Chapter 3

I stared at him for a long moment, realizing he wasn't making a single move.

"Heh, if this is a dream, then I can act freely," I muttered, pouncing on him. "Honey."

After 20 years of life, I finally had my first steamy dream. Excited, I straddled Julian's lap and traced the lines of his ridiculously perfect face with my fingertips before planting several eager kisses on his sculpted lips.

Before I could even get my fill, his large hands locked firmly around my waist, pulling me tightly against him. His deep, gravelly voice echoed right in my ear.

"Don't move."

It sounded strained, yet incredibly intoxicating.

"Why should I listen to you? I'm going to move whenever I want." I reached down to unbutton his shirt, only for my wrists to be caught in a sudden, tight grip.

That further convinced me this was a dream. He'd never be this rough with me in real life. I wiggled out of his hold and let my hands roam across his solid abs, completely unbothered.

"Georgia," he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, raw pitch.

"Hmm? Mmh..." My mouth was suddenly claimed in a fierce, demanding kiss.

The crisp scent of mint filled my senses, making me entirely lightheaded. His heavy arms gently laid me down on the mattress, and a hot, masculine weight pressed down over me.

"Don't regret this, sweetheart," he murmured.

Through a blur of rising heat and low, breathless growls, the night stretched on.

"Georgia... Georgia..."

...

Blinding sunlight forced my eyes open the next morning. I rubbed my throbbing forehead, only to find that my limbs ached even worse.

Suddenly, I was wide awake. When I tried to roll over, my entire body felt like it belonged to someone else.

Panic gripped my mind. "Oh, no. It wasn't a dream."

Trembling, I lifted the blanket. My bare body was covered in marks of all sizes, from head to toe.

"You're awake." A man in a bathrobe leaned against the wall, holding a cup of tea and looking at me tenderly.

"You... Why are you here?" I stammered.

"Who else did you expect? Those mediocre escorts you called? Ha!" The slight curve of his lips vanished, replaced by a dark flash of irritation.

"This is bad," I groaned inwardly. "I slept with the male lead. Am I going to die soon?"

Seeing my blank expression, Julian probably assumed I was traumatized. He crouched down by the bedside, his voice softening significantly. "Drink some hangover soup first. Does your head still hurt? Don't worry, I'll take full responsibility for you."

I blinked. "Wait, did I misremember the plot? Is this not actually a novel? Does that mean I can be with him without dying?"

The sudden buzz of the doorbell cut through my thoughts, followed by a voice.

"Mr. Sterling, I've brought the designer outfits you ordered."

Wrapped tightly in the comforter, I cautiously crept to the bedroom door and peeked out into the living room. A young woman in professional attire was smoothly wheeling in a garment rack.

She lifted her head, revealing a delicate, charming face.

"Is it her? The heroine?" I murmured.

As far as I could remember, the heroine was a young assistant.

Julian began sorting through the racks as if carefully evaluating the options. "See which one you like."

My eyes narrowed. "Who is she? Your new assistant? She's pretty."

"Yeah," Julian replied smoothly.

Of course, he thought so. In the male lead's eyes, the heroine was always the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Does this one look okay?" he asked, holding up a dress.

"Yeah, totally," I muttered.

This jerk could wait until he got his turn, crawling through a full-blown regret arc.

I grabbed the clothes, changed quickly, and prepared to bolt. But before I could even reach the front door, Julian caught my wrist and effortlessly scooped me up into his arms.

"Your body is sore," he said, staring down at me. "I'm driving you home."