she’d led him to the room and slipped out, pretending she’d forgotten her laptop in the car. The plan was simple: wait till it hit, then come back. He’d already be dazed, half out of it — she could play it off like it just happened.

And that info of “Munich”? Completely made up.

She’d even changed clothes — same color as Violet’s, just in case. Everything was set. Once she spent that night with Julian, she’d beg her father to pull some strings, push the marriage talk, and Violet would be gone. Poof. Out of the picture.

She’d been sure of herself — confident, calm, clever. So how the hell did it all fall apart?

The moment she opened that door and saw the room empty, her blood ran cold. She forced herself to breathe, to think. He couldn’t have gone far. She just needed to see for herself that he was okay — that’s all.

But then she saw his car pulling away.

Shit.

She jumped into her own car and told the driver to follow.

By the time she got to Julian’s house, the only one there to greet her was Violet. Julian was nowhere in sight.

A hundred awful thoughts rushed through her head at once.

Back home, her face was thunder. The maids traded uneasy looks — a few hours ago, their “little princess” had gone out beaming. Now she was upstairs having a meltdown, slamming her fists into the bed, throwing pillows, pacing, kicking.

“Nothing ever goes right! It’s always her—always in the goddamn way!” she shouted.

If Violet hadn’t shown up, things would’ve gone perfectly. Lydia had only invited Julian. Dinner was supposed to be the moment — the setup, the spark, the fall. But no. That woman had to show up and ruin everything.

And yet… how the hell did Violet get back home so fast? Lydia had made sure to call Violet’s psycho ex — the same one Julian ruined. His business tanked, his reputation torched. The man was desperate, furious. Perfect. A little push, and he’d take it out on her.

It should’ve been chaos. But Violet came home without a scratch. The moment Lydia saw her standing there, calm as ever, she almost lost it.

“USELESS. They’re all useless,” Lydia hissed through clenched teeth.

Rage burned through her. Pillows went flying. Lamps. Pens. Makeup. Even her favorite purse hit the floor. The sharp sound of glass and metal filled the room. The maids stood frozen, afraid to move or even breathe.

The noise was so loud it finally drew the attention of Mr. Ryan Haverford — Lydia’s father — just as he stepped through the front door.