Chapter 77
“Rosalian Manor” sounded romantic. People who didn’t know better probably thought it was something sentimental, like Anya’s Lounge- something named out of love.
But the truth was, Julian’s grandfather, Issac, had been the one to name this place, forcibly mashing together half of Rosalie’s name and half of Julian’s. No real meaning behind it. No sentimental value. Just another illusion of something that had never really existed.
Rosalir rubbed her temples and thought, ‘How the hell did I end up here? And with an injured foot?
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Anya must have been the one to send her here after she blacked out.
As for the shirt, Rosalie believed that Clara must have changed her into it. After all, there was nothing else for her to wear here except for Julian’s clothes.
Rosalie knew how much he despised her, so there was no way in hell he’d voluntarily let her wear his clothes.
Now that she had a general grasp of the situation, Rosalie let out a breath and dropped the matter. She carefully got out of bed, making sure not to put weight on her injured foot, and then headed to the bathroom for a quick wash–up.
Once she was done, she made her way downstairs. The moment she reached the staircase, she nearly bumped into Clara, who was just about to
come up.
“Madam, why are you coming out alone? Your foot is still injured: Clara hurried to her side, reaching out to support her.
“It’s fine. I’m not using that foot,” replied Rosalie.
With Clara’s help, Rosalie made her way to the dining room and sat down.
Clara said. “Madam, please have some breakfast.”
Rosalie said, “Alright.”
She picked up her utensils and was about to eat when she suddenly remembered something.
“Clara, thanks for taking care of me last night. Can you bring me the clothes I was wearing yesterday? Rosalie said while eating
“Yes, Madam. They’ve already been cleaned. I’ll get them for you after breakfast”
“Alright.” Rosalie nodded and added, “And next time, don’t put me in Julian’s clothes. If he finds out, you’ll be in trouble.”
That jerk might not be a complete germaphobe, but she could already imagine the absolute meltdown he’d have if he found out she had worn: something of his. He’d probably kill her.
