In the penthouse, the air still carried the faint, floral scent of Clara's perfume—a lingering ghost that Julian desperately wanted to scrub away. He had opened the balcony doors, letting the sharp city wind whip through the room to erase the memory of her tears and her presence.
Sasha was no longer hiding under the covers. She had donned one of Julian's white silk button-downs, the hem skimming her toned, tanned thighs as she paced the room with a glass of champagne in her hand. She looked like a creature from a different world—sharp edges, polished skin, and a gaze that held no room for pity.
"God, that was exhausting," Sasha said, her voice dropping into a dry, melodic drawl. She threw herself onto the chaise longue, watching Julian as he agitatedly adjusted the cuffs of his robe. "I thought she was never going to leave. The drama, Julian. The sobbing. It was like watching a Victorian play, only with much more... volume."
Julian poured himself a stiff drink, the amber liquid splashing against the crystal glass. "I told you it would be messy. She's an orphan, Sasha. She doesn't have anything else. People like that cling to you like barnacles on a ship."
Sasha took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing with a wicked curiosity. "But really, Julian... why did it take you so long? Three years? You let a woman who looks like that walk around with your ring on her finger for three entire years. I've seen your taste. I am your taste. How did you even stand to wake up next to her?"
Julian leaned back against the mahogany dresser, the very spot where Clara had placed the ring. "I was grateful, alright? My firm was struggling when we met. She was... easy. She didn't ask for much, she did all the legwork I didn't want to do, and she looked after my mother when she was sick. It was a convenience that turned into a habit. But the habit started to suffocate me."
Sasha giggled, a sharp, metallic sound. She stood up and walked toward him, trailing her fingers over his chest. "I just don't get the physical side of it. I mean, look at her. She's... substantial. How did you even handle her in bed? With all that weight, I'd imagine you'd be worried about the structural integrity of the mattress."
Julian let out a short, hollow laugh, but then his expression shifted into something colder, something tinged with a long-simmering resentment.
"In bed?" Julian shook his head, taking a long gulp of his scotch. "There was no 'handling' her in bed, Sasha. Believe it or not, I've never actually slept with her."
Sasha froze, her glass halfway to her lips. Her eyes widened in genuine shock. "What? You're joking. Three years and you didn't...?"
"She's the 'traditional' type," Julian spat, the word sounding like an insult. "She believes in the sanctity of the wedding night. Sex after marriage, pure and holy, all that nonsense. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I pressured her or told her it was 'normal,' she wouldn't budge. She thought she was saving herself for a 'special' moment."
Sasha threw her head back and laughed, a genuine, mocking peal of mirth. "So you were engaged to a plump virgin who wouldn't even let you touch her? Julian, you're a saint. I would have lost my mind in three weeks, let alone three years. No wonder you were so frustrated."
"I would've been crazy to wait any longer," Julian agreed, his voice hardening. "Can you imagine? Marrying that, only to find out it wasn't even worth the wait? It was one of the main reasons I knew I had to get out. I'm a man with appetites, Sasha. I'm not a monk. I'm an ascending architect with a lifestyle to maintain. I need a woman who can keep up with me, not someone who treats intimacy like a religious ritual."
He reached out, pulling Sasha closer by the waist, his eyes dark with a mixture of relief and lingering anger. "She's gone now. Let's not waste another second of our breath on her. She's a closed chapter. A mistake I've finally corrected."
Sasha hummed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Fine by me. But you still have a mess to clean up, darling. What are you going to tell your friends? And your mother? The wedding is in what—three weeks? The invitations are already out."
Julian groaned, the reality of the logistics finally hitting him. "I'll handle the friends. I'll just tell them the truth—that she wasn't the right fit for the direction my life is going. They'll understand. Half of them were wondering why I was with her anyway. My mother... she'll be a problem. She's fond of Clara. But she'll get over it once she sees you. Once she realizes I've traded a 'charity case' for a queen."
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the window, looking out over the city skyline toward the affluent northern district where the truly elite lived.
"And your father?" Sasha asked softly. "Arthur? What will he say when he finds out you dumped his 'perfect' little protégé?"
Julian's jaw tightened at the mention of his father's name. The relationship between them was a cold war that had lasted for over half a decade. Arthur Sterling was a titan—a man of silence, shadow, and immense, terrifying power.
"My father?" Julian scoffed, a trace of bitterness leaking into his tone. "The old man wouldn't even care. He hasn't cared about my business or my life for five years. He's lived like a hermit in that mausoleum of a mansion, judging me from a distance while he does absolutely nothing. He abandoned his responsibilities to the family name a long time ago. As long as I don't embarrass the Sterling brand, he won't even look up from his books."
Julian turned away from the window, pulling Sasha back toward the bed. "He's irrelevant. They're all irrelevant. Tomorrow, I start the life I was actually meant to live."