Chapter 655 Luna's Birth Mother Returns 3
From behind him came Cressida's voice, soft as silk. "I want to be your wife."
Her tone was gentle, but to Julian it was the wail of a ghost.
He did not answer. Instead, he unlatched the tall glass doors. The courtyard lay beyond, and in an instant the wind and snow rushed inside, biting into Cressida's skin until she shivered.
Cressida's voice sharpened. "Julian."
He stood tall and unmoving, as if the icy air could not touch him. His voice was cool and even, "I just want you to calm down."
The faint edge of disdain in his tone made her bristle. She rose abruptly to her feet. "Why not? Luna is my daughter. I carried her for nine months. You adore her. If we married, your brother would be smiling down from heaven."
Julian turned to face her. His words were like shards of ice. "Mentioning my brother is an insult to his memory. He was exceptional—admired by many remarkable women. But he lost his way and fell for a madwoman, someone born with narcissistic personality disorder."
Cressida gave a small, trembling laugh.
Tears welled in her eyes as she leaned forward, her smile twisting into something almost feral. "And who do I have to thank for that? You. If you hadn't praised your perfect brother so often, how would I have known his tastes? How else could I have won him so quickly? Julian, I've always said the one who killed him was you."
Julian's gaze darkened, holding hers for a long moment before he spoke again, "You can't control me, Cressida. You were able to control my brother because he loved you. I don't. So nothing you say will work."
His voice hardened. "You killed my brother. You are his murderer. And no one will ever love you again."
Cressida froze.
For six years she had planned every move to trap Julian—because Luna was her child with his brother, bound to him by blood. She had never imagined he would think of her as nothing but poison.
She told herself she had only wanted to be with him. Yes, his brother had died, but hadn't he also known the sweetness of love before the end? Without her, would he have had that?
And now Julian refused her.
Her voice broke into the silence. "Aren't you afraid I'll take Luna away? I'm her mother. I have the right."
A gust of night wind swept in, scattering snow across Julian's hair. It made his strong, cold features seem even more severe.
His eyes were flat and cutting. "A woman who treats her daughter like a bargaining chip doesn't deserve her. I won't give Luna to you. If you push me, I'll take her somewhere you will never find her. My parents will come with me."
Cressida hesitated.
She was quick to read him. Her lips curved faintly. "Yes, you could take them. But could you take Taylor? She's the Montague Group's heiress, the director of its hospital. Would she really leave her life here to follow you abroad? You're not sure, are you? That's why you're talking to me at all. Because you don't want to give up the happiness within your reach. In front of her, you're as powerless as I am in front of you. Julian, I never thought I'd see the day you'd be this pathetic—tied in knots over someone. I used to think you were cold-blooded."
Her words hit their mark.
If it weren't for Taylor, there would be no conversation tonight. He would have taken Luna far away, to a place where mothers like Cressida lost custody and visitation rights.
But Taylor's life and family were here. And for her, he was willing to negotiate.
Now, though, the negotiation was falling apart.
Under the crystal chandelier, a flicker of ruthless intent lit Julian's eyes. Cressida didn't notice. She was too busy drinking in his face, as she always had, her gaze unashamed in its hunger.
Inside, Julian was ice. Outwardly, his tone softened. "It's late. We'll talk about this another time."
Cressida's pride kept her from lingering. She nodded with cool composure. "Fine. I'll wait for your answer."
His eyes gave nothing away.
She left, braving the wind and snow.
Julian stayed by the open doors, letting the night air strip away every trace of her perfume. He hated the scent of her. He hated her. He would not let Taylor see the darkness in him.
Upstairs, Taylor had just coaxed Luna to sleep.
But the child's lashes were still damp, as if she had cried in secret. Looking at her, Taylor couldn't help thinking of Cressida.
She told herself she should walk away. She wasn't married to Julian, and this was a tangle she had no reason to enter. But people were creatures of feeling.
Not just Julian—she, too, had grown attached to Luna.
The little girl trusted her completely. On nights when Taylor was in surgery, Luna would call to remind her to eat, warning her in that sweet, soft voice that an empty stomach would make her look less pretty.
Taylor didn't want to lose her.
She sat at the edge of the round bed, brushing a fingertip over Luna's cheek, her thoughts a restless tangle. The faint sound of the door opening pulled her from them.
Julian stepped inside. Even with his expression carefully schooled, a shadow lingered.
In the warm lamplight, he stood by the door, meeting her gaze across the room.
After a long silence, he asked, his voice low and gentle, "Have you been crying?"
"No."
Her denial was quick, her pride unwilling to show weakness—especially before he had told her everything about his past.
They stood locked in each other's eyes for another long moment before Julian moved closer and took her hand.
With only inches between them, he spoke at last, each word deliberate. "Taylor, let's talk—just the two of us. I'll tell you everything you want to know."
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