Last night, before the end of the ball, Kelly had desperately searched for Mrs. Flourish to inform her of the unfortunate turn of events. But no matter where she looked, the lady of the house was nowhere to be found. Kelly was left seething, torn between her frustration and the helplessness of not being able to intervene. She knew she couldn't bring this matter to just anyone—it had to be Mrs. Flourish. Defeated, she spent the night fuming in the guest room, her mind racing with all the possible outcomes of what transpired behind Julian's locked door.
Morning arrived, and Rose, having changed into something comfortable, prepared to go about her day. It was still the weekend, meaning she had a day off, but her body felt anything but rested. There was an unfamiliar weight pressing down on her chest—something she didn't quite know how to process. She decided a simple meal might help settle her nerves.
Walking into the kitchen, she was met with the piercing gaze of an unfamiliar woman. The hostility in her stare was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down Rose's spine. She didn't know her, didn't even understand why she was looking at her that way, but there was an unmistakable air of silent judgment surrounding the woman. From her poised stance and elegant dress, Rose could tell she had been an invited guest at last night's ball.
Still, Rose mustered the politeness to greet her.
No response.
Instead, the woman turned on her heels and left without a word.
Confused but unwilling to dwell on it, Rose continued with her breakfast. But as she turned to leave with her plate, she found Julian standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his unreadable gaze locked onto her.
Her breath hitched. In that instant, everything from last night came rushing back—the intensity, the heat, the loss of control. She could feel the warmth creeping up her face, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. But it wasn't just embarrassment—it was the deep discomfort of not knowing how to feel about it all.
She lowered her head, her grip tightening on the plate. "Good morning," she mumbled quickly, not waiting for a response before trying to slip past him.
But Julian wasn't about to let her go so easily.
His hand caught her wrist, gently but firmly pulling her back into the kitchen.
"Wait," his voice was steady, yet there was an underlying urgency to it.
Rose swallowed hard. She didn't want to have this conversation. She didn't know how to have this conversation.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded stiffly. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't. She still felt weak—her legs unsteady, her body still adjusting to what had been her first time. And worst of all, she had no idea how to act around him now. She had given herself to him under circumstances she hadn't anticipated, and now, standing here with him again, she felt exposed in a way she never had before.
Julian's gaze darkened slightly as he studied her. He could see right through her lie.
"Was that your first time?" he asked suddenly.
She fell silent.
When she didn't respond, he let out a breath and leaned against the counter, his voice turning matter-of-fact. "You stained my bedspread."
Her head snapped up in shock. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She had been so preoccupied with leaving his room as quickly as possible that she hadn't even thought about that detail.
"I—" she started but couldn't find the words.
Julian watched her carefully, his usual unreadable expression firmly in place. "You don't have to worry about it," he said finally. "You don't have to wash it."
Her lips parted slightly, still taken aback, but before she could say anything, he continued.
"I want to apologize," his voice softened, though his posture remained as composed as ever. "For what happened last night. I didn't mean for it to happen that way."
Something about his tone made her chest tighten. He wasn't just saying it to ease his own conscience—there was a sincerity in his voice that she hadn't expected.
"And I want to take responsibility," he added, his gaze unwavering. "Stay with me. Be my girl."
Rose's heart stopped for a moment. She stared at him, trying to process his words. But then the weight of it all—the rushed, chaotic nature of last night, the pressure of what he was asking—came crashing down on her.
"No."
Julian's brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable once more. "Why?"
"Because… because I don't want that," she answered, gripping her plate tighter. "I want to forget about it. And you should too."
There was a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance? Disappointment? She couldn't tell. But his jaw tightened ever so slightly.
"You're saying it didn't mean anything?" he asked, his tone calm, yet edged with something sharp beneath the surface.
Rose hesitated. Did it mean something? It had felt… intense. Consuming. But that didn't mean she could just accept whatever he was offering—not when she didn't even understand what she felt herself.
"It doesn't matter what it meant," she finally said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I just want to move on."
Julian studied her for a long moment, but then, to her relief, he sighed and stepped aside, giving her a clear path to leave.
Without another word, Rose walked past him, her steps quick, her heartbeat erratic.
Julian remained in the kitchen, watching her go, his expression unreadable. But inside, something stirred—something unresolved.
And one thing was certain.
He needed to find his mother and get answers.