Julian Ovenden Bridgerton Novels & Stories

I offer a polite, distant smile over my shoulder. I scurry down the long corridor toward the front door, desperate to escape the heavy atmosphere. I pull open the reinforced wood to find Julian standing on the porch. He looks stunning, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his golden-boy hair meticulously styled into place. He smells incredible, crisp citrus and clean cedar.

Julian, you must listen to me," Clara continued gesturing toward the sideboard where a framed photo of Julian and Ariel O'Brian sat, a PR shot taken at a charity polo match. "Look at Ariel. That is a woman who matches your stride. She was born into the light that you worked so hard to reach. A union between the Vane name and the O'Brian legacy? It wouldn't just be a marriage, Julian. It would be an empire. You would be untouchable."

He hurriedly took her petite form into his embrace, teasing her gently, "Good girl, Olivia. Did you miss your uncle?" Being a mischievous and clever little one, Olivia sweetly kissed him and said, "Of course, I missed you. I love uncle the most." Julian felt particularly pleased upon hearing this. He raised an eyebrow teasingly at his elder brother, then bent down to kiss Olivia, murmuring, "Uncle loves Olivia the most too." It was just as his childhood friend Lucas Hartley would say: Julian was a notorious charmer. When he was kind-hearted towards a woman, he could pamper her like she's the only one in the world. But when he wasn't, he could be an absolute rascal. Yet, somehow, he managed t

An accessory with a two-million-dollar price tag. Julian returned just before seven, a storm cloud in a Brioni tuxedo. He acknowledged her with a curt nod as she descended the staircase in a gown Colette had sent over—a column of emerald green satin, severe and stunning, her only jewelry the same sapphire earrings. He looked her over, his gaze clinical. “The color is acceptable. Let’s go.”

The one who had trapped him with such a perfect plan. “…Then what about that girl… Miriam Amaryllis?” asked Julian a little shyly. Heinrich clicked his tongue in annoyance. He flicked his finger against Julian's forehead, causing the youth to groan in pain. “Give up. I know you have a crush on her, but she's already married. And now her husband is a Duke.” Julian tried to hide his blushing face by looking at his brother in annoyance. "I-I don't have a crush on her!"

Julian, your wife wants me ruined. Cassandra Vance, the brilliant Queen of the Screen, had loved that cruel man. Julian was everything: warm, ambitious, and promising the world. She willingly became Julian's secret lover, hiding their relationship from the world, even from Julian’s first love—Elena (the woman who was meant to be his wife, arranged by their parents since childhood).

But tonight, for some reason, he didn’t feel like doing that. He tightened his hold on the girl and lifted a hand to block the men. “Hey, hey—what’s the rush? You all storming in here like bandits for what?” The old man pushed forward—and froze when he saw who it was. His pupils narrowed in shock. “Well, if it isn’t Ashford…” Julian Ashford. The infamous rich heir. Notorious for his good looks, even more notorious for never sticking with the same woman twice. If it was Julian, then things might go differently.

But despite her flawless exterior, Julian felt no connection to her. “I’ve already said I need time to think about it,” Julian replied, his voice measured but firm. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. Vivian narrowed her eyes, her frustration barely contained. “Think about what? Charlotte is perfect for you. She comes from an impeccable lineage, her family’s influence rivals ours, and...” “She’s sitting right here, Mother,” Julian interrupted, his tone laced with sarcasm. “I’m sure she doesn’t need a resume read aloud.”

It looked like armor. A soft knock rattled the door before it swung open. Julian stepped into the room. He was dressed in a bespoke black tuxedo that made his broad shoulders look impossibly wide, his dark hair brushed back flawlessly. He stopped, his gaze sweeping over her from the hem of the ivory silk to the dark curls pinned meticulously at the back of her head. For a single, fleeting second, his charcoal eyes darkened, a flash of something primal and intensely possessive rippling across his features before his ironclad composure snapped back into place.

At Nathan's words, Julian let out a short, startled laugh. “You must be kidding.” “No, I am not.” “Wow. I never expected this…” he gestured at me, “…woman could be your wife. Is she, not Charlotte Windsor, the fake child and fake heiress?” I stilled, and blood drained from my face. If Petty had been dismissive earlier, Julian's words were downright condescending. He stared at me with such blatant disgust that my old instincts kicked in, and I wanted to run, hide, and get as far away from his judgmental eyes as possible.