Chapter 85: Time to Be a Real Husband
Liam watched Cora’s figure disappear into the night before finally forcing himself to look away.
A rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “I’ve really lost my composure,” he muttered, shaking his head before starting the car.
—
The moment Cora stepped into the house, she knew something was off.
Every servant stood rigid in a line, eyes downcast. The air was tight, suffocating.
Broken porcelain and glass glittered across the floor.
Julian stood by the tall window, back turned, shoulders tense under his shirt. The silence around him was sharp enough to cut.
“Where were you?” His voice was calm—but only on the surface.
Cora blinked. “I went out. I told Mrs. Zhang before I left.”
“Who did you meet?”
Each word came through his teeth like a threat.
Cora frowned. Why is he this angry?
Then it hit her—Dina. He must have heard she’d seen Dina. Of course he’d be upset; Dina was his ex.
“I went to see Dina,” she said honestly. “She asked me to.”
Julian turned then, the movement sudden, predatory.
“Is that so?”
“Julian, what the hell are you doing?” Cora snapped, startled by the ferocity in his eyes.
“I’m the one losing it?” His voice rose, a storm barely contained. “Maybe I’ve spoiled you too much, Cora—since you’ve forgotten who you’re married to.”
Cora turned, deciding to walk away before the argument spiraled. But before she could take a step, his hand clamped around her wrist and spun her around.
She barely had time to gasp before he pushed her down onto the sofa.
“Julian!” Panic flared. “What’s wrong with you?”
He pinned her effortlessly, the anger in his body vibrating against her own.
“I’m wrong for giving you too much freedom,” he growled, eyes dark as fire.
He’d received the photos only an hour ago—Cora smiling across a dinner table at another man.
In one of them, Liam Mayer—the man who rivaled him in business—was leaning close, fastening her seatbelt. Their posture intimate, their faces close.
Julian’s phone had shattered against the marble floor before he could stop himself.
His wife, laughing with that man.
The staff had frozen, afraid to breathe.
Cora pushed against his chest, her pulse racing. “Julian, let go—you’re going to hurt the baby!”
“Am I?” His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Funny. I just remembered—since our wedding, we haven’t exactly fulfilled any marital duties, have we?”
Cora stared, stunned. “What?”
He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. Their marriage was a contract—an arrangement for the child’s sake. He’d said so himself.
Why now? Why this?
“No,” she breathed, pushing harder. “Stop it—”
But the more she struggled, the darker his expression became. In his eyes, her resistance looked like guilt.
Julian grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“Julian, please,” she choked, eyes wide. “You’re scaring me.”
“You didn’t want this marriage, did you?” His voice was low, lethal.
Cora met his gaze, furious and terrified. “You said it yourself—this was just for the baby! A contract! You promised—”
Her words vanished into his mouth as he crushed his lips against hers.
It wasn’t a kiss; it was punishment. Harsh, desperate, burning.
He didn’t even know why it hurt so much to hear her repeat his own words.
Cora twisted beneath him, desperate to break free. “You’re going to hurt—ah—Julian, stop!”
Her tear-filled eyes finally broke through the haze. One tear slipped down her cheek, and something in him cracked.
You’re crying for him, aren’t you?
For Liam.
He froze. His grip loosened.
Cora took the chance to sit up, trembling. “You’re insane—”
Before she could finish, his voice came again, cold and deliberate.
“How many months along is she?”
The question wasn’t for her. It was for the housekeeper still rooted near the doorway.
“Three and a half months, sir,” came the quiet reply.
“And the safe window for intercourse?”
The words were ice.
The housekeeper’s head dropped lower. “From the third to the seventh month, sir.”
Cora’s blood ran cold. No. He can’t mean…
Julian’s gaze snapped back to her. “Take Mrs. Watson to bathe.”
The maids hesitated only a heartbeat before obeying.
“Julian!” Cora’s voice broke as they pulled her away. “What are you doing? You can’t—please, don’t!”
They didn’t answer. Within minutes, she was stripped, washed, and wrapped in steam and humiliation.
The bathroom door suddenly flew open.
“Out,” Julian barked. The servants scattered.
He stepped through the mist, eyes burning, grabbed a towel, and wrapped her in it. Then, without warning, he lifted her from the tub—water dripping from her hair—and carried her straight to the bed.
“Julian, stop! You’ll hurt the baby! Isn’t the child what your family wants most?” she shouted, voice shaking.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said roughly, pinning her again. “I won’t hurt our child.”
He kissed her again—less rage this time, more raw need. The taste of her always undid him. Always.
“If you don’t want to hurt the baby,” he murmured against her ear, breath ragged, “don’t move.”
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “We’re husband and wife, Cora. It’s time we acted like it.”
Cora’s tears spilled freely now. She didn’t understand what she had done to deserve this.
If meeting Dina had led to this explosion—if it had driven him this far—then she would rather never see Dina again.
But it was too late.
Julian had already decided what being her husband meant tonight.