Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up with a headache that felt like someone was using a jackhammer on my skull. My throat was as dry as sandpaper.

Groaning, I scrambled to sit up and chugged the entire glass of water resting on my nightstand.

Looking around, I noticed I was in my own bedroom, wearing clean pajamas. Wow.

Look at me, handling my liquor like a champ! Even completely wasted, I managed to get myself home—even if I had zero recollection of how it happened.

Just as I was mentally patting myself on the back, the door swung open.

Julian stood there, looking cold enough to freeze hell over.

"You're awake? Get up and eat."

Seeing his sour face instantly killed my good mood. "None of your business. I’m going back to sleep."

I gave him a dirty look and yanked the duvet over my head.

The comments floated back into view.

[Uh-oh. The jealousy is practically dripping off him, and she’s completely clueless!]

[Julian is literally on the verge of exploding! God, why did he have to be born with a mouth he never uses?! Just tell her you love her, man!]

Jealousy? Julian? Over what?

Before I could process the words, Julian ripped the blanket right off me.

"Get up and eat some chicken soup. You threw up all over the place last night. You need something in your stomach."

He waved a hand, and the housekeeper brought in a tray of breakfast.

I sat there quietly sipping the broth, a creeping sense of dread settling in my gut. How did he know I threw up? I didn't remember puking at all.

"So... you know I had too much to drink last night?" I asked cautiously, looking at him while he silently drank his black coffee.

"Yeah." Julian didn't even look up. Face completely blank.

"Did I... say anything weird?"

My panic spiked. Alcohol really was the enemy.

My original plan was to let him reconnect with his first love, get our clean divorce, and cash in.

But if Julian found out that his legal wife was at a nightclub groping hired dancers, wouldn't that make me the guilty party in this marriage?

"You mistook me for a club dancer," Julian said flatly. "You tried to touch my abs, and demanded I stay the night with you."

The floating chat exploded:

[LMAOOOO she treated her billionaire husband like an escort! Icon behavior!]

[She was literally all over him last night! Kept screaming that if his 'service' was good, she'd tip him big! I wonder what Julian's hourly rate is, haha!]

Between Julian’s deadpan delivery and the floating text right in front of my face, I choked. A mouthful of hot broth sprayed straight out—landing squarely across Julian’s crisp white shirt.

Before my brain could even process the sheer horror of my actions from last night, the current crime scene dealt me another blow.

Panicking, I grabbed a handful of napkins and lunged forward to wipe his chest.

Julian’s brow twitched. He looked down at me, totally unamused. "You spit on me. Again."

With that, he turned on his heel and headed to his room to shower, leaving me frozen in a pool of humiliation and panic.

The second his door clicked shut, I scrambled for my phone and dialed Harper.

"Awake already?" Harper’s lazy, teasing voice came through the speaker. "Guess Julian didn't punish you hard enough last night."

"What does Julian have to do with anything?!" I squeaked, my voice shaking.

"Girl, your husband literally came to drag your drunk ass out of the VIP booth! You were screaming at the top of your lungs that you wanted him in your bed all night to check his six-pack!"

"I didn't know you had it in you to publicly harass Julian Sterling."

"After he carried you out over his shoulder, did he tear your clothes off? You guys have the weirdest foreplay, I swear."

Harper cackled on the other end, clearly writing an entire erotic novel in her head.

I didn't have the energy to play along. I had been caught red-handed.

Hiring club guys, demanding private services, and—worst of all—groping Julian thinking he was an escort.

I was doomed. Morally, I had completely lost the upper hand.

You know what? Screw it. My ultimate goal was still a divorce! Since he already thought the worst of me, I might as well lean into the villain role.

I marched over, knocked on Julian’s door, and stared firmly at my slippers.

"Let's get a divorce."