Ch8 - Testing your limits

Violet stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying her damp hair, when she heard the door open.

Julian froze mid-step, half inside already. “Sorry. Bad habit—don’t usually knock.”

She didn’t care much. “It’s your place. Why would you knock? I just thought you’d left.”

“Hate to disappoint you, but looks like I’ll be crashing here a while. You remember what I said…” He shut the door behind him, and the air instantly felt heavier.

Violet locked eyes with him. “No need to remind me. I get it—I’m supposed to play the wife. Whatever you ask, I’ll do it.”

He shook his head with a smirk. “You sure about that?”

Taking a step closer, he suddenly felt like testing her. See if she really meant whatever. He stopped in front of her and tugged the towel right out of her hands. Without her heels, she barely reached his shoulder.

He bent down, rubbing the towel through her hair himself. His face was close, eyes flicking to her lips. “This okay too?”

They were inches apart. He wasn’t planning to kiss her—not yet. Even today, in front of family, all he’d done was kiss her forehead. But for some reason he wanted to mess with her. Maybe it was the sight of those old foxes choking on their surprise earlier that had him in such a good mood.

Violet answered simply, “It’s fine.”

Julian let out a low chuckle, tossed the towel aside, and slid a hand around her waist. With a little push, she toppled back into the couch, her body sinking into the cushions, his other hand bracing the back of her head.

He hovered over her, smug at the flash of surprise in her eyes. “And what about this?”

Her brows pinched. “What’s the point of this?”

“Testing your limits. Don’t want you smacking me in front of the family by accident.” His grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, eyes roaming her face for every reaction. He convinced himself it was necessary—after all, he’d be dragging her to endless dinners and parties for the next year.

Violet narrowed her eyes. “DON’T tell me we’re supposed to put on a live sex show for them too.”

“What?” Julian blinked—then burst out laughing, his chest shaking.

“What’s so funny? Don’t tell me your family’s into some creepy shit like that.” Her voice went cold.

“You know what? I like that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Thanks.” She stared at him calmly, then pushed lightly at his chest. “You done? Can you get off me now?”

A flicker of disappointment hit—she hadn’t flinched, hadn’t broken. But that only proved she was perfect for this. Unfazed by his teasing, steady under pressure. He stood and pulled her up after him. “Sorry. Just screwing with you.”

He strolled into the walk-in closet and came out two minutes later with a few clothes draped over his arm. At the door, he tossed over his shoulder, “If you’re working anywhere right now, quit. I don’t like my wife running around in public. Tomorrow my assistant’ll drop off a card for you—buy whatever you need, no questions asked.”

The door shut behind him, and only then did Violet finally let out the breath she’d been holding. She hadn’t been as calm as she looked. With Julian, it was hard to tell what was a joke and what wasn’t.

She only had a couple of odd jobs left anyway. She’d finish them and then, just like he said, stop “showing her face.”

This penthouse was where Julian usually lived. He gave Violet the master bedroom and took another room for himself.

Otherwise, nothing in his life seemed to change. The next morning, he pulled on a stylish brown plaid suit. He studied himself in the mirror, muttering, “Too damn formal.”

He yanked off the tie, popped open the top two buttons of his shirt, and finally looked satisfied.

——

The Maybach pulled up in front of a glass tower, its blue-gray mirrored walls gleaming with a huge blue Ashford logo.

The second Julian walked in, heads started to turn. He hadn’t even cleared the revolving doors before the whispering began.

“Holy shit, are we shooting an ad or something? Did they hire a model?”

“He’s gorgeous, no doubt, but use your brain. We’re a pharma company. Who the hell needs ads?”

“Wait—don’t you think he looks kinda familiar?”

Someone rolled their eyes. “What, you’re gonna say he looks like your future boyfriend?”

“No, dumbass. I swear I’ve seen him online before. And doesn’t he kinda look like Marcus?”

They all stared after him as he disappeared into the execs-only elevator. Yeah—there was no denying it. The resemblance was there.

If the regular staff were shocked, the higher-ups damn near lost it. They were chatting in the hall, coffee still in hand, when the elevator doors slid open to reveal an unfamiliar face. One by one, jaws dropped. This was Julian Ashford—the guy everyone swore never rolled out of bed before 2 p.m.—waltzing into the office at 8:50 sharp. Like hell.

Julian gave them a lazy wave. “Morning, everybody…” He stifled a yawn, flashing his left hand just enough to show off the ring.

Charles, an old-timer who’d once worked under Julian’s grandfather, was the first to put two and two together. His eyes lit up, and he quickly pulled Julian aside. “You little bastard. So you finally came around?”

Julian arched a brow. “Perfect timing, that’s all. Guess I owe you for the tip.”

“Well, your grandfather adored you and your father. If it weren’t for that accident ten years ago, it’d be you sitting upstairs, not Marcus.” Charles jerked his chin toward the boardroom.

A faint, bitter smile tugged at Julian’s mouth, but before he could answer, Serena swept in, effectively cutting the conversation short.

Her brows were tight enough to knot, but in front of everyone she wore her polished, gentle smile. “Julian, you’re here. Come in…”

She all but dragged him into a side room, shutting the door behind them. Then, keeping her voice sugar-sweet, she pressed, “What are you doing here?”

Julian blinked. “Huh? Coming to work.” He tugged at his suit jacket with mock pride. “Even dressed the part.”

“Work? Who told you to show up?”

He gave her a puzzled look.

Realizing she sounded too harsh, Serena softened her tone. “You’ve always hated the office. I just… don’t want you to feel out of place.”

“Yeah, I know.” Julian let out a dramatic sigh. “But what can I do?”

He spread his hands in mock helplessness. “I kinda bragged to Violet before the wedding that I was one of the higher-ups. I don’t wanna look like a total fraud this early, so let me play the part for a few months, huh?”

His tone was so earnest it almost sounded real.

Serena couldn’t outright shut him down. “It’s not that I don’t approve. I’m just worried people will say you’re cutting the line—call it nepotism.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, “Why the hell would they? The company’s ours anyway. Tell you what—stick me in R&D. That was my thing back in the day, right?”

“Absolutely not.” Serena’s refusal was instant. “Don’t be ridiculous. That department isn’t some playground. Do you have any idea what goes on there?”

R&D was the beating heart of Ashford Biotech—the molecular biology labs, gene therapy division, the clinical data center. It was where all the most classified material lived.