The Cold Awakening

Footsteps struck the polished hardwood floor. Julian pushed open the door to the third-floor infirmary, his tailored suit immaculate and his expression an unreadable mask. He stepped into the sterile room out of sheer obligation. The woman lying in that bed was supposed to be his future wife. Checking on her after a traffic incident was a necessary task, a basic responsibility he had to fulfill. He possessed no actual concern for her wellbeing.

"Update me on her condition," Julian ordered, his deep voice slicing through the quiet hum of the medical equipment.

Lucian, the private doctor, turned away from the monitors with a clipboard. He adjusted his glasses and gave a reassuring nod. "There is no major problem. Hayes is safe and sound. Sister-in-law only suffered a bruised knee. Her fainting spell is due to extreme physical exhaustion. However..." Lucian paused, his brow furrowing. "Boss, I recall her being in good health before. Right now, her overall health indicators are shockingly poor. She has a frail physique. Do you usually mistreat sister-in-law?"

Julian ignored the ridiculous question. His sharp gaze bypassed the doctor and landed on the hospital bed. The woman resting under the crisp sheets was petite, her skin pale against the soft pillows. She looked fragile, like a delicate porcelain doll stripped of all vitality.

A harsh frown formed between Julian's brows. That face did not belong to Giselle.

It was Sylvie.

The air in the room dropped several degrees. Julian’s mind flashed back to the scene he had witnessed earlier. He remembered seeing this exact woman lingering by an old man’s side, playing the part of a docile companion. Yet now, she had somehow taken Giselle's place in the accident and infiltrated his private home.

What was her motive? Was this a calculated scheme to get inside his villa?

Disgust curled in his chest. "Don’t worry about her," Julian instructed, his tone dropping to a freezing register. "Ask her to leave the moment she wakes up."

Lucian’s eyes widened in disbelief. He hurried forward and blocked Julian’s path. "Hey, I can’t do that! Did you quarrel with sister-in-law?" The doctor shook his head, misinterpreting the hostile atmosphere as a simple lovers' spat. "Even if you had a fight, she is weak and injured. This is the time when she needs someone by her side. As a man and her fiancé, you have to take care of her."

Julian opened his mouth to correct him, but Lucian did not give him the chance.

"I don’t care what you two fought about," Lucian insisted, backing toward the hallway. "You stay right here while I go prepare her medicine." Without waiting for a refusal, the doctor bolted out the door.

Silence descended upon the infirmary. Julian stood rooted to the spot. His handsome features hardened into solid ice. Left alone with the imposter, the mental image of Sylvie nestled in that old man's arms resurfaced, fueling his disdain.

He took a deliberate step toward the bedside table. His hand wrapped around a glass of cold water. He did not hesitate. He lifted the glass and splashed the freezing water over her pale face.

The bone-chilling shock did its job. Sylvie gasped sharply. The icy liquid jolted her awake, sending her springing up from the mattress in a panic. She coughed, wiping the dripping water from her eyelashes as she dragged oxygen into her burning lungs.

As soon as her vision cleared, she froze. A towering figure stood right beside the bed. He wore a crisp black suit, paired with a matching dark necktie and watch. Looking up at him, he radiated the oppressive charisma of a ruthless king, his presence alone enough to strike fear into anyone's heart.

Sylvie clutched the wet sheets, her heart hammering. "Julian Sterling!!!" she blurted out in shock.

"Why are you here? Where is this place?!"

Julian stared at her. To him, her exaggerated reaction was nothing more than a cheap theatrical performance. He harbored zero patience for a woman who lacked basic self-respect.

"Get lost," he spat out.

The words were merciless. Sylvie shivered, the cold water soaking into her hospital gown. She sat there in a daze, her mind struggling to piece together fragmented memories. She remembered fleeing the clubhouse to escape Clive, the blinding headlights, and getting hit by a car. Nothing after that made sense.

Why was she in Julian’s house? And why was he treating her like a mortal enemy? He glared at her as if she owed him money.

Anger flared in her chest. She had just survived a traumatic car accident, yet this arrogant jerk was telling her to get lost without an ounce of human decency. She decided she could not be bothered to spend another second breathing the same air as this blind, hostile man.

Sylvie threw off the heavy quilt. She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and planted her bare feet onto the floor, intent on storming out.

But the moment she shifted her weight, a sharp, agonizing pain shot upward from her bruised knee.

"Ahh!" A breathless cry escaped her lips. Her injured leg buckled. Her body went limp, gravity dragging her down.

Basic survival instinct kicked in. Sylvie flailed her arms out to brace for impact, her hands frantically seeking nearby support. Her slender arms wrapped tight around the closest solid object.

She crashed into Julian's broad chest.

The sudden impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She found herself clinging to his waist, her soft frame pressed flush against the rigid muscle of his torso. His tall physique became her sole pillar of support. In the quiet room, the posture was an intimate one, the kind of embrace that would spark misunderstandings.

Julian’s spine stiffened into a steel rod. His hands hovered in the air, caught off guard. An alarm bell rang in his head, not because of the physical contact, but because of his own disturbing lack of resistance. Why hadn't he shoved her away the second she touched him?

Refusing to acknowledge the improper emotion stirring inside him, Julian forced the sudden throbbing in his blood to settle. He lowered his dark gaze to the wet, shivering woman clinging to his waist.

"Do you use this kind of lowly means to seduce men?" he asked, his voice dripping with icy contempt.