Chapter 185
Chapter 185:
He groaned — a dry, rasping sound — and pressed his fingers to his temples. His head felt as though it had been split with an axe. His stomach rolled with slow, persistent nausea.
He forced his eyes open, pushed himself upright, and looked down.
He was lying in the center of the massive bed wearing nothing but a pair of silk boxer briefs.
Julian blinked. His brain was a dense fog.
Then the sharp, rhythmic click of high heels echoed from the living area.
He grabbed the duvet and pulled it to his chest. He squinted toward the doorway.
A woman walked in wearing a plush white hotel bathrobe, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, a cup of black coffee in hand, her face a mask of absolute composure.
𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇
Vera.
Julian’s alcohol-soaked brain lurched immediately to the most arrogant conclusion available.
He looked at his half-naked body. He looked at the woman in the bathrobe. He leaned back against the headboard and manufactured the most confident expression his headache would allow.
“Well,” Julian drawled, his voice thick with condescension, “I must have had more to drink than I thought, if I didn’t even notice the great Editor-in-Chief was interested. What’s the play here, Vera? Looking for some intimate inspiration for your next cover story? If you wanted an exclusive, you didn’t have to go to such extreme lengths.” Vera stopped walking.
Julian pressed on, entirely oblivious. “Tell me your price. Or would you prefer a two-page spread in return p>
Vera set the coffee cup down on the nightstand with quiet precision.
Her eyes held no anger. They held the cold, unhurried focus of an executioner.
She said nothing. She took three measured steps toward the bed. Julian smirked, assuming she was closing the distance for an entirely different reason.
SMACK.
The sound of her open palm connecting with his left cheek cracked through the quiet suite like a gunshot. The force whipped his head sideways.
Julian’s ears rang. A searing heat bloomed across his face.
He grabbed his cheek, eyes wide with shock. “Are you out of your mind?! Did you just p>
SMACK.
A perfectly executed backhand, directly across his right cheek.
Julian fell back against the pillows, stunned into silence. No one had ever hit him like that in his life.
Vera stood over him and looked down with the expression of someone regarding something she had found on the bottom of her shoe.
“Are you fully awake now, you single-celled organism?” she asked, her voice dipped in pure venom.
She turned, picked up a large, clear plastic laundry bag from the sofa, and hurled it at his face.
“Open your eyes and examine the evidence of your performance last night p>
Julian peeled the bag away and looked inside.
It was Vera’s haute couture coat — completely covered in dried, foul-smelling vomit.
The smell reached him. And with it came the memories, crashing in sequence: the taxi, the elevator, the unbearable weightlessness, and then the horrifying aftermath.
Every drop of color left Julian’s face. His smirk was gone, replaced by a wave of profound, sickening humiliation.
“I took my clothes off because…” he started, his voice cracking.