Chapter 114 Julian, Do You Believe in Fate?
Chapter 114 Julian, Do You Believe in Fate?
Hearing Evelyn’s voice, Lila hurried in and found her aunt seated with Cora.
“I’m so sorry,” Lila blurted to Cora. “I didn’t know my aunt would—”
“It’s fine,” Cora said with a small shake of her head.
Evelyn turned to Lila. “You didn’t want me coming to your room because she was here, did you? I’m sorry, I was impatient. I always wait for you in here—this time I didn’t think—”
The air felt oddly off, like Cora herself had become the problem. She stepped in to puncture the awkwardness. “Truly, I don’t mind. Don’t let me be the reason for any hard feelings. We were having a lovely chat, actually. If not for this mix-up I’d be bored to death reading alone. My assistant isn’t much of a talker.”
Winny, saint that she was, took the blame in silence.
The tension ebbed. Lila exhaled. She’d tried to keep the Davis family from meeting Cora, but fate had a mean sense of humor. At least Cora wasn’t petty; when mistaken identity reared its head, she met it with a level smile. No wonder Julian passed over a thousand pedigreed socialites to marry her—a common background, sure, but she had that rare ease that made people want to draw near. The sort of ease those high-born girls didn’t come with.
Lila properly made introductions. Cora learned Evelyn ran the jewelry arm of the Davises. Two years ago the Davises had pulled back to a smaller city, but shuttering a web of companies didn’t happen overnight. With Qara’s parents sunk in private grief, most outward-facing matters fell to Evelyn—and thanks to her, the Davises hadn’t collapsed entirely.
So—another iron lady, Cora thought, Riley’s type of creature.
Evelyn, meanwhile, kept her face smooth while her mind raced. A civilian girl marrying the Watson heir? With Madam Watson’s eyes? That doesn’t add up. Unless this Cora is… more than she seems.
Having steadied herself, Evelyn guided the talk with a deft hand—no interrogation, just warm, coaxing currents. Cora, eager not to be misunderstood, cooperated. She laid out her origins and life plainly, insisting there was no connection to the Davises at all. The less entanglement with this world, the cleaner her eventual exit would be.
Evelyn listened and nodded, but filed her own conclusions away.
When the party wound down, Julian came to collect Cora. Seeing her worn out, he drew her firmly against him. She wanted to resist, but her throat was dry from talking. He handed her a glass of freshly pressed juice—did he carry a juicer everywhere?—and she downed it in one go.
“Why so thirsty? How long did Lila keep you talking?” His brow creased.
Cora sidestepped. “Do you believe in fate?”
His lashes flicked up; surprise showed, unguarded. “What brought that on?”
“I met someone from the Davis family today,” she said quietly. There was no point hiding it; he’d know soon enough anyway. And strangely, she wanted his read on it. “I kept saying there’s no relation, but she didn’t seem convinced. In Lila’s room I found a book Qara gave her. The first line of the preface… it gave me a strange feeling. Like a hand nudging certain things forward whether I want them or not.”
Julian didn’t answer. He stroked her hair, and inside, he was absurdly pleased she’d brought it straight to him.
“Why do you resist the Davises?” he asked after a beat. “Most people—what would they do?”
“They’d scramble to claim the connection,” Cora said with a crooked smile. “Especially anyone without a name. A centuries-old literary family? Even a ‘downsized camel’ is bigger than a horse. No one turns down a mountain to lean on.”
His mouth tilted as he sifted his fingers through her silken hair. Soft. Warm. Her scent.
“So why keep your distance?” His tone was gentle, but it was a question with weight.
Cora hesitated. She could hardly say, Because leaving later will hurt less if I never step closer now.
“I think… I suddenly believe in fate,” she said instead.
The look he gave her was keen—and uneasy. In his mind’s eye she was a kite, and he held the thinnest string; any moment it might snap and she’d be gone. The thought made his chest ache, raw and mean.
He tipped her chin up and came down without warning.
Cora startled, eyes going wide—then his face filled her world.
What is he—
His hand slid over her eyes. “Focus,” he murmured, bracing the back of her head and angling her to him.
The kiss was thorough and possessive—conquering ground with no retreat allowed—yet threaded with care, almost tenderness. It unraveled her. The room went bright and empty at the edges.
“Without my say-so,” he said against her mouth, voice a quiet detonation at her ear, “don’t even think about running. Try it, and see if you can get out of my hand.”
Her body jolted rigid.
He felt it—the flinch, the fear—and something in him sank hard. He released her abruptly; the temperature dropped.
Her head was still spinning when his phone chimed. He glanced at an unknown email, thumbed it open—stilled, then burned. His hand clamped around her wrist.
“Cora,” he ground out, eyes like winter steel, “were you planning to give birth—and then elope with your old flame?”