Semua Bab Winning Her Back: Bab 51 - Bab 60

At first, the sensation wasn't pain. It was absence. A vast, echoing emptiness where my heart had been savagely excavated. I woke from a sleep that had not been an escape, only a replay of sounds, gasps, groans, the rhythmic creak of betrayal amplified in the dark of my brain. My eyes opened on the unfamiliar, oppressive greyness of the guest room. Specks of dust danced in a thin shaft of weak morning sunlight piercing a crack in the heavy curtains. My body was shattered, rigid, aching, chilled to the marrow. Every breath grated painfully against my ribs.The silence was profound. Oppressive. Thick with the ghosts of night. It weighed upon me, a tangible pressure on my chest. I strained my ears, half-hoping, half-fearing the echo of that moan, that laugh. Nothing. Nothing but the wild thudding of my own heartbeat in my eardrums. My bed. My room. The memories came flooding back, vivid and sickening. The cheap, sweet perfume she'd worn seemed to have seeped into the walls themselves, a

The rumble of the engine was the sole sound in the world as the driver crept down the streets covered in misty unshed tears and boiling fury. I whitened my knuckles as I gripped my dress, a bright splash against the seeping cold chill rising from my stomach. Each turn away from the gilded cage on Willow Creek Drive was like shedding a coat of poisoned skin. The gilt houses, neat lawns, a stage backdrop to a life that had turned bitter into a nightmare. Julian's address, seared into my memory from happier times, was a beacon, a symbol of haven that appeared frighteningly tenuous.Pulling up outside his townhouse, a residence of golden brick and crawling vines, so different from Ethan's cold, modern fortress induced another onslaught of exposure. Simply turning off the ignition left me trembling. Grinding the car door shut with a gasping breath that only served to unbalance the storm within, I emerged into the cool, fresh-scented air, an earthy whisper of damp earth and autumn leaves a

The silence in Julian’s house was thick, charged with the weight of the pact we’d sealed downstairs. The soft cotton sheets felt alien, the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne lingering in the air a constant reminder of the dangerous game we’d initiated. Sleep was impossible. My head spun, reenacting Ethan's icy disdain, the ethereal scent of her perfume, the stomach-churning sounds from my bedroom, and now, Julian's harsh honesty, his arms around me, a rope tossed into choppy waters. Operation Make Ethan Jealous was not just a ruse; it was balancing on a high wire over a pit of vipers.Morning dawned, grey and tentative. Julian knocked softly, bearing coffee and a quiet resolve. "We need to make a statement," he told me, his tone measured but focused. "Something public. Something he cannot disregard.""The Delacroix opening," I replied, the name rising up from the haze of society openings Ethan had usually dragged me to. "Tonight. He will be attending. Blackwell Industries is a patr

The silence in Julian's car after the gallery was a tangible thing, weighted with the residue of pretended intimacy and Ethan's burning rage. Streetlights illuminated the dashboard, tracing fleeting patterns on Julian's tense face. My own fists were curled in my lap, the emerald silk now a uniform I couldn't shed quickly enough. The adrenaline which had fueled my icy demeanor was seeping away, replacing it with a hollow shiver and the spectral blush of Ethan's jealous stare branded on my flesh.Julian navigated the familiar streets to Blackwell mansion's gilded cage. He'd been quiet since we'd left the gallery's electrically charged atmosphere, his eyes on the road but single-minded, yet I could feel the weight of his concern radiating from him. When the dark shape of the house loomed in sight, he spoke finally, his voice low and gravelly."Lila," he began, coasting smoothly up the drive. He cut the engine, plunging us into darkness almost total except for the soft glow of the porch.

The kiss was not soft. It was not sweet. It was a crash. A fierce, desperate crashing together of lips and tongues that ignited a fire smoldering low in my stomach. He tasted of whiskey and Ethan, that unique, overwhelming combination that was both familiar and horribly addictive. His hands, large and commanding, encircled my waist and pulled me hard against the unyielding length of him nudging against his pants. My towel, already precarious, fell farther.I met his intensity with mine. My fingers trembled with desire and adrenaline as they wrestled with the buttons of his suit jacket, pushing it roughly off his wide shoulders. It fell to the ground, discarded. My focus narrowed to the starched white shirt beneath. I tore at the buttons, my nails scraping gently over the burning skin of his chest as fabric parted. The hard planes of muscle, the sprinkling of black hairs, the rapid fall and rise of his chest, I mapped it greedily with my hands, the feel of him in my palms igniting a sp