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Chapter 6
Fecha de publicación:
2026-09-02 21:31:38Clara's POV
The annual corporate wives' luncheon was my own personal hell.
It was held at a country club that smelled of old money and fresh lilies. I sat at a table surrounded by women who were all size zeros, dripping in diamonds and dripping in condescension. I was wearing a shapeless, dark navy dress, trying to hide the heavy curves of my body and the thick layer of foundation I had painted over my bruised cheek.
"Clara, darling, you barely touched your salad," purred Cynthia, the CFO’s wife. Her eyes did a slow, mocking sweep of my chest and waist. "Are you trying a new diet? I know a wonderful nutritionist. She worked miracles for me after my pregnancies."
Heat flooded my neck. The implication was loud and clear. I gripped my napkin under the table to hide my shaking hands. "I'm just not very hungry today."
"Well, you should take care of yourself," another woman chimed in, taking a sip of mimosa. "Mark is such a handsome, rising star in the company. You have to keep up, sweetheart."
I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I felt massive. Ugly. A joke they were all quietly laughing at.
And then, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
The low chatter in the room instantly died. Every head turned.
Julian Thorne walked into the room. He had absolutely no business being at a wives' luncheon, yet he moved with the predatory grace of a man who owned the air we were breathing. He wore a slate-grey suit, his dark eyes sweeping the room with absolute indifference until they landed on my table.
Until they landed on me.
My breath hitched. I remembered the heat of his knuckles brushing my arm last night.
He didn't greet the hostesses. He walked straight past the gaping women and stopped directly behind my chair. The scent of cedar and expensive cologne washed over me.
"Ladies," Julian said, his voice a rich, authoritative command that commanded absolute silence. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and burning. "I apologize for the intrusion. I merely needed a moment with Clara."
Cynthia looked like she was going to choke on her champagne. "Clara? But... we were just having lunch."
"I can see that," Julian replied smoothly, never taking his eyes off me. He leaned down, placing a large, warm hand casually on the back of my chair. It was a fiercely protective gesture that made my stomach flutter wildly. "I just wanted to check on you, Clara. After the gala last night, I wanted to ensure you were resting well. You look absolutely breathtaking in that color, by the way. Navy suits your complexion perfectly."
A collective gasp echoed around the table.
He had done it on purpose. He had walked into a room full of vicious, thin socialites and loudly, deliberately crowned the fat, insecure wife as the most beautiful woman in the room.
He gave my chair a gentle squeeze, his thumb grazing my shoulder blade through the fabric. "Have a good afternoon, Clara."
He turned and walked out just as quickly as he had arrived, leaving the entire room in stunned, jealous silence, and leaving me with a heart beating so fast I thought it m
ight crack my ribs.
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