His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 285: The Tyrant

As Julian bent down to change his shoes, he frowned deeply. Pointing at the pair of high heels tucked under the shoe cabinet, he snapped sharply, "Get those out of here. Throw them away."

"Yes, sir," the housekeeper replied softly, not daring to question him. She quickly picked up the expensive heels and headed outside.

Vivian's heart jumped. She stood up, flustered, and tried to explain, "I only just bought those—I must have forgotten to put them away properly. The housekeeper didn't notice—"

But before she could finish, the heels were already carried out and dumped into the trash bin outside the estate.

Julian walked into the living room, loosening his tie as he went.

Lily rose nervously from the couch, swallowed, and forced a smile. "Julian, you're back. Dinner's ready—we were just waiting for you to join us."

He shot her a cold glance and didn't respond.

As he crossed the room toward the staircase, he suddenly noticed both Vivian and Lily were wearing full makeup and rather flashy dresses.

He stopped and turned, his voice icy. "Have you two been out?"

Lily nodded quickly. "Yes, Vivian and I went shopping earlier."

Julian's expression hardened. His words came out like chips of ice. "How many times do I have to say it? When you come in from outside, you wash up and change before sitting on the furniture."

"We're not dirty," Vivian said, restraining herself, a strained smile on her face.

Julian turned to the housekeeper. "Change the sofa covers. Now."

Over the past three years, they had gone through hundreds of sofa covers, dozens of curtain sets, and more plates and glasses than anyone could count. The staff were used to it by now. "Right away, Mr. Everhart," the housekeeper responded respectfully.

Julian's eyes swept the room once more—and suddenly darkened.

Everyone tensed, watching him anxiously, as if walking on eggshells.

He strode over to the coffee table, picked up the vase, and demanded angrily, "Why are these flowers different from yesterday's?"

Lily spoke up hastily, "Julian, they're the same kind—I picked them out myself this morning. Every stem was chosen carefully."

"There's one less yellow rose," Julian stated flatly. Then he lifted the vase and simply let it drop.

It hit the hardwood floor with a loud crash, shattering into pieces. Water and flowers scattered everywhere.

Everyone flinched.

They were almost used to scenes like this by now—but beneath the numbness simmered a steady undercurrent of frustration.

Julian issued another cold order. "Arrange a new bouquet. Same vase, same flowers—not a single petal out of place."

Ever since Julian had moved back into Rosehill Estate, the place had turned into something like a sterile lab. The household staff had grown from one to eight, all dedicated to daily cleaning and order.

The maids now took reference photos of every room before cleaning, afraid to disturb so much as a dust particle.

Cup and plate patterns had to align perfectly. Glass surfaces and tables must show no smudges or fingerprints. Every detail was governed by his rigid, almost manic sense of order—even the placement of the doormat couldn't be a millimeter off.

His germophobia and obsessive-compulsive habits had been slowly driving everyone in the house up the wall.

Caleb had eventually moved out, unable to take it anymore.

Harold and Irene couldn't stand the tension and retreated to their own home. Even Beatrice found an excuse to visit relatives back in her hometown, leaving only Lily and Frederick and Vivian behind.

Household staff had been replaced over a dozen times.

After three years, Lily too had reached her limit. No matter how deep her affection had once been, daily life under such conditions felt like a form of slow torture.

After Iris left, Lily's depression had gradually lifted, and her injured leg had healed.

When Julian returned to Rosehill Estate, she'd thought her long-awaited happiness had finally arrived.

But during these three years by his side, she hadn't felt a moment of real peace—only a relentless, grinding strain on her nerves.

Julian had changed. Now he inflicted that strain on everyone around him, without exception.

Several staff rushed in, knelt down, and began clearing the broken glass and wilted flowers.

Lily finally snapped. She marched up to Julian, clenched her teeth, and shouted, "I am not redoing those flowers today, you—"

Before she could finish, Julian's eyes turned dark. He grabbed her by the throat.

Lily gasped in pain, her hands flying up to clutch at his wrist. Fear flashed in her eyes as her breath grew shallow.

Vivian went pale, her limbs weak with fright. "Julian, what are you doing?! Let go of her! Are you trying to kill her?"

Tears welled in Lily's eyes as she struggled helplessly.

But Julian remained ice-cold, unmoved. His voice was low, chilling, like something out of a deep freeze. "By the time I come back downstairs after my shower, I want an identical bouquet arranged. Understood?"

Lily's lips were turning bluish. Terrified, she managed a shaky nod.

Everyone else stood frozen, too scared to intervene, afraid they'd become targets themselves.

Julian narrowed his eyes, his words gritted out like a demon's whisper. "The next time you raise your voice at me like that, I'll make sure you never walk again. You'll learn what real paralysis feels like."

With that, he shoved her away hard, sending her stumbling to the floor. Then he turned and went upstairs without another glance.

Lily crumpled on the ground, tears streaming as she clutched her aching throat, gasping and shuddering.

Vivian hurried over and helped her up, her own voice trembling. "He's lost his mind. How could he treat you like that?"

Lily's face was a mask of hurt and betrayal. Sobbing, she buried her face in Vivian's shoulder. "He's not the Julian I've known since we were kids... He's a monster now. I can't live here anymore... I want to go home..."