Romans & histoires Julian

,he says as he points a finger towards me ,making roll my eyes in disgust ,after all the nice things i just taught about him ,he just had to ruin it perfect just what i needed right now though ,to remind me of how horrible he is ,why should i even be thinking such beautiful things of a man who im fifty percent sure is here to kill me right now . "But instead you start chasing around cheap tramps for sex you good for nothing imbecile".he continued as he laid even more curses on kumara ,i stand relaxed and with a folded hands just rolling my eyes ,and watching the whole drama play out I wasn't going to say anything in Juliana's defence ,she's my beta second in

velliam:- I told him to make distance from noble (suddenly juliana show up) juliana:- what are you doing velliam velliam:- I am just watch over my brother he was studying with your friend jammy juliana:- I am glad she open up with other people velliam:- what is your mean juliana:- she was my childhood friend and one day her father king and queen doing forbitten ritual. but the ritual failed and some how only juliana survived but when she look at dead face of her parents she lost mind. ever since she have nightmare about her parents de

Julian says. "Do you think I should keep it a secret?" I ask her. "No, hell no. Alanis is perfect for you. She is everything I would ever want for you. She is kind, compassionate, and strong-willed, brother. I think she is the perfect choice for you," Julian says. "Thank you, Sister. So, how is Joshua?" I ask. Julian rolls her eyes at me. "Well, he is still Joshua. I do not know if this is what I want; you know me. I like to be free, and Joshua likes to smother me. Honestly, I am thinking about running away right now," Julian says.

"You don’t even know this man’s middle name. You’re going to let him stand there and insult us like this?" ​Julian didn't even stand up. He looked over his shoulder at Lucius with a bored expression. "I’m not insulting anyone, Valentine. I’m making an investment in a woman who clearly has more talent in her pinky finger than your entire board has in their heads. And as for my middle name? It’s Alexander. Not that it’s any of your business." ​"Investment?" I asked, looking back down at Julian. "Is that all this is to you?"

He only wanted his queen back, and he was ready to fight the entire world to make it happen. Julian’s eyes flashed with a dangerous determination as he thought about the picture of Shawn Sterling on his feed. He wouldn't just sit down quietly in his luxury room and let those wolves take her away from him. He wouldn't let some rich European guy swoop in and claim what belonged to him just because of a stupid media misunderstanding.

"You dare speak to your mother that way? For this woman?" Julian stepped forward, placing himself between me and his father's fury. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but I knew that stance—the weight balanced on the balls of the feet, the hands loose at his sides. It was the posture he took before violence. "I will say this once," Julian said, his tone conversational, his eyes deadly. "Celeste is my wife. My consorte. The breath in my lungs. If you disrespect her, you disrespect me. And if you disrespect me..." He paused, letting the silence stretch until it hummed like a power line. "Then I have no family. I will burn the

The pack wouldn’t authorize the funds for a human placeholder and frankly. Julian stepped into the foyer, his towering, six-foot-four athletic frame casting a long shadow across the polished marble floor. His sharp, aristocratic features were set in a grim expression, his piercing obsidian eyes reflecting the exhaustion of a grueling border patrol. He unbuttoned his damp tactical jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the console table without looking at her. "You’re still awake," Julian observed. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that sent a familiar, bittersweet shiver down her spine. It wasn’t a greeting; it was a statement

I turned, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. Julian was standing by a long marble kitchen island, a tablet in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. He was forty-five now, but age had just sharpened him. His hair was starting to go silver at the temples, and he was wearing a navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off forearms that were still tan and muscled. He looked at me, and I saw the exact moment the "little girl" image in his head died.