Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 63: Javier Bekora

Chapter 63: Javier Bekora

"You deliver the message," came a smooth, commanding voice from the shadows—a voice rich with control and velvet menace.

The room was cloaked in darkness, but not disorder. Everything was in place, pristine and deliberate.

Black marble floors gleamed under the faintest trace of moonlight that filtered through sheer silk curtains.

The soft hum of the central AC filled the silence, its subtle breeze whispering across the finely furnished space, keeping the air cool and unnaturally still.

Mahogany shelves lined the walls, each item on them placed with meticulous care—crystal decanters, rare books, and framed photographs with faces turned away.

There were no lights on, yet the room shimmered faintly with understated opulence.

A subtle scent of oud and leather clung to the air like a secret too dangerous to share.

"Yes, Master," the messenger said, standing before an immense obsidian desk.

His posture was straight, respectful—his tone measured, as if careful not to offend.

Behind the desk, the figure remained still, his features mostly hidden in the dimness—only a faint glint of gold at his wrist and the sharp edge of a diamond cufflink betrayed the wealth draped around him.

"Everything has been done as you instructed," the messenger continued, eyes downcast. "The plan is in motion."

This was the very attack Roman had been warned about—an assault meticulously crafted by a man who moved beneath society’s radar but controlled more than most above it.

"You may leave," the voice replied, calm and cultured.

The young man raised a hand, adjusting his sleek designer glasses with the barest press of his palm, revealing the glimmer of a platinum watch beneath the cuff of his midnight black silk shirt.

The messenger bowed, then exited the room silently, closing the door behind him with a click that echoed slightly in the still air.

Now alone, the figure stood.

He moved like liquid—unhurried, smooth, and deliberate.

He walked away from the desk and across the polished floor toward a leather couch, perfectly positioned beneath a large abstract painting.

As he sat down, the cushions gave the faintest sigh.

He leaned back, resting his head against the fine Italian leather, one leg crossing casually over the other.

The man was young—perhaps twenty-five—but there was something ancient in his eyes.

A kind of hunger. A storm that had been building for years beneath the surface of charm and privilege.

His features, though shadowed, were unmistakably handsome—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that hinted at both cruelty and kissable sweetness.

He looked like he belonged on magazine covers and in nightmares alike.

He exhaled slowly, the sound quiet but saturated with tension.

"Hohh..."

Then came the name—soft, precise, like a weapon drawn from its sheath.

"Roman Thompson," he said, his voice silk-drenched venom.

A flicker of emotion sparked in his dark eyes—not jealousy, but possession. Something dangerous.

"She may have belonged to you once. But the moment you sent her to that school... the second I saw her, she became mine."

He said it with a calm finality, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

"I’ll take her far away from you. Strip her from your life like skin from bone. And then we’ll see—can you survive missing her, Roman? Or will you slowly rot in that golden cage of yours, mourning what you lost?"

The man leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, clasping his hands together.

His face now partially revealed—strikingly elegant and heart-stoppingly dangerous.

"I don’t want her love," he murmured to the dark. "I want you to know what it feels like to lose something... irreplaceable."

His eyes narrowed, sharp as obsidian.

There was no more planning left to do.

Only execution.

Some hours before.

"I hope you will accept my apology," Roman said gently, his voice low, filled with sincerity as he took a calming breath.

"I promise you... I will never do that again. I’ll never raise my voice at you. No more orders, no commands—I will always be gentle," Roman vowed, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

But before he could finish the breath between his words, Julie spoke up, her voice steady and clear.

"I don’t want your gentleness," she said quietly but firmly and Roman look at her.

"I want you, not just the careful version of you. If you’re always being overly gentle with me, it’ll feel like you’re walking on eggshells around our relationship, and I don’t want that. I need your true self, not someone who’s always cautious."

Her eyes lifted to meet his—serious and full of emotion.

"I’m also sorry," she added, her voice lowering, carrying remorse. "I should’ve been more understanding. I should’ve been... magnanimous."

She leaned her head gently against his shoulder, seeking the warmth of his embrace.

Roman rested his cheek lightly on her head, a faint smile curling at his lips.

He closed his eyes, savoring the quiet peace between them, letting it blanket them like warmth from the sun.

But then, suddenly, a burning sensation stirred within him.

His eyes snapped open, and for a second, they glowed red—not in color, but in fury.

His fists trembled slightly as rage sparked within him, igniting a fire he tried hard to keep buried.

He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes again, forcing calmness to return.

He looked down at the fragile woman in his arms and slowly, his expression softened.

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

In that moment, he wanted time to freeze.

He wanted to stay like this—wrapped in her warmth, breathing the same air.

If the world stopped now, he would have no complaints.

Julie, exhausted, drifted into sleep within minutes, her breaths evening out.

"Hm...ehm..." she mumbled softly, her lips parting slightly as a tiny sound escaped her throat.

Roman chuckled under his breath, trying not to disturb her.

"You’re adorable, love," he whispered.

He slowly shifted his position, gently laying her down on the bed.

With utmost care, he drew the bedsheet over her body and tucked it beneath her chin, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

As he stood and began walking toward the door, he paused.

He turned back around, looking at her as she slept so peacefully.

Without thinking twice, Roman changed direction, walking back toward her.

Standing beside the bed once again, he watched her—her delicate face bathed in soft moonlight coming through the balcony drapes, her lips parted slightly, her eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks.

Roman leaned down slowly and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I’ll be back," he murmured softly before turning and exiting the room without looking back.

"Malone, get the car ready," Roman ordered once he stepped out into the corridor.

Malone immediately sprang into action, heading to fulfill the command.

"Javier Bekora," Roman muttered, his voice hard and cold.

His eyes carried a dangerous gleam—one that spelled a storm on the horizon.

---

Later That Evening

Julie had slept for hours, the comfort of the bed and Roman’s scent on the pillows wrapping her in a peaceful cocoon.

When she stirred awake, the room was quiet. She blinked a few times before sitting up, rubbing her eyes.

The first thing that came to her mind was him.

’He probably went out,’ she thought.

Stretching her arms, she looked at the clock on the wall—it was 7:30 PM.

"It’s already time for dinner," she whispered aloud, swinging her legs off the bed and stepping into the soft slippers nearby.

She walked out into the living room, the warm yellow glow of the lamps giving the space a cozy feeling.

"Good evening, ma’am," Carla greeted with a polite bow as Julie walked in.

"Good evening, Carla," Julie replied with a soft smile, trying to mask her weariness.

"Ma’am, the food is ready," Carla said as she gestured toward the dining area.

Julie smiled and pulled out a chair. "Good. You know I’ve been craving your cooking."

Carla gave a small laugh. "Thank you, ma’am. But wait just a moment—the food’s been ready for a while, so it’s starting to cool down. I’ll reheat it for you."

"No problem. Go ahead," Julie said with a graceful nod.

As Carla left for the kitchen, Julie sighed softly and glanced at the empty chair next to her.

"Where are you right now?" she murmured to herself, her voice tinged with longing.

Just then, Rose entered the room with a warm smile. "Here, ma’am. You can eat now."

Julie smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Are you alright, ma’am?" Rose asked gently, noticing the change in her usual mood.

Though she hadn’t been fond of Julie in the beginning, over time Rose had come to admire her.

She’d seen how kind-hearted the young woman truly was. _{fre eweb\(n)ovel(.)co(m)}

"Yes, I’m fine, Rose. Don’t worry," Julie replied, her voice light, the smile on her lips carefully covering the ache in her heart.

She turned toward Carla. "You cooked this hours ago. Why didn’t you wake me?"

Carla smiled. "You looked tired, ma’am. I didn’t want to disturb you. I figured rest was what you needed most after school."

Julie let out a light laugh. "You’re so thoughtful. Thank you."

She picked up her fork and took the first bite of the meal, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor.

It was delicious, but something was missing.

The voice. The presence beside her.

The warmth she’d grown used to.

And yet, she pushed those thoughts aside and kept eating, her fingers lightly tapping the edge of the plate as she tried not to look at the chair beside her again.

Because every time she did...

It reminded her of him.