Old Flame, New Love

Sophie’s fingers curled into fists. When she finally raised her head, her eyes were red but clear, cold defiance glinting through the tears.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

The manager hurried to smooth things over. “Caroline, maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Let’s just—how about I apologize on Sophie’s behalf—”

“And who the hell are you?” Caroline cut him off icily. “Do you even have the right to speak to me?”

The manager froze, his face tightening in embarrassment. He forced a smile, but before he could say anything more, Julian stepped forward.

“What would it take for you to calm down, Ms. West?”

His tone was light, almost teasing, the corners of his mouth curled in a faint smile as his dark eyes rested on her. The lazy baritone carried a dangerous charm, like a man flirting without even trying.

Caroline’s breath caught. For a few seconds, she forgot to speak.

When she did, her gaze darted toward Sophie again, brimming with jealousy. “I want her to kneel and apologize. And she doesn’t get up until I say so.”

Sophie trembled—whether from fear or anger, even she didn’t know. She took a step forward, but a firm hand caught her wrist.

Julian stepped in front of her, shielding her half behind him, his grip unyielding. “You’re sure that’s what you want, Ms. West?” he asked, his tone still low and even. “Because you’ll only get one chance.”

The sharp edge beneath his calm voice made the air between them heavy.

Caroline’s defiance melted into nervous affection, her glare softening into watery eyes. She bit her lip, held his gaze for a few seconds—and gave up.

At the bar, Monica let out a sigh. “I thought we were watching some classic ‘hero saves damsel’ moment. Turns out it’s just a jealous lover’s spat. So cliché.”

Lydia chuckled, sipping her drink. “You didn’t seem to mind watching.”

Monica shot her a side look. “Yeah, but me enjoying it makes sense. You enjoying it? That’s weird.”

Lydia arched a brow. “What, should I join them and make it a full-blown soap opera?”

Monica laughed. “Please don’t. I’d die of secondhand embarrassment.”

Lydia: “…”

They’d barely finished their banter when another glass of wine suddenly flew across the room. Caroline had grabbed it and flung it straight toward Sophie’s face.

Julian moved before anyone else could react—his arm shot up, taking the hit for her. Wine splashed across his shoulder and jawline, running down his neck in dark streaks.

For a moment, Caroline just stared, stunned that he’d protect Sophie so openly. Her confidence shattered; she dropped the empty glass, tears spilling as she turned and fled the lounge.

Monica shook her head. “Men like Julian Marks are a curse. Especially the ones who think they’re God’s gift to women.”

As Caroline stormed out, the crowd’s attention quickly faded. The manager escorted Julian and Sophie out of the main lounge, leaving things to settle back to normal.

Monica turned back to Lydia. “So, I was right all along,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “You and Vanessa really do have problems. Because of Adrian? After all these years, is it worth it?”

Lydia didn’t answer right away. The truth was complicated. Adrian was part of it—but not the core of it. People always saw things from their own angle. And she didn’t want to risk saying something that would hurt Monica’s friendship with Vanessa.

“It’s over,” she said at last. “No point bringing it up again.”

The two sat in silence for a while.

“Ms. Moore.”

Lydia turned. Standing beside her was Julian’s assistant, Miles Grant, holding a shopping bag with a luxury brand’s logo on it.