Chapter 106 The Dinner He Promised
Chapter 106 The Dinner He Promised
“You don’t have to stomach what you hate,” Julian said, voice low and velvet. “I’ll handle it. Tell me how you want him to end—his company in pieces, or his name in the gutter—and I’ll get it done.”
Cora jolted. Heat still tingled on her lips from that kiss. He’s still acting… right?
His fingertip skimmed her mouth, pleased at the flush there. “Well?”
Around them, people stared—half stunned, half rabid with envy. Matt went rigid. He understood perfectly well what Julian Watson could do to a man.
Cora flicked a glance at the influencer clinging to Matt’s arm…and felt a petty spark. “What if what I hate,” she said lightly, “is that car?”
Julian’s smile flashed—bright enough to blind. He didn’t bother to answer. He simply lifted his left hand.
Austin understood. He hauled Matt clean out of the driver’s seat.
Cora’s mouth fell open. Okay, that escalated.
“Good girl,” Julian murmured, amused. “You’ve earned tonight’s reward—make me dinner.”
A ridiculous line… except they had made that deal. One show, one home-cooked meal.
An assistant swung open the Rolls’s door. Julian didn’t even look away from Cora as he guided her in.
Only then did the crowd fully compute what they were seeing. Gasps rippled down the sidewalk.
“Mr. Watson is married?”
“His wife—that’s his wife?”
Phones went up like a field of sunflowers tracking the light.
Cora allowed herself one last, deeply satisfied look at Matt and his speechless date before settling back in the car, adrenaline slowly ebbing. Julian reclined, lazy and lethal, eyes tilted toward her, the edge of a smile playing at his mouth. He lived for putting exes in their place—especially her ex.
Once the convoy was a few blocks away, Cora exhaled. “Thanks. If you hadn’t shown up, he would’ve kept needling me forever.”
“Hardly a sacrifice,” Julian said, sounding positively cheerful now. His gaze dipped to the slim chain at her throat. Two rings glinted at her collarbone. He nearly whistled. So she kept them on.
Cora, oblivious, went practical. “I’ll cook, but no judging. I can’t compete with your chefs.”
He gave a noncommittal nod. After the abomination of an overcooked pasta she’d fed him weeks ago, his expectations were bulletproof.
“Austin,” Cora said, warming to it, “I’ll send a list. Please have the ingredients ready at the house.”
“Yes, Mrs. Watson,” Austin replied, entirely too delighted.
Baron slipped in with a quiet update at Julian’s ear. Julian’s expression didn’t flicker. “Let her,” he said, bored.
Cora didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. If she had, the word Dina would’ve curdled her appetite.
—
Dina staggered out of the boxing facility hours earlier with bruises blooming under a long hooded dress. Any sane person would have collapsed into regret.
Dina chose rage.
It was easier to believe Cora had poisoned Julian against her than to admit he was the one who tied the bow and handed her off like a party favor.
She skulked through a plaza, keeping her head down—until a nearby girl squealed into her phone, “He’s too handsome. Oh my God—Julian Watson is married! He trashed his wife’s ex’s car! I’m dying. His wife is so lucky—”
“What did you say?” Dina snapped, yanking the phone to see the trending clip: Julian, all tenderness and care, cradling Cora as if the world might bruise her.
Blood roared in Dina’s ears. How dare he be gentle there—after what he’d just arranged here?
The girl snatched her phone back and, in the scuffle, Dina’s hood slipped. Purple marks glared along her jaw. “Ew—what happened to your face?” the girl yelped, drawing eyes. Dina bolted, breath ragged, fury snapping at her heels.
In a quiet alley, she pressed against cold brick, shaking. Then a detail from the video clicked into place: the man in the convertible. Familiar profile.
Matt.
Her mouth curved, humorless and thin. She dialed.
He answered wary and confused. “Dina? Why are you calling? Aren’t you Cora’s bestie?”
“I’m calling,” she hissed, “to ask if you plan to swallow what she just did to you. Or would you like to join forces and return the favor? She betrayed you. She betrayed me. I don’t let betrayals slide.”
—
When Cora got home, the house hummed with quiet excitement. The pantry was stocked; greens washed and spun dry; spices lined up like soldiers on parade.
“Mrs. Watson,” the housekeeper said, beaming, “everything’s prepped.”
Cora swapped into slippers with the maid’s help and headed for the kitchen. Pregnancy had steadied her appetite, and she felt good—clear. She could do this.
Julian followed at a lazy distance, for once perfectly content to trail her. She was walking quickly, almost eager.
He hid a smile. Cooking for me, you little cutie pie?
Maybe smashing a certain someone’s car hadn’t been purely altruistic after all.