From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 121

**Chapter 7**

Julian had always maintained an open-door policy with me. His room was a sanctuary, never barred by locked doors, and he was ever-present whenever I called out to him. He even had an uncanny knack for remembering my clothing sizes down to the last detail.

So, when I first discovered him standing in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity…

Impatience surged through me, and I called out his name, my voice echoing softly in the stillness.

The moment my voice pierced the air, a low, almost pained groan escaped Julian’s lips.

He emerged swiftly, but not without a hint of awkwardness that was so unlike him. He pushed me away gently, as if he were trying to create a barrier that didn’t quite exist.

The faint musk that clung to the air in the bathroom was a revelation, a subtle reminder of the effect I had unwittingly had on him.

It wasn’t until much later, in hushed conversations with friends who had navigated these waters before, that I began to grasp the electric tension that had filled the air that night.

In the aftermath, I found myself retreating to Westlake, partly to escape the intensity of Julian’s emotions, which felt overwhelming.

From the moment I called his name to the way he reacted, mere seconds had passed, yet it felt like an eternity.

Now, as I looked at him, his robe had fallen open, revealing more than just skin; it was a glimpse into his vulnerability. His brow was furrowed, and his grip on my wrist was firm, but there was a tremor in it that spoke volumes.

“Whether I’m capable or not—why don’t you find out for yourself?” he challenged, his voice a mix of defiance and uncertainty.

His eyes were cast downward, and I noticed a flush creeping up his eyelids, a delicate shade of pink that hinted at his embarrassment.

I had never been one to shy away from boldness. Following his lead, my fingers began to slide down, exploring the warmth that radiated from him.

Soon enough, I encountered a heat that was undeniable.

In comparison to Rhys, Julian was not lacking in any department. His scent was invigorating, fresh, and clean, a stark contrast to the lingering memories of someone else.

I attempted to loosen the belt of his robe, but Julian caught my hand, an expression of torment etched across his face.

“Is this just to make him jealous?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I froze momentarily, confusion clouding my thoughts. What was he implying?

Then I heard his heavy sigh, his voice trembling with uncertainty: “Fine. Even if it’s to make him jealous, that’s acceptable.”

“You’re the lady of the house. It’s your decision,” he added, a hint of resignation in his tone.

Julian closed his eyes, his long lashes casting delicate shadows across his cheeks. Yet, I hesitated, not making the next move he seemed to expect.

In that moment, he bore an uncanny resemblance to a reluctant victim, as if he were teetering on the edge of surrender.

I reached past him to grab the warm milk, relishing its soothing warmth as I drank it down.

When I finally opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of disappointment flickering across Julian’s face.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I patted the left side of my bed, inviting him closer.

“Julian, I’m not using you as a tool,” I reassured him, my voice softening. “Come here. Sleep with me.”

At my words, Julian moved stiffly, like a marionette on strings, his movements mechanical and uncertain.

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