Chapter 2

2.

When Julian came home, he was still in the same suit, with no suspicious perfume on him.

He was carrying takeout from that viral place downtown―the lobster rolls I'd mentioned wanting last night.

Seeing my red, swollen eyes, he rushed over and cupped my face.

"What's wrong, baby? Crying over one of those reality shows again?"

Just then, the doorbell rang.

He frowned slightly. "Probably maintenance."

He opened the door to a syrupy sweet voice.

"Hi! Your Uber Eats order?"

The voice was identical to "PeachySweetie's" in her videos.

Julian's body tensed for a fraction of a second. He quickly thanked her, closed the door, and walked back with two matcha lattes.

"Passed by a cafe with a huge line, figured you might like it. Didn't want the food to get cold, so I had them delivered."

A seamless explanation.

I looked up at him.

"Julian. Is there anything you're hiding from me?"

His hand, which was pushing a straw into the cup, froze.

Then he smiled, put the drink in my hand, and ruffled my hair.

"Mia. Are you watching those 'test your boyfriend' TikToks again? It's all scripted for views."

"Why would I ever hide anything from you?"

Before he could finish, his phone rang.

He glanced at it and quickly silenced the call.

"Eat the lobster rolls while they're hot. It's a work call―I'll take it in my study. Be right back."

He spoke faster than usual as he walked toward the study.

I looked down at the matcha latte in my hand.

Condensation slid down the cup, cold against my skin.

I'm lactose intolerant.

He never used to forget.

But now, he had someone more important than me.

He came out of the study a few minutes later, wearing that familiar, apologetic expression.

It was the same look he always had when he had to leave early for "work."

"Mia―"

"An emergency at work?" I cut him off before he could start his lie.

He paused, then nodded. "Yeah. An urgent project needs my signature."

I looked him straight in the eye.

"Can you stay?"

The expression on his face hardened.

"Mia, don't be like this."

"You know I'm working this hard for us. For our future."

"I need to prove to my mother that Julian Blackwood can succeed even without the family's money. That I can give you everything."

Julian's mother, Elizabeth Blackwood, had never liked me.

The reason was simple: my background was too ordinary, too broken, to fit into the Blackwood dynasty.

Julian was a true trust-fund baby.

Before me, his life was perfectly mapped out, right down to a pre-selected bride for a business merger.

But he defied his family for me.

He insisted on being with me.

In a fit of rage, his mother froze all his trust funds and credit cards and kicked him out.

She declared that if he could build his own success in five years without a dime from the family, she would finally accept our relationship.

So for the past five years, Julian never stopped working.

And I worked just as hard, constantly trying to improve myself, terrified of becoming the burden his mother always claimed I was.

Terrified that her words, "She's dragging you down," would come true.

She never gave up on trying to make me leave him.

The offers started at five million dollars, then ten million, and then, just last week, a single, crisp check.

One hundred million dollars.

The condition was the same: leave my son.

I never accepted.

Because I loved Julian.

And I truly believed he loved me.

I stubbornly believed that true love could conquer anything―prejudice, class, everything.

Until now.

Now, those beliefs were shattering, piece by piece.

His phone rang again.

He glanced at it, and this time, he didn't even bother with an excuse.

"Mia, I have to go. Eat something, okay?"

He turned and strode away before I could respond.

I grabbed my phone and followed him.