CHAPTER 113: THE TEMPTATION UPSTAIRS... IS NOTORIOUS

The soft sound of running water filled the room as another technician wheeled in a small basin lined with warm, fragrant water.

Steam curled lazily upward, carrying the delicate scent of rose petals and chamomile.

"Let’s start with your feet," one of the women said warmly, kneeling with the graceful efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times.

She slipped Julie’s slippers off and guided her feet into the basin.

The heat seeped into her skin instantly, sending a wave of relief up her calves.

Julie’s toes relaxed without her meaning to, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips. She hadn’t realized how much tension she carried there until now.

Beside her, Lisa dipped her feet into a matching basin, her spine still straight but her eyes calm, like a queen at leisure.

"You’ll get used to it," Lisa murmured, catching Julie’s shy glance at the lavish setup. "Pampering is a skill... one you deserve to learn."

Julie let the words sit in the air, unsure whether to laugh or protest, so she stayed quiet, letting the warm water and gentle hands speak for themselves.

The technician’s thumbs pressed into the arches of her feet, firm enough to melt the tightness but gentle enough to make her shoulders loosen.

Across from her, another woman prepared for the manicure—tools neatly lined on a folded white towel.

She worked in quiet precision, checking with a soft, "Is this comfortable, Miss?" before shaping each nail.

The faint rasp of the file blended with the muted splash of water and soft music trickling from hidden speakers.

When her feet were finally scrubbed, buffed, and wrapped in plush towels, the peppermint cream came next—cool against her skin, its scent crisp and clean.

The massage worked upward in slow, even circles. Julie almost laughed at the ticklish pull but bit it back, sinking deeper into the seat.

Her nails were painted a delicate rose-pink that shimmered subtly under the warm light. Lisa chose a deep burgundy, rich and dignified.

Through the mirror across the room, Julie caught sight of Roman.

He stood near the door, posture easy but watchful, like someone who could move at a moment’s notice.

His gaze swept the room occasionally, but always returned to her.

When the last coat of polish dried, an attendant stepped forward. "Shall we proceed with the facial and hair, Miss?"

Julie glanced at Lisa.

"Go on," Lisa said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "It’s all part of the transformation."

The chair reclined, a towel tucked gently under Julie’s neck.

Warm steam curled over her face, coaxing her pores open, followed by a honey-almond scrub.

The grainy texture slid over her skin, smelling faintly of orchards and warm kitchens.

A cool rinse came next, then a mask as soft as velvet. While it rested, her hair was washed at a nearby station—warm water cascading over her scalp, fingers massaging in slow, patient circles.

The lather carried the fragrance of jasmine; the rhythm of the massage sent little shivers of calm down her spine.

It was then that Roman’s phone buzzed.

He checked the screen, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Without a word, he gave Lisa a look, then stepped out.

Roman shut the door behind him, the quiet falling like a curtain.

On his desk sat a thick folder. He didn’t bother sitting before answering his phone.

"Report," he said, his voice stripped of any softness it carried in the spa room.

The man on the other end spoke in low, clipped tones—updates on a pending acquisition, the sudden movement of a rival’s assets, and a whisper of a possible informant leaking information abroad.

Roman listened, eyes narrowed, mind slicing through the details. "No direct confrontation yet. Let them think I’m not watching. The moment they relax, we move. Not before."

He signed a document without looking down, flipping to the next page. "Keep the channels clean. No mistakes."

When the call ended, Roman let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair.

The room was still, the air heavy with unspoken calculations.

But his mind wandered—back to the sight of Julie in that chair, eyes closed as the steam washed over her, her expression soft in a way he rarely saw.

It was unlike him to step away from her for long.

Not out of distrust—she was perfectly safe here—but because being near her had become... natural. A quiet anchor in the middle of the storm that was his life.

He set his pen down, already thinking about returning.

"Now," she said, with the satisfaction of a queen giving a final decree, "try on those clothes and see if they fit."

Julie’s eyes shifted toward the staircase. Without a word, she rose, gathering the folded dress one of the salon girls had handed her.

Her steps were light, but determined, heading toward the stairs as if she already knew where she’d go.

Lisa’s voice cut through the air like a thread snapping.

"Wait—where are you going?"

Julie paused mid-step and turned slightly. "I’ll be changing," she said softly, her fingers still holding onto the clothes.

And she title her head in question of why did she asked when she herself asked her to change.

Lisa blinked once, then gave a half-laugh of disbelief. "Changing? Up there? No, no—there is nowhere you should go near that devil descended," she said with deliberate emphasis, her tone equal parts warning and teasing.

"I’m sure you won’t come out if you do."

The words landed like a small spark in the room.

Julie’s face turned crimson instantly, the flush climbing from her neck to her ears. She bit her lower lip and quickly glanced away.

The other salon girls couldn’t help it—they exchanged quick, amused smiles, the kind women share when they’ve caught the thread of something juicy.

One of them leaned subtly toward the other and whispered something that earned a muffled giggle.

Sitting further to the side was Lisa’s old male salon friend, a slender gentleman in a charcoal vest with silver-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose.

" Lisa, you’ll embarrass the poor girl," he murmured, though his lips were curved in a knowing smile. The person beside her said.

He arched one brow, clearly entertained. "My, my... the devil descended? You do pick your words like perfume—strong and lingering." His chuckle was low and knowing.

Julie swallowed, trying to compose herself, but Lisa only waved toward one of the younger salon girls—a petite woman with glossy black hair tied neatly in a bun.

"Take her to the reserved room," Lisa instructed. "It’s just past the hallway on the right. And make sure she doesn’t get lost on the way... we wouldn’t want her wandering somewhere she shouldn’t."

The girl nodded, stepping forward with a professional smile. "Miss Julie, if you’ll follow me."

Julie gave Lisa one last glance, her blush still vivid. "I wasn’t... going to wander," she mumbled, but her voice was so soft it was almost lost under the shuffle of footsteps.

Lisa smirked, tilting her head as if she knew exactly what the younger woman was thinking. "Oh, I believe you, sweetheart. But still, let’s be safe. The temptation upstairs is... notorious."

Julie almost tripped on the first step but steadied herself quickly, pretending not to hear the faint laughter that followed her.

Behind them, the low murmur of voices returned, punctuated by Lisa’s warm but sly chuckle and the clink of tea cups.

---

The room Lisa led her to was bright but simple, with a wide mirror framed in pale wood and a padded stool set before it.

On the bed lay three sets of clothing, neatly arranged on cream hangers with the one she brought with her from outside making four.

The fabrics whispered when she touched them—soft knits, smooth silk, the faint rustle of linen.

She closed the door softly behind her, resting her palm against it for a moment as her breath settled.

For a fleeting second, she allowed herself to stand still in the quiet, away from the hum of voices.

The first outfit she lifted was a dusky rose dress, mid-length, with a fitted waist and gentle flare.

She held it up in front of the mirror. Pretty... but the color felt almost too gentle for her mood today.

Setting it aside, she tried the second—a light cream blouse with delicate pearl buttons, paired with a high-waisted skirt in muted grey.

Sophisticated, yes, but something about it reminded her too much of the uniforms she had worn in the past.

Her fingers paused over the last choice. A deep, cool-toned blue dress, with long sleeves that tapered at the wrists and a neckline modest yet elegant. The fabric draped like water between her hands.

As she began to undress, the mirror caught her reflection—her shoulders, a little too tense; her collarbones still sharper than they once had been.

Her mind, unbidden, began to drift backward—into those afternoons when she had seen Lewis walking in with crisp paper bags and ribbon-tied boxes, his steps purposeful as he disappeared into Rachel’s room.

Julie could still remember the way Rachel’s voice would lift in delight, the sound of tissue paper tearing, the flutter of silk as new dresses spilled onto the bed.

Sometimes, it was Cassandra instead—smiling in that slow, knowing way as she tried on a fitted jacket or a gown, Lewis standing behind her to smooth a wrinkle or adjust a hem.

Julie had often stood in the hallway, invisible, her fingers curling into the edge of the doorframe.

She would pretend she wasn’t looking, that she had simply been passing by—but inside, something twisted each time.

She had wished, foolishly, that just once a package would be set in her hands.

That someone would look at her and think she was worth the trouble of choosing colors, fabrics, and fits.

When she had asked—quietly, hesitantly—why Rachel always seemed to receive things first, the answer had been delivered with a patronizing smile: "She’s your elder sister. It’s only right she gets certain things before you." The words had never made sense to her.

Elder sister? She knew exactly when Rachel had been born. The math didn’t lie.

But the truth had never mattered in that house; the rules bent around certain people, and she had learned quickly that questioning them led nowhere.

Her chest tightened now as she smoothed the blue dress against her skin. This time, the clothes were here for her.

Laid out, waiting—not handed over to someone else while she lingered outside the door.

For a moment, she almost didn’t trust it.

She blinked, realizing her hands had stilled mid-buttoning.

Her reflection stared back with a mix of disbelief and something fragile, like the first warmth

After a long winter. This was different. This was hers.