Julian still didn’t let go. Lydia couldn’t tell if he was angry or amused—his expression never changed.
He always wore that faint, careless smile, the kind that masked everything behind it. And with a face like his, it was easy to forget how dangerous he could be.
She’d made that mistake once, years ago—right after their wedding.
Back then, she’d thought the same calm smile meant tenderness. Until she saw him holding a black gun, smiling exactly like that, and pulling the trigger without blinking.
The image came back to her suddenly—the man’s body collapsing, the burst of crimson, the trembling limbs.
Her throat tightened, breath catching painfully.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Voices murmured, slowing as they passed. Someone lingered for a moment—curious eyes glancing toward Room 1889.
Julian’s arm slipped around her waist, pulling her into his chest. His tone was suddenly loud enough for those outside to hear:
“My wife, there’s no other woman in here. If you don’t believe me, come check.”
Before Lydia could protest, he half-guided, half-forced her into the room, closing the door behind them.
“Julian!” she snapped.
He stopped, looking down at her. The space between them shrank; she could see the faint curve of amusement in his eyes.
Interesting, he thought.
For so long, her eyes—always hidden behind those glasses—had been calm, detached, impossible to read. Now they burned with restrained anger.
He leaned closer, voice low and rough. “What is it?”
Lydia felt the change in his gaze—the heat, the pressure of his body closing in. Her brain buzzed; thoughts tangled into chaos.
“You—” she began, then stopped.
Because his lips were suddenly inches from hers. If she spoke, she would touch him. It would look like she was asking for a kiss.
And a kiss between them… felt wrong.
“What about me?” he murmured.
His hand tightened around her waist, sliding slightly upward.
Their bodies pressed together fully now—her softness against his solid warmth. The contact sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
It was chemistry, she realized dimly—something she couldn’t control.
Her pulse raced. Every nerve in her body buzzed with confused awareness.
Julian’s gaze dropped to her parted lips. Slowly, deliberately, he kissed her.
Lydia froze, her thoughts catching up a second too late. His mouth was already on hers—deep, possessive. Her instincts screamed to pull away, but her body betrayed her.
The kiss deepened. The sound of it—soft, wet, intimate—filled the quiet room.
The bag of clothes slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Then—
The doorbell rang.
Lydia jerked, her body going rigid.
Julian brushed one last lingering kiss over her lips before releasing her. He lifted his arm, pressed a button on the wall panel.
A small screen lit up, showing the visitor outside.
Lydia glanced over—and froze.
It was Sophie Reed.
