Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 33

Julian: POV

"I haven't even started talking about your shit yet," I said against her skin, my mouth moving down to the curve of her shoulder. "Your past. The clubs. The men."

Her entire body went rigid beneath my hands. Like I'd just electrocuted her.

"What are you—" she started, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don't play innocent with me." My hands gripped her waist, rough and possessive, pinning her harder against the door. "I know what you did before we got married. The partying. The screwing around. You think I didn't know?"

The color drained from her face so fast I thought she might pass out. Her amber eyes went wide, filled with something that looked like pure horror.

"That's not—Julian, that's not true—"

"Bullshit." My voice was cold now. "I've seen the photos, Elena. I know everything."

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.

"Those photos were fake!" The words finally burst out, desperate and raw. "Victoria set me up—she used that AI shit—Deepfake or whatever—Julian, please, you have to believe me—"

Her words hit me like a punch. Fake? Deepfake? I'd never considered that possibility, but now a sliver of doubt crept in. What if she was telling the truth? Those photos had seemed too perfect, too conveniently timed. The doubt nagged at me.

"I'll have someone investigate," I said, my voice still hard but with an edge of uncertainty I hated. "If they're fake, we'll find out. But if you're lying—"

She shoved at my chest then. Hard. Harder than I'd expected from someone so small.

"I'm not lying!" Her voice rose to something close to a scream. "I've never been with anyone but you! Those photos aren't real—they can't be—because I never—"

Her words turned to sobs, making my chest twist painfully.

"You bastard," she choked out between tears, her hands still pushing weakly at me. "You fucking bastard. You believe her over me. You always believe her."

"I hate you." Each word punctuated by another weak blow. "I hate you so much. You're such a bully—you just keep hurting me—"

Watching her fall apart like this—crying and raging and breaking down—it made my chest ache in a way I'd never felt before.

*When did I start making her cry like this?*

I looked at the tears streaming down her face, leaving tracks through her makeup. At the way her whole body trembled like she was coming apart.

'What the fuck have I done?'

My hands loosened on her waist. The rage faded, replaced by something heavier, like shame.

"Elena." My voice came out softer than I intended.

"Don't." She turned her face away, still crying. Her whole body was shaking. "Don't pretend you care. Not after everything you just said."

"I—" The words stuck in my throat like broken glass.

*What the fuck am I supposed to say? 'Sorry for calling you a slut'? 'Sorry for believing the worst about you for three fucking years'?*

She tried to push past me, her movements weak and uncoordinated. "I need to leave."

I caught her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you." Her voice was so tired. "Just... away."

"Elena—"

"Let me go, Julian." Fresh tears spilled over, and she wouldn't even look at me. "Please. I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

That please—that single fucking word—broke something in me.

Instead of releasing her, I pulled her against my chest, my arms wrapping around her shaking body. She fought for a moment, her fists hitting my shoulders, my chest, anywhere she could reach.

"I hate you," she sobbed into my shirt, her voice muffled and broken. "I hate you so much."

"I know." My hand moved to the back of her head, holding her close, feeling her tears soak through the fabric. "I know you do."

"You never believe me." Her words came out in gasps between sobs. "You never trust me. You think I'm some—some slut who—" Her voice cracked completely. "And I'm not. I've never—I only ever wanted you."

*I've never been with anyone but you.* The words echoed in my mind, and despite everything, a spark of unexpected happiness flickered through me. If that was true—if I was her first, her only... that meant she was mine in a way no one else could claim. The thought made my chest swell with possessive joy.

*Fuck.*

"Stop crying," I said quietly, my hand stroking her hair. The strands were soft beneath my fingers, still carrying that vanilla scent that had haunted me for three years.

"Why?" She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes red and swollen and so vulnerable it made my chest tight. "So you can hurt me again? So you can remind me how worthless I am to you?"

"You're not worthless."

"Then what am I?" A bitter laugh escaped through her tears. "Your convenient wife? Your obligation? The girl you're stuck with until the contract runs out?"

My jaw clenched. *That's not—*

But wasn't it? Hadn't I treated her exactly like that for three years? Like she was some burden I had to carry? Some mistake I was trying to manage?

*Yes. You fucking did.*

"I don't want a divorce," I heard myself say.

Her eyes went wide. "What?"

"I don't want to divorce you." My hands tightened on her back, holding her closer. "I know that's what you want. But I can't—"

"You don't mean that." Her voice was hollow.

"I do." My forehead pressed against hers, and I felt her breath hitch. Felt her pulse racing beneath her skin. "Can we just—can we not do this? Not get divorced?"

"Julian—"

The word felt foreign on my tongue.

But I said it anyway. "Don't leave me. I won't let you leave."

---

She stared at me for a long moment, her tear-stained face inches from mine.

I could see the confusion in her eyes, mixing with the hurt and anger.

"What do you mean?" Her voice came out small. Uncertain.

I pulled her tighter against me, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her head, the other wrapped firmly around her waist.

"I don't want a divorce." The words came easier this time. "Can't you just stay by my side? Be good?"

She pulled back slightly, trying to see my face. "Why? The one you love isn't—"

I swallowed the rest of her sentence with my mouth.

My lips crashed against hers, cutting off whatever she was about to say. She made a muffled sound of protest, but I deepened the kiss, my tongue sweeping past her lips.

When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Elena's eyes were glazed, her lips swollen and red.

"I know you don't like her," I said quietly, my thumb tracing her jaw. "I'll keep her away from you from now on. I promise."

"Julian—"

My hands moved to her back, finding the clasp of her bra. One quick flick and it came undone. I pulled it away, tossing it somewhere behind me.

And then I looked at her.

*Fuck.*

Three years. Three years I'd been touching her, fucking her, and somehow I'd never really *looked*.

Her breasts were perfect—full and soft, filling my hands completely. Pale skin with a faint rosy flush across her chest.

Her nipples were a darker pink, already hard from the cool air and my attention, begging to be touched.

The curves were natural, real. They moved with her breathing.

Delicate. Feminine. Beautiful in a way that made my mouth go dry.

"Julian—" Her voice was shaky, uncertain. "What are you—"

I didn't let her finish.

I bent my head and took her left nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She gasped, her hands flying to my hair, arching against me instinctively.

*God, she tastes so fucking good.*

I switched to the other breast, my teeth grazing the sensitive peak before sucking it deep. Her breathing came in short gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair.

When I finally pulled back, both nipples were wet and swollen, standing at attention. I looked up at her face—flushed, eyes half-closed, lips parted—and felt satisfaction curl in my gut.

*Mine. This is all mine.*

"Hurt for me," I whispered, my voice rough. "Okay?"

Her eyes snapped open, focusing on me.

For a second, she just stared, her face going even redder. "You..." She pushed at my chest. "Pervert!"