Ch57 - A gift, a pay

Violet drifted in and out of sleep, lost somewhere between dreams and waking. When she finally blinked her eyes open, the room was still dim — just one floor lamp glowed faintly in the corner. 

Her throat felt painfully dry. She tried to sit up, but the second she pushed herself up, a wave of soreness rolled through her body — her limbs heavy, her thighs weak. Heat rushed to her face.

She wasn’t on the couch anymore. She was in bed.

Her hair slipped over her bare shoulder like silk, and even that small movement made her shiver. Red marks dotted her skin, his touch still there in every faint bruise, every breath that brushed against her neck. She ran her fingers over one of the spots — it still felt warm.

Violet bit her lip, the memories from last night flooding back — Julian’s heat, wild and relentless, the fire in him almost feverish. Whatever he’d taken had hit hard; he’d wanted her again and again, until neither of them could breathe.

Their bodies had moved together in waves — pleasure tangled with something deeper, something that left her trembling, gasping against his shoulder, lost between pain and sweetness.

Thinking about it now made her blush all over again.

The bed shifted beside her. A strong arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against him. Julian’s fingers found the curve of her hip, gentle now, his voice rough but soft.

“Not sleeping a little longer?”

The sound of him — low, warm, tender, made her heart stutter. His thumb brushed lazy circles against her skin, and she flinched slightly, whispering, “I’m just… thirsty. Need some water.”

She slipped out from under the blanket, the cool air biting against her bare skin. Her silk robe hung over the chaise across the room; she reached for it, fingers just grazing the fabric—

A larger hand got there first.

She looked up and found Julian standing barefoot, already awake, his eyes dark and unreadable. He shook the robe loose and draped it over her shoulders. She turned her face away, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

Then he bent down in front of her, reaching for the sash around her waist.

“Oh—I can do it myself,” she said quickly.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he brushed her hands aside, quietly focused as he tied the knot for her. The neckline hung low; the robe slipped enough to tease more than it covered.

His gaze flicked down once — and the air between them thickened again, charged and hot. Somewhere in the silence, she swore she could still hear the faint echo of the bed’s creaking from hours before.

Julian cleared his throat, as if pulling himself back. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, wrapped an arm around her waist, and lifted her clean off the floor.

Violet gasped, arms looping instinctively around his neck.

“I can walk,” she murmured, flustered.

“The floor’s got glass,” he said simply.

Violet froze, then felt something warm bloom in her chest. She tucked her face against his shirt, breathing in the faint scent of his skin — clean, cool, a little dizzying.

He carried her easily, steady steps through the quiet room. Setting her down by the window seat, he turned, fetched a bottle of water, and twisted it open as he came back. He held it out to her, and when she took it, his fingers brushed hers.

Violet tilted the bottle and drank greedily. Water spilled down the corner of her mouth. Julian reached out, thumb catching the drop at her lips — that tiny touch sparking a pulse of heat straight through her chest.

She looked up, met his eyes — just for a second too long — before glancing away.

Julian took the bottle from her, set it aside, then without a word scooped her up again, carrying her back to the bed. He lowered her gently, but didn’t step back. His hands pressed on either side of her legs, caging her in, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

Then his palm came up, cupping her face. She trembled under the warmth of his touch. Before she could speak, he leaned down, brushed a kiss against her forehead, and murmured, low and rough,

“Sleep.”

Her fingers clutched the sheets as he lay back beside her. Only when his breathing evened out did she finally close her eyes again — and drifted, quietly, back to sleep.

When Violet woke, the space beside her was already empty. The room looked untouched, as if last night had never happened — everything spotless, the chaos erased while she slept. She slipped on her robe and quietly returned to her own room.

The day went on as if nothing had changed. They both went to work, both came home, both kept silent. No one mentioned what had happened between them.

That evening, Julian came back holding a white leather box trimmed in gold. As he stepped inside, Mrs. Jones greeted him softly.

“Madam’s in her room.”

He gave a small nod and went upstairs. Knocking once, he waited, and then the door opened. Violet stood there, calm-faced, though he noticed the quick rise and fall of her throat before she said quietly, “You can come in.”

Her room was simple, almost impersonal — neat, untouched, like a hotel suite. No flowers, no photographs, nothing that said it belonged to her. It felt like she was only staying here temporarily.

His gaze drifted — just for a second — to the nightstand. A small box of pills sat open there, but before he could read the label, Violet hurried forward and swept it into the trash.

“You’re sick?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Or did I… hurt you last night?”

The bluntness of the question sent heat rushing up her neck. “No. I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just a headache. Took some painkillers.”

His frown didn’t ease. “Next time, tell the doctor. Don’t just take something on your own.”

“I already did,” she murmured, twisting her fingers together. “He came by earlier this evening.”

He nodded slightly. Silence fell between them — not awkward, but heavy.

Then she picked up her phone, trying to break it. “Thanks for the new phone.”

Julian gave a faint smile. “It’s nothing.”

He glanced at the box in his hand. He’d already heard Craig’s report that morning — every detail. The thought of what she’d gone through made something sharp twist in his chest. 

His own humiliation from being drugged felt small compared to the image of her with that knife pressed to her throat. His eyes flicked to her neck; the fresh bandage still peeked out from under her collar.

She’d been terrified, hurt — and he, under the influence, had made it worse.

He held the white box out to her. “This is for you.”

Violet blinked, confused. The gold lettering on the lid bore a familiar brand — Boucheron. She looked up at him questioningly.

Julian pressed the small sapphire-blue button on the front, and with a soft click, the lid lifted. A flash of light caught the air.

Inside, a diamond necklace lay coiled on champagne silk — a delicate vine of tiny, interwoven leaves, every one of them made from diamonds of different sizes. It shimmered like something alive.

Violet stared. “This… what’s this for?”

“A gift,” Julian said simply, pushing the box toward her.

She looked down at the necklace — beautiful, dazzling, but heavy with meaning. Her chest ached. It wasn’t a gift, not really. It was compensation.

But she hadn’t been forced.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the box. “It’s too much…”

Julian closed the lid gently. “You don’t like the design? You can go to the boutique and pick something else.”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

He reached for her hand, steadying the box in her palms. “Then keep it.”

It felt heavier than it should. She lifted her eyes, forcing a small smile.

Julian hesitated, mistaking it for exhaustion. “Get some rest. I’ll have my assistant send you the details about next month’s trip.”

When he left, the room fell silent again.

Violet touched the box, tracing the edge with her thumb. Then she stood, crossed to the walk-in closet, opened the safe, and carefully locked it away inside.