Chapter 22
What began as a harmless lie–a temporary solution to Julian’s matchmaking nightmare–was now spiraling beyond her control. It was supposed to be pretend. A performance. But now, she was seated at a dinner table across from Julian’s grandfather, the imposing and shrewd Maxwel Thorne, who had just learned of her Montero bloodline.
“An heiress,” the older man had said, his eyes glittering with interest. “From one of the oldes legacies in Spain. This match, Julian… it’s more than favorable. It’s destined.”
Julian had said nothing at first. He only looked at Alicia, his jaw tense, his hand brushing against hers under the table. Later that night, he leaned close and whispered, “They’re rushing us. The family. The board. Everyone’s pushing.”
And Alicia, to her own surprise, hadn’t said no.
Maybe because she didn’t want to. Not entirely.
Yes, the pressure was suffocating. Yes, the marriage had started as a lie. But somehow, somewhere between gallery openings and shared coffee and whispered glances, something real had taken root.
And maybe… she wanted it to be real.
Maybe she wanted him.
Maybe it was time to say goodbye to Denver in every possible way.
So she said yes.
But Julian noticed something in her eyes that night as they sat together on the apartment balcony, London’s skyline glittering behind them.
“You’re quiet,” he said, gently handing her a glass of wine.
Alicia took it with a small smile. “Just tired.”
“No,” he said, sitting beside her. “It’s more than that.”
She sighed. Her fingers curled tightly around the stem of the glass. “It’s not the wedding. Or you. It’s… Denver. And my mother.”
Julian frowned. “What about them?”
“I feel like no matter how far I run, they’re still in the room. Watching. Judging. Pulling at my
past.”
Julian reached for her hand. “I don’t want him anywhere near you ever again. I’ll make sure of it.”
She turned to him, surprised by the steel in his voice.
“You mean that?”
He nodded. “I do. I’d burn the world if it meant keeping you safe, Alicia. You don’t owe them anything anymore. Not him. Not her. But if they try anything again… they’ll answer to me.”
Something in his words wrapped around her heart like a warm armor.
Maybe Julian was different.
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3:00 pm
Maybe she didn’t have to run anymore.
She set her wineglass down, reached for him, and kissed him.
It was soft at first–uncertain, gentle–but it deepened quickly, urgency blooming between them like fire licking dry wood.
Julian’s hands threaded through her hair as he pulled her closer, and she let him. Her breath hitched as his lips moved along her neck, her jaw. They stumbled into the bedroom, her blouse discarded, his shirt torn open with impatient hands.
She arched beneath his touch, her skin tingling with heat, every kiss melting away layers of doubt and fear. Julian’s mouth moved reverently across her collarbone, down her ribs, his fingers brushing the waistband of her silk shorts as if asking for permission.
She nodded, whispered his name.
That night, they didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to.
Bodies tangled, breaths synchronized, they made love not like strangers pretending–but like two people who finally understood what it meant to be wanted without conditions.
When they collapsed into each other, spent and breathless, Alicia felt her heart slow–not from exhaustion, but peace.
This… was home.
Thousands of miles away, Patricia sat alone in the cold villa in Macau.
The guards stationed outside barely spoke to her. The marble floors mocked her silence. The phone she’d once used to manipulate the world now sat dead in her lap, its screen blank
No social media. No messages. No Denver.
No one.
She hadn’t eaten all day. Her hair was unkempt, her robe slipping off her shoulder. The once–golden girl of the Montero name was now a forgotten exile.
Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the gray wall. “Is this what I deserve?” she whispered.
She called Denver. Hands shaking.
When he picked up, his voice was cold.
“I’m done with you, Patricia.”
Her lips quivered. “Please. I–I know what I did. I messed up. I ruined her life and yours. But I need help. I need-”
“You should’ve thought about that before you burned every bridge.”
“Alicia will never love you again. Do you get that? Never!”
Denver was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I’ll make her love me again, I’ll do everything”
And the line went dead.
Denver had been watching. Waiting.
Following Alicia from afar like a man possessed.
He saw her with Julian. Laughing. Touching his arm. Wearing a ring.
That was the final crack in Denver’s self–control.
3:00 pm D D D D
Alicia hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
Chapter 22
What began as a harmless lie–a temporary solution to Julian’s matchmaking nightmare–was now spiraling beyond her control. It was supposed to be pretend. A performance. But now, she was seated at a dinner table across from Julian’s grandfather, the imposing and shrewd Maxwell Thorne, who had just learned of her Montero bloodline.
“An heiress,” the older man had said, his eyes glittering with interest. “From one of the oldest legacies in Spain. This match, Julian… it’s more than favorable. It’s destined.”
Julian had said nothing at first. He only looked at Alicia, his jaw tense, his hand brushing against hers under the table. Later that night, he leaned close and whispered, “They’re rushing us. The family. The board. Everyone’s pushing.”
And Alicia, to her own surprise, hadn’t said no.
Maybe because she didn’t want to. Not entirely.
Yes, the pressure was suffocating. Yes, the marriage had started as a lie. But somehow, somewhere between gallery openings and shared coffee and whispered glances, something real had taken root.
And maybe… she wanted it to be real.
Maybe she wanted him.
Maybe it was time to say goodbye to Denver in every possible way.
So she said yes.
But Julian noticed something in her eyes that night as they sat together on the apartment balcony, London’s skyline glittering behind them.
“You’re quiet,” he said, gently handing her a glass of wine.
Alicia took it with a small smile. “Just tired.”
“No,” he said, sitting beside her. “It’s more than that.”
She sighed. Her fingers curled tightly around the stem of the glass. “It’s not the wedding. Or you. It’s… Denver. And my mother.”
Julian frowned. “What about them?”
“I feel like no matter how far I run, they’re still in the room. Watching. Judging. Pulling at my past.”
Julian reached for her hand. “I don’t want him anywhere near you ever again. I’ll make sure of it.” She turned to him, surprised by the steel in his voice.
“You mean that?”
He nodded. “I do. I’d burn the world if it meant keeping you safe, Alicia. You don’t owe them anything anymore. Not him. Not her. But if they try anything again… they’ll answer to me.” Something in his words wrapped around her heart like a warm armor.
Maybe Julian was different.
Maybe she didn’t have to run anymore.
Chapter 22
3:00 pm DDDD
She set her wineglass down, reached for him, and kissed him.
It was soft at first–uncertain, gentle–but it deepened quickly, urgency blooming between them like fire licking dry wood.
Julian’s hands threaded through her hair as he pulled her closer, and she let him. Her breath hitched as his lips moved along her neck, her jaw. They stumbled into the bedroom, her blouse discarded, his shirt torn open with impatient hands.
She arched beneath his touch, her skin tingling with heat, every kiss melting away layers of doubt and fear. Julian’s mouth moved reverently across her collarbone, down her ribs, his fingers brushing the waistband of her silk shorts as if asking for permission.
She nodded, whispered his name.
That night, they didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to.
Bodies tangled, breaths synchronized, they made love not like strangers pretending–but like two people who finally understood what it meant to be wanted without conditions.
When they collapsed into each other, spent and breathless, Alicia felt her heart slow–not from exhaustion, but peace.
This… was home.
Thousands of miles away, Patricia sat alone in the cold villa in Macau.
The guards stationed outside barely spoke to her. The marble floors mocked her silence. The phone she’d once used to manipulate the world now sat dead in her lap, its screen blank.
No social media. No messages. No Denver.
No one.
She hadn’t eaten all day. Her hair was unkempt, her robe slipping off her shoulder. The once–golden girl of the Montero name was now a forgotten exile.
Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the gray wall. “Is this what I deserve?” she whispered.
She called Denver. Hands shaking.
When he picked up, his voice was cold.
“I’m done with you, Patricia.”
Her lips quivered. “Please. I–I know what I did. I messed up. I ruined her life and yours. But I need help. I need-”
“You should’ve thought about that before you burned every bridge.”
“Alicia will never love you again. Do you get that? Never!”
Denver was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I’ll make her love me again. I’ll do everything.”
And the line went dead.
Denver had been watching. Waiting.
Following Alicia from afar like a man possessed.
He saw her with Julian. Laughing. Touching his arm. Wearing a ring.
That was the final crack in Denver’s self–control.
He found Julian one evening, alone in the gallery after hours.
Chapter 22
هممم
3:00 pm DDDD.
“You and me,” Denver said, stepping into the exhibition space, fists clenched. “We need to talk.”
Julian didn’t flinch. He looked up from the sculpture he was adjusting and raised an eyebrow
“No, you need to leave.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
Denver stepped closer, sneering. “She’s not yours. She’s mine. She loved me first.”
Julian chuckled, dry and sharp. “And you destroyed that love. She’s not your property. You don‘ get to claim her.”
Denver’s voice rose. “You think this little gallery romance will last? You think she won’t see you or the fraud you are?”
Julian stood up straighter. “Get out before I make you.”
And then–Denver swung.
Julian blocked the punch and countered, his fist landing squarely against Denver’s jaw. Denver taggered, blood pooling at the corner of his lip.
ulian straightened his cuffs.
I’m not the man you want to fight, Denver. And she’s not the woman who will ever come back to
ou.”
enver spat onto the floor, seething. “We’ll see.”
ut just as he stormed out, he paused–hearing whispers from a nearby room.
wo women, young interns, gossiping over coffee.
Did you hear that it’s all fake? Alicia and Julian? Something about a deal. I overheard them the
her day…”
enver froze. His eyes sharpened. His mind replayed the words.
deal? He stepped back slowly, his heart thudding with renewed purpose.
it was fake–if their love was just an illusion–then maybe he still had a chance.
new idea bloomed in his mind. Dark. Calculated.
e made one call.
Mr. Thorne? Yes, the elder. I have information about your grandson’s engagement.”
