Chapter 3

The thirteenth floor was the Marketing Department, Izzy Dubois’s territory.

I deliberately assigned Julian there, hoping to watch a good show.

That afternoon, I found an excuse to "inspect" and strolled over to the thirteenth floor.

Stepping out of the elevator, I saw Izzy in the breakroom doorway, holding a cup of coffee and chatting with a few female colleagues.

Julian, meanwhile, was mopping the floor not far away, a bucket of water and a mop his companions.

“Izzy, were you and Julian Thorne really… an item?” a female colleague gossiped.

Izzy sighed, her voice laced with infinite regret and melancholy. “That’s all in the past. I just never thought he’d fall to this level. To think, back then, he was so devoted to me… Oh, let’s not talk about it.”

Her words were veiled, half-spoken, designed to spark endless speculation, as if Julian had been madly in love with her.

Another colleague chimed in, “Why are you still bothering with him now that he’s like this? A toilet cleaner? How utterly depressing.”

“Don’t say that.” Izzy immediately countered, though her voice was soft and lacked conviction. “He’s only like this temporarily. Julian is so talented, he’s sure to rise again. I… I’ll wait for him.”

“Wait for him? Please.” A sarcastic voice cut in. “I think he’s Val’s personal project now. Didn’t you see Val this morning? She’s practically parading him around as her kept man, declaring ownership. You, my dear, should just give up that fantasy.”

Izzy’s face flushed then paled, then flushed again. She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes.

“I didn’t… I just feel sorry for him…”

As she spoke, she carried her coffee, looking utterly pitiful, towards Julian.

“Julian, honey, are you tired? I made you some coffee.”

Julian stopped mopping, looking at her with an unreadable expression. He didn’t reach out to take the cup.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

Izzy’s smile froze. “But, you used to love the Blue Mountain coffee I ground for you…”

“That was before.” Julian cut her off, his voice icy, devoid of warmth. “Ms. Dubois, if you have nothing else, please move. You’re blocking my path.”

Izzy’s face completely changed. She stared at Julian in disbelief, as if she didn’t recognize him.

The surrounding colleagues were all watching the spectacle, openly amused.

I leaned against the wall, barely suppressing a laugh.

This drama was even more entertaining than I’d imagined.

Back home that evening, I kicked off my high heels the moment I walked in, padding barefoot on the carpet.

“Julian, where’s dinner?”

He emerged from the kitchen, still wearing that ridiculous apron.

“Almost ready.”

I threw myself onto the sofa, issuing commands like a queen.

“I want Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, Australian lobster, and Kobe beef.”

He paused. “We don’t have those ingredients at home.”

“Then go buy them.” I tossed my black card onto the table. “You have an hour. If you’re not back with them, you’re not eating tonight.”

He looked at the card, then at me, said nothing, picked up the card, and left.

I hummed a tune, turned on the TV, and waited for my lavish meal.

But before he returned, my stomach began to cramp.

My old enemy. Period cramps. Can’t have anything cold, can’t overexert myself. Today had been packed with meetings and dealing with Izzy, leaving me utterly exhausted. And I’d been walking barefoot on the cold floors all evening.

Now, karma was catching up.

I curled into a ball on the sofa, clutching my stomach, cold sweat beading on my forehead.

I fumbled for my phone to call Chloe to bring my painkillers, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.

The cramping intensified, a twisting agony that made me feel like I was dying.

Just as my consciousness began to blur, the door opened.

Julian was back.

He saw me in that state, paused, then dropped his bags of groceries and rushed over.

“What’s wrong?”

“My… my stomach…” I gasped, squeezing out the words through clenched teeth.

Without another word, he scooped me up bridal-style and hurried to the bedroom.

He gently placed me on the bed and pulled the covers over me.

I expected him to rush out for meds or pace anxiously, like some hero in a romance novel.

But he didn’t.

He simply turned and walked out of the room.

I curled up, writhing in pain, a cold laugh forming in my mind.

See, Valerie, this is the ‘husband’ you bought with money. You could die in front of him, and he wouldn’t spare you a second glance.

A few minutes later, he returned.

He held a hot water bottle, a glass of warm water, and a strip of pills.

He tucked the hot water bottle into my embrace, then helped me sit up, offering the pills and water to my lips.

“Take these.”

I looked at him. They were pills for stomach cramps, the exact brand I always took.

I was stunned.

“How did you know…?”

“They’re in your dresser drawer,” he said flatly, avoiding my gaze.

I silently took the medicine.

The warmth of the hot water bottle and the effect of the medication gradually eased the agony in my stomach.

I leaned against the headboard, watching him.

He didn’t leave. Instead, he sat on the rug beside the bed, silently keeping vigil.

Only a dim bedside lamp was on, casting a soft, golden glow on his face, softening his usually sharp features slightly.

I suddenly realized I had never looked at him this closely, this quietly, before.

How did he know where my medicine was?

Was it a coincidence?

Or…

Julian’s "consideration" only lasted one night.

The next day, he reverted to being the silent, submissive janitor and house-husband.