CHAPTER 134: CHAPTER 134: GIVING MYSELF TO JULIAN SINCLAIR (PART 2)

I wished I could disappear from this room instantly, and Julian Sinclair immediately covered me with the blanket again.

He probably didn’t expect the scene under the blanket to be like this.

Embarrassed, I spoke up, my voice as soft as a mosquito’s hum: "It was them... they tied me up like this."

Julian Sinclair was silent for a moment, his breathing seemed to falter slightly.

Soon after, he said in as calm a voice as he could manage, "I’ll turn off the lights now, and then help you get untied."

As darkness engulfed the room again, my tense nerves relaxed a little.

As he leaned down, the pleasant scent of his aftershave made me feel at ease.

The man’s fingertips, carrying a slight coolness, gently lifted a corner of the blanket.

But the knots in the belt on me were tight and complex, his fingers carefully navigating the tangles, occasionally brushing against my skin, sending a shiver through me.

In the darkness, I could clearly hear his breathing.

At first it was steady, but as he worked on the knots, Julian Sinclair’s breaths grew urgent and heavy.

His fingertips inadvertently brushed past my waist, arms—each touch sparked an electric current, making my whole body heat up.

I stayed stiff, not daring to move, even my breaths were kept quiet.

But throughout, Julian Sinclair’s actions remained extremely restrained, carefully avoiding my private areas.

Whenever he accidentally touched me while untying, he would immediately pull away.

Yet, the man’s breath grew heavier.

My face buried in the pillow was burning, but he did not know how grateful I was to him at that moment.

He didn’t take advantage of my vulnerability; instead, he offered me enough respect and dignity during such an awkward time.

...

Meanwhile, Julian Sinclair’s mind was in turmoil.

At his fingertips was the warmth of delicate skin, in his ear the woman’s suppressed quivers.

He wasn’t into those sadistic games, and he had no experience with such intricate belt knots.

The more hurried he was, the harder it was to untie them.

After more than twenty minutes, the last knot finally loosened, and the belt slipped off the bed with a soft thud.

Julian Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief, his back now coated with a layer of fine sweat, his breathing heavier than usual.

In the dark, he pulled the silk blanket back over her and turned on the light.

What came into view was the woman’s flushed face, her fair and rounded shoulders with a faint pink hue.

The man’s throat moved as he deliberately shifted his gaze, saying, "I’ll have someone bring you clothes later; rest here for now."

Just as he turned to leave, she suddenly grabbed his hand, Julian Sinclair’s heart tightened.

Turning back, he saw Zoe Ellison’s flushed face, her boneless small hand tightly grasping him, her enchanting gaze fragmented yet enticing.

"What’s wrong with you?"

Julian Sinclair finally sensed something was wrong.

The force with which she held his hand was reckless and obsessed, as if a lost child clutching at the last straw, rambling in her plea: "I feel so awful... help me... so awful..."

Her eyes were unfocused, her mind already in disarray, unaware of what she was saying or wanting.

Julian Sinclair instantly realized, cursing softly, asking, "Did they give you medication?"

Zoe Ellison nodded tearfully, the tears sliding from her eyes into her hair.

An unfamiliar heat surged through her body, burning away her reason.

She pulled his hand towards her erratically, her body moving towards him reflexively, the silk blanket long slipped down to her waist in her struggle, exposing large areas of delicate skin.

"Help me... so hot..."

Her voice was soft and sweet, carrying a tearful accusation with an unintentional allure.

Through the thin shirt, her fingertips grazed his arm, each touch sparking like electric currents, tensing his muscles.

Julian Sinclair’s throat felt painfully dry, his Adam’s apple rolling heavily, the desire in his eyes almost breaking through his control.

"Zoe Ellison, look clearly at who I am!" He grasped her restless hand, his voice hoarse, with the last trace of restraint.

She lifted her dazed eyes to him, tears clinging to her lashes, like a wronged kitten, gently whimpering: "I know... you’re Julian Sinclair... why do you and Timothy Xavier both bully me... why does everyone bully me... why do you take everything from me?"

The tearful accusations were soft, like feathers tickling the heart, yet wrapped in fatal allure.

Until her small hands restlessly moved down his chest, Julian Sinclair felt the taut string in his body snap suddenly.

His lanky body descended, securing her slender waist with restrained force, kissing her incessantly talking lips.

The man’s kiss was not a stormy plunder but carried with restraint and care, knowing it was wrong, yet fearing to hurt her.

But he did it anyway.

As their lips and teeth entwined, Julian Sinclair nearly drowned in her intoxicating fragrance and softness.

His hand on her waist tightened suddenly, the kiss restrained yet fervent.

The last bit of reason in his mind kept him from further encroachment, leaving only the scorching touch of their lips.

Zoe Ellison was clearly unsatisfied with this, her soft body rubbing against him uneasily, her soft whispers continuous.

Julian Sinclair’s blood was boiling.

However, he was well aware that this was the effect of the drug; when she was sober, she would never do such a thing.

His reason and dignity did not allow him to get involved with her in such a muddled state.

He wanted Zoe Ellison to be clear-headed when she gave herself to him, not this way, treating him as an antidote.

Rationality and desire were fiercely tugging at each other; the veins on Julian Sinclair’s forehead throbbed with each second he spent suppressing the overwhelming urge.

The woman in his arms was still unconsciously seeking, and he abruptly released her lips, his ragged breath falling on her flushed cheeks.

Finally, he hardened his heart, supporting her limp body with one hand, while the other lifted, delivering a calculated chop to the back of her neck.

Zoe’s voice cut off abruptly, and she collapsed onto the bed, losing consciousness.

Julian Sinclair’s tense body suddenly relaxed, and he took several deep breaths of cool air to barely suppress the surging desire.

He pulled the quilt over her, casting a deep look her way before turning to move aside.

While loosening his tie, he pulled out his phone and called one of his aides: "Get a doctor here right away, hurry!"

It was only when he spoke that he realized his voice was dry and hoarse beyond recognition.

After hanging up, he returned to the bed, sat down, and quietly watched the unconscious woman on it, unable to resist reaching out to brush aside her slightly disheveled hair.

Gazing at her luminous face, his Adam’s apple bobbed once more, with ink-black heat still simmering in his eyes.

...

The next day, when I woke up, it was already noon.

At first, my mind was a blank slate, and the next second, ’kidnapping’, ’Ruby’, ’transaction’ all flooded into my thoughts.

I jerked upright and looked down to find myself wearing an unfamiliar but clean and soft silk pajama set, though traces from where I had been bound with a belt still lingered.

Looking around, the unfamiliar room’s emptiness was unsettling.

Outside the door and window, I heard people speaking English in low tones, too softly to make out.

I struggled to recall the events of last night, with headache setting in, almost unable to distinguish between dreams and reality.

I even dreamt that a man came in last night, someone like Julian Sinclair, yet not...

I shook my head vigorously.

That woman, Ruby, clearly sold me to an unknown benefactor, even forcing me to take medication, how could it be him?

It was probably just my desperate wish for rescue manifesting as an illusion.

Now, those people conversing outside the door must be my buyers, right?

I quietly slipped off the bed and moved toward the window.

I then realized I was in a hotel, on a not-too-high floor, the second.

I felt utterly despairing; if only it were the twentieth floor.

Jumping from here would surely end things once and for all.

But it’s only the second floor; jumping would get me caught, and I could already imagine what would happen.

I opened the window, leaned out, and looked outside.

At that moment, the door swung open.

I spun around fearfully and saw Julian Sinclair standing in the doorway silhouetted by the light, as tall and striking as ever.

"Where are you going?" His brow furrowed slightly, his voice low and deep.

The instant I recognized his face, all my fear and panic found an anchor.

I couldn’t hold back any longer, rushing over to tightly embrace him, my voice trembling: "It’s really you, it’s really you..."

Julian Sinclair clearly hadn’t expected me to throw myself into his arms.

The man’s tall frame went rigid, motionless.

Only after a long while did he gently return my embrace, asking with a touch of significance, "So you’ve forgotten all that happened last night?"

My mind suddenly exploded.

The blurry fragments from last night weren’t dreams—they were real!

I climbed onto him, our burning skin contacting, and his hands roamed across my body.

I shoved him away suddenly, my cheeks flaming, stumbling over my words: "Sorry, I... they forced me to take the drug, I didn’t do it on purpose..."

"I know." Julian Sinclair’s expression was calm, his gaze sweeping over my face, "Anything else uncomfortable?"

"My head hurts a bit, everything else is fine," I murmured.

"The doctor said it’s a normal side effect of the drug; it will fade in time."

I nodded, cautiously asking, "So last night, did we really... did anything happen?"

I stammered through the question.

Julian Sinclair’s eyes burned, locking onto my flushed cheeks, as he asked, "Do you hope we did or didn’t?"

His question left me wanting to find a hole to hide in; I mumbled shyly, "You said you’d never fancy a married woman, so of course I hope not, to avoid tainting your pristine self."

No sooner had I finished speaking than Julian Sinclair chuckled softly, his mood ambiguous.

He raised a hand to caress my cheek, saying hauntingly, "Did I spend two hundred million just to buy you and your eloquence?"

I froze instantly, finally realizing the "benefactor" Ruby spoke of was him.

I was utterly embarrassed and at a loss for what to do when suddenly an English greeting came from outside, essentially asking Julian Sinclair if he was satisfied and whether he’d want to take me back for "training."

I shuddered in fear, and Julian Sinclair’s face instantly darkened.

He shouted coldly to the outside: "Make her leave!"

His tone was harsh and fierce, exactly like when he dealt with Mrs. Hawthorne last time on set, and the noise outside immediately ceased.

He looked at my trembling figure and sighed, his tone carrying a strong insistence: "Zoe Ellison, lift your head and look at me."

I slowly raised my head, meeting his deep, dark gaze from behind his glasses: "How much do you remember from last night?"

Those shameful images churned in my mind; I bit my lip, too afraid to respond.

Julian Sinclair’s voice suddenly turned cold, with a hint of displeasure: "Rest assured, what you’re worried about did not happen at all."

With that, he turned and walked towards the window, his back facing me, his voice cold and firm: "The clothes are on the sofa. Change and I’ll take you back."

As I watched his cold silhouette, my heart tightened inexplicably, finding myself caring so much about his every move.

A rush of impulse surged through me; I quickly walked over and gently embraced his waist from behind.

Julian Sinclair’s body noticeably froze.

I pressed my face against his broad back and softly said, "Were you serious when you said you couldn’t stand married women before?"

He was silent for a long time, so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer.

The next second, he turned around, grasped my chin and forced me to look up, speaking meaningfully: "So, are you planning to be a married woman forever? But I don’t want to be a Casanova."

Julian Sinclair’s words stirred a ripple in my heart, a strange sense of excitement and tension emerged.

I met his gaze and stated, word by word: "I’ll sort out the relationship with Timothy Xavier."

He suddenly pulled me into his embrace with a strong force, his eyes sharp like a knife, his tone compelling: "Zoe Ellison, have you thought it through? I don’t want you out of gratitude, nor do I want you because of revenge against someone."

"Yes, I’ve thought it through." My voice was quiet but carried an unprecedented certainty.

"Once the bowstring is drawn, there’s no turning back. Remember what you said."

His breath brushed past my ear, bearing an undeniable weight.

I suddenly felt quite pressured but still nodded solemnly.

Through the thin silk pajamas, his palm’s temperature scorched my waist and stomach, and the restrained emotion in the man’s dark eyes was unmistakably visible.

But he ultimately controlled himself, maintaining boundaries, and told me: "Go change your clothes."

I softly said, "Thank you," grabbed the new clothes from the sofa, and fled to the bathroom as if escaping.

When I came out after changing clothes, the table was already filled with a sumptuous spread.

I sat across from Julian Sinclair and only then noticed the steak in front of me had already been cut into small pieces.

The feeling of being cherished made me feel extraordinarily steady.

"Eat! Do I have food on my face?"

He still had that indifferent demeanor, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Oh, okay."

I picked up the knife and fork, thinking about how he was so good to me yet insisted on appearing indifferent, truly proving Mason Hawthorne’s words: "The more Julian cares about someone, the more he pretends not to care."

I couldn’t help but curve my lips into a smile.

Julian Sinclair said irritably: "You can still laugh? If it weren’t for me finding you, you might have already started entertaining guests now!"

The smile instantly vanished from my face, and I was too embarrassed to look up, silently eating.

Yet he obviously wasn’t planning to let me off the hook, continuing to ask: "Why didn’t you attend the divorce proceedings that day?"

The steak stuck in my throat, causing me to choke.

If I mentioned Naomi Sawyer, there would be too much to explain; if I shared all the messy things between Timothy Xavier and me, might he think I still care about Timothy?

Seeing my silence, he continued on his own: "If you had made it to court on time that day, this situation wouldn’t have happened. The kidnappers are hateful, but you gave them the opportunity."

I sighed and asked him: "If I went that day, would you have helped Timothy Xavier get custody of Doris?"

"Is that how you see me?" he frowned, a hint of complexity in his eyes.

I didn’t want the newly softened relationship to stir up trouble again, so I shut my mouth.

Just treat assisting Timothy Xavier in the lawsuit as his work.

Julian Sinclair ate a few bites, then suddenly put down the knife and fork: "If I really gave your medical record to Timothy Xavier, would you hate me for a lifetime?"

I looked up shocked: "You didn’t give it to him? He doesn’t know?"

The divorce proceedings had already started, so didn’t he communicate about the evidence chain?

"Yeah." He replied casually.

"Then why did you make Leo Grant go to the hospital to check the medical record?" I pursued.

"While checking your basic info, I found you frequently visited the psychiatric department, so wanted to understand the reason."

He paused, his tone carrying a faint complexity that was hard to detect, "I didn’t expect that marriage to push you to depression, really shameful."

A wave of sadness surged in my heart.

It turns out love and indifference can be so apparent.

Just like how even though I had mentioned my depression in front of Timothy Xavier before, he said I was pretending; even the matter that could be clarified with a simple assistant inquiry, he wouldn’t spare time to ask.

Just like this time, even when the kidnappers called him, he told them to go ahead and kill the hostage.

I forced a bitter smile and looked at the man opposite me, saying, "You’re right."

Julian Sinclair obviously didn’t expect me to answer like that. His tone softened a bit as he said, "After dinner, I’ll take you somewhere."

I immediately sped up my eating, not only because I was curious about where he would take me, but also because I didn’t want to stay in this damn place, Burona, for one more second!

...

After dinner, Julian Sinclair took me aboard his private plane.

I thought the destination was Veridia.

But when the plane landed, I discovered that we were actually in Silverstream.

"Why are we... in Silverstream?" I asked, particularly confused.

Julian Sinclair looked at me and said, "Do you plan to let yourself be tormented by depression indefinitely? If you’re sick, you need treatment. Do I have to teach you that?"

I protested a little wrongly, "I did get treated, didn’t you know? Otherwise, where did my medical records come from?"

"That doctor wasn’t good enough. After all this time, it’s as if there was no treatment at all."

After Julian Sinclair said this, he held my hand and led me to the waiting car.

Leo Grant had been waiting for quite a while.

Only then did Julian Sinclair think to ask about his mother’s condition, "How’s my mom?"

"Rest assured, this round of chemotherapy is completed," Leo Grant said honestly, "We used the latest imported medication, so the side effects are much smaller than last time, and the results are pretty good. The doctor said there’s still hope."

Julian Sinclair nodded and said, "Thank you for your hard work."

Leo Grant didn’t have the heart to mention that after Julian Sinclair left, Diana Caldwell had been crying, lamenting that her son’s good reputation was about to be ruined.

...

The car zigzagged through a secluded villa area and finally stopped in front of a stately mansion.

Julian Sinclair took me inside, where a refined middle-aged man had been waiting in the living room.

On the way, Julian Sinclair had already told me that this doctor was Mason Hawthorne’s father, Chester Hawthorne, an internationally renowned psychology expert.

However, after Chester Hawthorne took over the family business back in the day, he partially retired.

If you’re not an acquaintance, it’s generally impossible to get him to treat you.

"Julian! It’s really been a long time!"

Chester Hawthorne smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Julian Sinclair, saying, "Look, I even brewed tea for you."

"You’re too kind, Uncle," Julian Sinclair replied concisely, "This is the patient I mentioned this morning, who has been troubled by depression for a long time. So, I brought her here to see if there’s anything you can do."

Chester Hawthorne nodded and looked at me, slightly startled.

I thought he was curious about my relationship with Julian Sinclair.

After a while, he finally said, "Miss Ellison, come with me."

I glanced back at Julian Sinclair and saw him nod at me, so I followed Chester Hawthorne into a treatment room with traditional Chinese style.

In the treatment room, Chester Hawthorne asked me many questions and gave me several psychological assessment forms.

Besides counseling me, he also provided acupuncture therapy.

After about an hour, the treatment for today was over.

I don’t know if it was psychological, but it seemed that under his guidance, the knots in my heart truly started to clear a bit.

When I walked out of the treatment room, Julian Sinclair was still waiting in the living room. The man sitting on the sofa had long legs crossed, looking at a financial magazine, appearing particularly refined and elegant.

Seeing me, he immediately stood up, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes.

He asked Chester Hawthorne, "Is it serious?"

Chester Hawthorne smiled and said, "It’s alright, compared to the patients I’ve treated, it’s not too severe."

Julian Sinclair visibly relaxed, asking, "Approximately how long will it take to heal?"

Chester Hawthorne replied, "It’s hard to say. Everyone has different sensitivities to treatment. You can bring Miss Ellison every half month. To prevent the treatment from being interrupted and losing all progress."

"Alright, I understand." Julian Sinclair nodded, "Thank you very much, Uncle Chester."

Chester Hawthorne waved it off, saying, "No need to be formal. I’m an old acquaintance with your uncle and your father. If you need me, I’m committed to helping."

At this point, he said, "Stay for dinner tonight. Coincidentally, Mason and the others are coming back too."

Julian Sinclair politely declined, "No need, we still have some matters in Veridia."

Chester Hawthorne didn’t insist on making us stay, but he told us to be careful on the way back and insisted on giving Julian Sinclair a new box of tea to take with him.

Julian Sinclair took me to leave, and just as we stepped out of the Hawthorne Family’s gate, we ran into a woman wearing a floral long skirt, meticulously dressed.

I found the woman familiar, but couldn’t remember where I had seen her before.

Until Julian Sinclair greeted her, "Maxine, long time no see."

That’s when I suddenly realized, the author of "Marriage Heart," the pioneer in the romance novel world, Maxine Hawthorne, was actually a member of The Hawthorne Family.

But when Maxine Hawthorne saw me, the smile on her face faded, and she turned to Julian Sinclair, her tone tinged with sarcasm, "Yes, it’s been a long time. Our Attorney Sinclair has a woman by his side now."

A hint of displeasure and something unusual flashed across Julian Sinclair’s face; he didn’t respond to her words and merely nodded slightly, "We’re leaving."

A woman’s intuition told me that the relationship between these two seemed unusual.