Chapter 105
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Julian walked over to the bar, poured himself a glass of red wine, and downed it in one go. Yet, no matter how much he drank, he couldn’t suppress the anger boiling inside him at the thought of Rosalie parading around with another man before their divorce was even finalized.
The burning frustration only grew stronger as he stared at the empty glass in his hand. He set it down forcefully, picked up his phone, and tapped into the pinned chat at the top of his WhatsApp list, ready to ask for an explanation from Rosalie.
Julian: [Who’s that guy in a pink suit? You’re really something, Rosalie. The divorce isn’t even settled, and you’re already fooling around behind my back. Did you think I was dead?]
Even after sending the message, he felt far from satisfied. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, waiting for the read receipt to pop up. However, minutes passed, and the message remained unread.
His expression darkened as a realization crept in–she might have blocked him. The thought sent a fresh wave of rage surging through him. Without thinking, he flung the phone straight at the wall, the sharp crack of glass and plastic shattering echoing through the room.
But even that didn’t quell his frustration. He took a deep breath, reached for the landline, and dialed her number. This time, the call connected.
After ringing for a while, Rosalie finally picked up, her tone indifferent. “Hi, Clara?”
Julian exhaled slowly, forced down the rage simmering in his chest, and said, “It’s me.”
There was a brief pause before Rosalie’s voice turned cold. “Have you made up your mind about finalizing the divorce?”
The muscles in Julian’s jaw tightened. His grip on the phone grew stronger as his breathing turned heavier.
Just then, Eden’s voice drifted through the receiver. It was casual, almost lazy. “How about I make you some chicken pot pie?” Julian’s fingers stiffened around the receiver.
Rosalie glanced at Eden beside her and nodded. “Okay. No carrots, and no garlic either.”
Eden chuckled with a hint of indulgence in his voice. “Come on, you’re still this picky on food?”
It was an everyday exchange, light and natural, yet it made Julian’s blood run cold.
