Chapter 2 His Weakness

Feigning calm, Julian approached the bed and lifted the covers to lie down. Suddenly, a white cat's head popped out from the sheets, startling him so much that his pupils shrank in alarm. Instinctively, he leaned toward Rosalind.

As he bumped into her, his arm circled her slender waist.

"Wh... what's wrong?" Rosalind was caught off guard by his sudden movement, and the tablet slipped from her hand, landing on the floor.

"Meow..."

A soft, sweet meow broke the silence, and Julian's body stiffened. His handsome face naturally buried itself in her pale neck, and his grip on her waist tightened slightly.

"... A cat."

"Are you afraid of cats?" Her neck tingled from his breath, and with half his weight pressed against her, Rosalind held her breath. She gently stroked his back, sensing his slight tremble. Lips pursed, she softly asked.

Only silence answered her.

Understanding dawned on Rosalind as she glanced at the cat, which sat properly, its big blue eyes blinking at them. She gently commanded, "Snowball, go play outside."

The white cat seemed to understand, stretching lazily before hopping off the bed and happily trotting out of the room, tail raised high.

"It's gone," Rosalind said.

"Oh..." His voice, faint and trembling, carried a hint of lingering fear. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her even closer into his arms.

The subtle scent of gardenias from her body seemed to calm him, slowly easing his frazzled nerves. Yet there was something inexplicably comforting about her warmth that made him reluctant to let go.

Sensing the genuine fear that had gripped him earlier, Rosalind didn't rush to push him away. Instead, she gently patted his back, soothing him. However, their current embrace felt rather unnatural.

"Um... are you okay?"

"Is that your cat?" A low, magnetic voice sounded from the nook of her neck.

"Yes." Rosalind replied softly, then added, "Two of them. One black, one white."

Julian: "..."

"Send them away tomorrow."

Rosalind's brows furrowed. She stopped patting his back and gently pushed him away. "No."

"Reason."

"No is reason enough."

Her calm, unwavering eyes met his deep, unreadable gaze without fear. "And... how long are you planning to hold me?"

"I spent a million pound to marry you," Julian replied with a hint of arrogance, his tone full of self-righteousness. "Can't I hold my wife for a bit longer?"

...

At dawn, the sky was overcast, and a faint mist lingered in the air.

Rosalind sat up in bed, her expression somewhat dazed and bewildered.

The spot where her hand rested still held a trace of warmth. Her melancholy gaze swept around the spacious master bedroom, but the only sound was her own breathing-there was no sign of the handsome figure from the night before.

Rosalind threw off the covers, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to freshen up. She then headed to the walk-in closet and changed into a fresh, slightly mature-looking purple plaid dress suit.

Walking through the corridor that separated the front hall, she spotted a slightly plump, middle-aged woman standing by the dining area, wearing an apron.

"Madam, you're awake."

This was Darcy, the housekeeper who usually took care of Julian's daily needs. Rosalind had met her when she moved in yesterday.

"Yes, morning, Darcy," Rosalind responded indifferently, her gaze sweeping the room casually.

"Breakfast is ready, Madam. Please come and eat," Darcy said with a warm smile, wiping her hands on her apron.

Rosalind nodded and walked to the dining room, where Darcy thoughtfully pulled out a chair for her.

"Thank you," Rosalind said as she sat down. Looking at the balanced and nutritious breakfast spread before her, she took a sip of milk and asked calmly, "Where's Julian?"

"Mr. Blackwood had breakfast and left for the office already. Since he was in a coma for so long, the company must have piled up a lot of work, so he didn't wait for you to wake up," Darcy replied with a polite smile.

Rosalind didn't say much in response. After breakfast, she drove herself to the TV station.

The moment she entered the station, Rosalind noticed that many colleagues passing by gave her odd looks-some were sizing her up, some seemed envious, and others... mocking.

As she stepped into the elevator, her phone chimed with a crisp notification.

It was a message from her friend, Nora.

"Meet at the usual spot tonight?"

Rosalind's red lips curled slightly, and she simply replied with an "OK."

"Rosalind, you really are glowing with joy. You just had your wedding yesterday, and today you're back at work. We could never match that level of dedication."

"Mr. Benson, Rosalind has always been a model here at the station. Even though she had a wedding without the groom present, she's still showing up to work."

Just as Rosalind put her phone away, she heard two sharp, mocking voices behind her.

"Uh, some people will stop at nothing to climb the social ladder. Well, what can you expect? A daughter born out of wedlock could never have class." The hostess sneered at Rosalind's cold, indifferent back, unwilling to stop.

When the elevator reached the floor, Rosalind slightly turned her head, her icy gaze cutting through the two hosts like blades.

"Mr. Wright, Mr. Benson, there's no need to be so modest. For someone as 'unclassy' as me, I still ended up under the same roof as both of you."

With that elegant remark, Rosalind strode out of the elevator in her high heels, completely indifferent to how furious the two hosts behind her looked.

As she rounded the corner, a figure in a pinstriped suit approached. He was engaged in polite conversation with a colleague, appearing every bit the gentleman. Her steps paused for two seconds as her lips pressed together, her gaze calmly shifting away.

When the man saw her, he too paused, hesitating as if waiting for her to acknowledge him. However, Rosalind walked past without a word, making his brow furrow slightly.

"Rossie..."

***