Chapter 99 Her Target Is Hooked
Juniper looked at William, drunk and vulnerable, and recognized the golden opportunity before her. She nodded softly. "I understand. Go get some rest. I'll call if anything comes up."
Dylan cast one more worried glance at William, clearly reluctant to leave.
Before Juniper's arrival, William had been a ticking time bomb—volatile, explosive, impossible to approach. But the moment she walked in, something shifted. He settled.
It seemed only Juniper could calm the storm.
"Alright then. I'm heading out."
Dylan closed the door behind him, pausing to give the security team explicit instructions to monitor the executive floor.
Now alone, Juniper gently rubbed William's back, her voice a soothing murmur. "William, you need to stop drinking like this. It kills me to see you this way."
William lifted his head, eyes unfocused and glassy. He seized her wrist suddenly, his grip brutal enough to make her wince.
"Why the hell did she do it? Why did she take those bullets for me? Does she think that's going to make me notice her? Make me forgive her?"
Triumph flared in Juniper's chest, but she kept her expression sympathetic. "Don't torture yourself over it. I visited her at the hospital today—she's recovering well. She kept asking if you'd come to see her."
William grabbed his glass and drained it in one savage gulp, his laugh bitter. "No damn way I'd go see her."
"Don't say that. Isabella's suffered enough. She's still holding onto this fantasy that after everything, you two can have a real life together. She even told me she wants to have your baby—that it's her dream."
"A baby?" William bit out the words like they tasted foul, his eyes flooding with revulsion and rage. "She thinks she deserves that? A manipulative, vicious woman like her doesn't deserve to be anyone's mother."
His chest heaved. The audacity of Isabella, scheming to trap him like that.
She'd played the part so well—pretending she didn't want children, when all along she'd been plotting to get pregnant with his child.
Over his dead body would he let that scheming witch carry his baby.
Juniper's voice turned gentle. "Don't work yourself up over her. She's not worth it. You're drunk—let me take you home so you can rest."
William waved her off dismissively, shifting away to pour himself another drink. "Just go. I need to be alone."
But Juniper had no intention of leaving. Not when she was this close. She put on a show of concern, snatching the glass from his hand just as he raised it to his lips and throwing it back herself.
She coughed lightly, then smiled. "If you're miserable, then I'll drink with you. I'll stay until you feel better."
The smile on her face—so achingly similar to Beatrice's gentle warmth—made something stir in William's chest.
Beatrice used to do the same thing. Whenever he was drowning his sorrows, she'd sit beside him, keeping him company.
Beatrice had never been able to hold her liquor. She'd always choke on the burn.
Juniper was the same. Even with all the similarities—the mannerisms, the temperament, the uncanny resemblance—William felt nothing for her. No spark. No pull.
But Isabella…
Why the hell was he thinking about her now?
The thought felt like a betrayal, a desecration of Beatrice's memory.
William seized his glass and threw back two massive gulps, the whiskey scorching his throat and bringing tears to his eyes.
Juniper didn't try to stop him. She let him drink himself into oblivion.
Only when he was completely unconscious could she execute her plan.
Past midnight, the bottles on the desk stood empty. William lay sprawled on the couch, barely conscious.
Juniper tapped his shoulder lightly. "William? Can you hear me?"
No response. She climbed onto him, her hands roaming greedily over his face.
She'd waited over a decade for this moment. She wouldn't let anyone take William away from her now.
"William, do you have any idea how much I love you? Look at me. Don't you feel anything for me at all?"
William's eyes fluttered half-open, his vision swimming. In his drunken haze, he mistook her for someone else. "I'm sorry… Beatrice… I'm so sorry…"
Fine. Let him think she was Beatrice. As long as she got what she wanted, she'd gladly play the stand-in.
Juniper nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. This was supposed to be her place all along. Why should the Tudor sisters get to steal it from her?
They needed to be eliminated. Anyone who stood between her and William had to disappear.
"William, you don't need to apologize. I'm right here."
William's hand moved to stroke her hair. The guilt was eating him alive—because he was starting to feel something for someone other than Beatrice.
Juniper tilted her face up, wearing that same smile Beatrice used to give him. She leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. When he didn't push her away, she gathered her courage and pressed her lips to his.
The desire she'd suppressed for years was finally within reach…
The next morning, William woke from his stupor to find himself in the office lounge. He sat up slowly, rubbing his throbbing temples, only then noticing he was shirtless.
Fragments of the previous night flickered through his mind. He yanked back the covers and froze.
There, stark against the white sheets, was a crimson stain.
He'd slept with Juniper?
And it had been her first time?
William raked his fingers through his hair, frustration boiling over. How the hell had he ended up in bed with Juniper?
He'd blacked out from the alcohol. He must have mistaken her for Beatrice.
His mood plummeted. Juniper had probably left early to spare him the awkwardness.
But he wasn't the type to shirk responsibility. If he'd slept with her, he owed her an answer.
William called Dylan to bring a fresh suit. While waiting, he stepped into the bathroom to rinse off. A sharp sting made him pause. He turned to check his reflection—several angry scratches marked his shoulders, clearly left by Juniper.
Had he been too rough with her last night?
If he'd treated her the way he usually handled Isabella—rough, demanding, merciless—Juniper's delicate frame wouldn't have been able to take it.
William drove himself to the Miller Mansion. Juniper watched him arrive on the security feed, a triumphant smile curling her lips. He'd taken the bait. But the satisfaction quickly curdled into resentment.
William had refused to touch her.
Last night, when she'd tried to kiss him, he'd shoved her away hard enough to send her sprawling. She'd struggled to drag him to the lounge, stripped herself bare and laid beside him, and still he'd rejected her. He'd even muttered something—"You're not Isabella."
Even in that state, he'd been thinking of Isabella.
He'd turned her down because of Isabella.
Once William had finally passed out completely, she'd undressed him, dragged her nails across his back, then used a shard of glass to slice her own arm. She'd let the blood drip onto the sheets, staging the scene to look like he'd taken her virginity.
She knew William well enough. Even if he didn't love her, his sense of honor would demand he take responsibility if he thought they'd slept together.
The fact that he'd rushed over first thing this morning proved she'd calculated correctly.
Juniper pressed herself against the door, listening as he spoke with the household staff downstairs. The servants delivered their lines exactly as she'd coached them the night before.
"Ms. Miller came home just before dawn. Her clothes were torn, and she looked completely wrecked—her eyes were red from crying. We asked what happened, but she wouldn't say."
William's guilt deepened with every word.
He was a bastard. He'd taken the same rough intimacy he'd once reserved for Isabella and inflicted it on Juniper.
"Prepare some chicken broth for Ms. Miller. I'm going up to see her."
Juniper hurried back to bed, waiting for her prey to walk straight into the trap.