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Chapter 333
Chapter 333:
The Aston Martin merged aggressively back onto the southbound lanes of Interstate 95.
The atmosphere inside the cabin had shifted violently from a morgue to a war zone.
Vera had immediately commandeered the vehicle’s infotainment system. She bypassed Julian’s curated jazz playlist and blasted a high-energy pop anthem through the premium speakers at a deafening volume.
Julian’s hands gripped the leather steering wheel so hard his knuckles threatened to split through his skin. The muscles in his jaw were locked in a permanent, painful spasm as he glared at the road ahead, radiating pure, suppressed rage.
He glanced at the rearview mirror. June was sitting in the back with her eyes closed, seemingly unbothered by the auditory assault. Julian swallowed his anger. He was a hostage in his own car.
In the passenger seat, Vera pulled a diamond-encrusted compact mirror from her Chanel bag and began touching up her perfectly applied lipstick. But her eyes were not on her own reflection. They kept darting sideways, studying Julian’s tense profile with sharp, calculating interest.
Julian felt the weight of her stare. It made his skin crawl. He shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders twitching.
уo𝘶𝘳 d𝘢𝗂𝘭𝘆 𝘥o𝘀e o𝖿 𝗻𝘰𝘷𝖾𝗅𝘴 𝗼𝗇
Suddenly, Vera snapped the compact shut with a loud, sharp clack.
She let out a massive, dramatic gasp. “Oh my god p>
Julian flinched, his foot hovering over the brake pedal.
Vera twisted her torso around, leaning over the center console to look directly at June in the back seat.
“I get it now,” Vera announced, her voice cutting completely through the blasting music. “I finally understand p>
June slowly opened one eye and looked at her best friend with a mixture of exhaustion and mild curiosity.
Vera pointed a perfectly manicured finger directly at the back of Julian’s head.
“This man,” Vera declared, her tone dripping with unshakable certainty, “is secretly in love with me p>
The words detonated inside the small cabin like a live grenade.
Julian’s brain completely short-circuited. The heavy Aston Martin momentarily drifted over the solid white line, the tires giving a brief, sharp hiss against the reflectors before Julian cursed under his breath and jerked the wheel back into the center lane.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He shot a horrified, disbelieving glare sideways at Vera, looking at her as though she had just grown a second head.
Vera completely ignored the near-fatal driving error. She crossed her arms, looking insufferably smug.
“Think about it, June,” Vera said, launching into her analysis. “Did you see his face when he walked out of that gas station? He was absolutely paralyzed. That wasn’t shock. That was the overwhelming joy of seeing the goddess of his dreams p>
Julian’s mouth fell open. He tried to speak, but only a strangled wheeze escaped his throat.
“And then,” Vera continued, her logic gathering momentum, “he didn’t even argue. He just silently walked over and carried all of my heavy Hermès bags. He is a billionaire playboy, June. Since when does Julian Thorne do manual labor? He was trying to impress me with his physical strength p>