Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Julian
"You look like a different person."
I leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching Harper in front of the mirror—no, I should call her Luna now.
She'd just finished curling her hair. What used to fall to her waist now cascaded in soft brown waves, the ends curling gently inward to expose the delicate curve of her neck.
The makeup artist was working on her brows with a shade I'd personally selected—one that would make those dull eyes of hers bright and deep.
"Is this really okay?" Her voice still carried that careful hesitation, like she was afraid of disturbing something.
"Of course it is." I stepped closer, taking the eyebrow pencil from the makeup artist's hand to finish the job myself. "You've always been beautiful, Luna. You just never had anyone teach you how to show it."
Harper's lashes fluttered.
I knew what she was thinking—she was thinking about that man named Kirill, that bastard who broke her heart.
Honestly, when I first ran into Harper in that rundown little town, I barely recognized her from the wanted poster. She was too thin, her face sallow, her eyes swollen like walnuts, her whole body radiating the aura of someone about to die.
But I still recognized her.
Because of those eyes.
Even though they were red and raw from crying, even though they were filled with despair and pain, something still flickered in them—a stubborn, defiant light that refused to give up.
That light was what drew me in.
In that moment, I changed my plan.
Originally, I'd only wanted to use her to get back at Genevie and Kirill. That bitch had destroyed my reputation, made the whole world think I was some wife-beater, then ran back to her first love while I was left in San Francisco dealing with all the gossip.
And Kirill Orlov, that Russian bastard in New York, had the nerve to take in my woman?
I'd planned to use Harper as a pawn. Wait until Kirill went crazy looking for her, then hand her over—along with a hefty price tag. Money, power, whatever.
But now...
"Done." I set down the pencil and stepped back to admire my work.
The woman in the mirror looked completely different.
Her skin had become fair and translucent after months of care. Those little freckles she used to hide were now her most distinctive feature.
Most importantly, her eyes had changed.
"Do you like it?" I asked.
Harper stared at herself in the mirror for a long time.
"I don't recognize her," she said softly.
"Then get to know her." I bent down, whispering in her ear. "From today on, you're Luna. Harper Evans died in that little town, buried with her brother. And Luna..."
My fingers traced lightly across her shoulder. I felt her slight tremor.
"Luna's going to have a good life."
Two months later, Luna found work at a nursing home in the Bay Area.
I'd originally arranged something easier for her—my gallery needed a receptionist. Respectable work, good pay, and close to where I lived.
But she refused.
"I like taking care of elderly people," she said, her tone calm but firm. "It's the only thing I'm good at."
I watched her put on that plain caregiver's uniform and suddenly realized some things couldn't be changed.
She could curl her hair, learn to do makeup, wear the clothes I picked out for her, but deep down, she was still that kind, nurturing Harper Evans.
It gave me an odd sense of pride.
I'd seen too many people who'd do anything for money and power. I was one of them.
But Harper—she had a chance at a better life, yet chose to keep working as a caregiver. She vaguely sensed my wealth and could have latched onto me, but she always kept her distance.
Finding such an interesting woman and reshaping her into what I wanted—that was incredibly satisfying. Watching a withered branch bloom under my hands.
I started looking forward to seeing her after work every day.
"Luna, your husband's here to pick you up!"
The receptionist at the nursing home called cheerfully down the hallway, then winked at me. "You two are so sweet. He comes to get you every single day."
I smiled politely. "As I should."
Yes, we were married now.
I'd made that decision three months ago. Luna's belly had started to show, and the neighbors' gossip was getting worse. A single woman moving into an apartment pregnant—no matter how you explained it, it would cause trouble.
"Let's pretend to be married," I'd suggested. "It's better for you, for the baby."
Harper had hesitated for a long time.
"Just pretend in public," I'd added. "At home, things stay the same. You take the bedroom, I'll take the guest room. We'll stay out of each other's way."
"Why?" She'd looked up at me, those eyes full of complicated emotions I couldn't read. "Why would you help me this much?"
Why?
I couldn't really explain it myself.
Maybe because reshaping her gave me some strange satisfaction.
Maybe I simply wanted to possess her.
"Because I like doing good deeds," I'd said with a smile. "Besides, having a beautiful fake wife helps me dodge a lot of trouble."
Eventually, she agreed.
We moved into a small apartment in the Bay Area. Not big, but cozy—two bedrooms, a small living room, and a balcony with a sliver of ocean view.
Compared to my luxury downtown apartment, this place was laughably shabby. But somehow, every time I opened that door and smelled Luna's cooking, I felt this strange sense of... belonging.
"You're early today." Luna emerged from the changing room, already out of her work clothes and wearing that light blue dress we'd bought last week.
"Wanted to see you sooner." I took her bag and naturally took her hand. "Come on, I'm cooking tonight."
Her fingers tensed slightly in my palm but didn't pull away.
Progress.
"Julian, you don't have to do this."
"Do what?" I played dumb, opening the car door for her.
Luna didn't answer, just bit her lip and looked out the window.
I knew what she meant.
These past few months, I'd been playing the husband role too convincingly—so convincingly I was starting to lose track of what was real.
At first, it was just to cover her identity, to keep the neighbors from getting suspicious. But somewhere along the way, I'd started enjoying this life—coming home to someone waiting, having company while cooking, hearing her soft breathing before sleep.
This mundane, trivial daily routine was something I'd never experienced in my life.
In San Francisco, I had all the power I wanted, lived in an empty mansion, and never lacked for women.
But only Luna was different from all those other women. Gentle and warm—just being near her made me feel calm.
Maybe that's why I was addicted.
"Julian." Her voice was quiet. "Why are you so good to me?"
My hand paused.
Why?
Because you've given me peace I've never known? Because you're the only clean thing in this dirty world? Because I've realized I don't want to let go?
But I didn't say any of that.
"Because you deserve it." I turned to look at her seriously. "And besides, taking care of a pregnant woman is a husband's responsibility, isn't it?"
She was quiet for a long time, then simply said "thank you" and went to her room to rest.
I watched her retreating figure, suddenly wanting to tell her—
Maybe we could keep playing this part for the rest of our lives.
Three a.m., and Luna was up again with morning sickness.
I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand supporting her back, the other offering water.
This was the fourth time this week.
I'd gotten used to being woken by her muffled retching, used to rushing barefoot into her room, used to sitting with her on the cold bathroom floor until she had nothing left to throw up.
"Feel better?" I wiped the cold sweat from her forehead with a damp towel.
She nodded weakly, leaning against me and gasping.
"Sorry... woke you up again..."
"Nothing to be sorry for," I raised an eyebrow. "I just got you some water."
"You know that's not what I mean." She took the glass, sipping slowly. "You make me breakfast every day, go to all my appointments, take care of me at night... You have your own business. You don't need to waste your time on me."
"It's not a waste."
My voice came out more serious than I'd intended.
She looked up, slightly surprised.
Moonlight leaked through the curtain gaps, falling on her pale face like a thin silver veil.
God, she was beautiful now.
"Julian?"
"Hmm?"
"What... what are you thinking?"
What was I thinking?
I was thinking how I wished you weren't Kirill's wife. How I wished the baby in your belly was mine.
How I wished... you could love me the way you loved him.
But I said nothing.
"I'm thinking," I stood up, helping her back onto the pillow, "you should get more rest. You have work tomorrow."
"Thank you," she said softly, drowsiness creeping into her voice.
"You're welcome."
I sat by the bed for a long time, watching her drift off to sleep.
When did it start?
When did I start really treating her as my wife? When did coming home to see her become the best part of my day?
When did I start envying that Kirill Orlov I'd never met?
Julian Dante had never believed in love.
In my world, there was only using and being used, only transactions and leverage. Women were decorations to me—use them and toss them aside, like Genevie.
Two months later, Luna gave birth.
That night, I was handling a deal when I got a call from her coworker at the nursing home—Luna's water had broken at work. She'd been rushed to the hospital.
I practically flew to get there, only to be stopped outside the delivery room. Actually, a month ago, I'd suggested being there for the birth.
But Luna had refused flatly. The truth was, while I was nearly lost in this game of playing house, she'd stayed clear-headed, keeping me outside her walls.
For twelve solid hours, I sat on a plastic chair in that hallway, anxious like any ordinary husband.
I suddenly realized this was the first time in my life I'd been this nervous over a woman.
Four a.m., a nurse pushed open the door and smiled at me. "Congratulations, it's a boy. Mother and baby are doing well."
I practically burst into the room.
Luna lay in the bed, her face pale as paper, but her eyes were startlingly bright. In her arms was a tiny baby, so small, so fragile.
"Julian," she saw me and smiled weakly. "Look, it's a boy."
I walked to the bedside and looked down at the wrinkled little guy.
His eyes weren't open yet. His little fists were clenched tight, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to say something.
"What's his name?" I heard myself ask.
"Aiden." Luna's voice was soft as a sigh. "Same as my brother."
Aiden.
She'd named this child after her dead brother.
And I had originally planned to squeeze Kirill and Genevie hard once she'd had the baby.
But now, looking at Luna's exhausted but happy face, looking at that little guy sleeping in her arms, I suddenly didn't want to do that anymore.
I didn't want to hurt her.
I left the room and leaned against the hallway wall, closing my eyes and finally admitting the truth I'd been avoiding.
I'd fallen in love with Luna.
It was absurd.
But fuck it.
I'd done countless things that violated morality and law in my life—what was one more violation of my own principles?
The next evening, I showed up at the hospital room door with a huge bouquet of white roses.
Luna was nursing Aiden. She looked up at the sound.
"You came," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"Of course I came." I walked in and arranged the flowers in the bedside vase. "How could I not come see my wife and son?"
"Julian..."
"I know," I sat on the edge of the bed, my gaze falling on Aiden in her arms. "He's not my son. We're not really married. But Luna..."
I looked up, meeting her eyes.
"I want to make it real."
Her body went rigid.
"I mean it," my voice was more serious than it had ever been. "These past few months, I kept asking myself why I was helping you. At first, I thought it was to get back at Kirill and Genevie. Then I thought it was because I liked reshaping you like a work of art. But now I understand..."
I took a deep breath.
"I've fallen in love with you, Luna."
Luna didn't speak, just looked at me quietly.
"I know you still have that man in your heart," I continued. "I know you might never love me the way you loved him. But I don't care. I just want... I just want to be by your side. Protect you, protect Aiden. Give you both a complete home."
"Julian..."
"You don't have to answer now." I stood up. "Take your time. As long as you need. Whatever your answer is, I'll respect it. But Luna—"
I bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"I'll wait for you. Until the day you're ready."
Luna's eyes reddened.
After a long moment, she spoke softly. "Julian, I... I need some time."
"I know." I smiled. "Time I've got plenty of."
I turned and left the room, stopping only when I reached the end of the hallway.
Some time.
She'd said "some time," not "impossible."
Didn't that mean I still had a chance?
I leaned against the wall, looking up at the stark white ceiling, and suddenly laughed.
Julian Dante, anxious over a woman.
If my people saw this, they'd think I'd lost my mind.
Maybe I really had.
I pulled out my phone and looked at the message notification on the screen.
It was from my contact in New York—Kirill had raised the bounty to five million dollars and was personally searching for Harper across the country.
Five million dollars.
Looked like that Russian bastard had really lost it.
I laughed coldly and put the phone away.
Come on, Kirill Orlov.
Let's see if you can take her from me.