Dumped With Cancer: I Became The Woman He Spends His Life Chasing
Chapter 8
During the first week after Aria disappeared, Julian felt a long-lost sense of relief, as if he'd finally shaken off a burden.
"Congrats, Mr. Lawson! You finally ditched that clingy mess!"
"Exactly! A glorified maid, like she ever deserved to stand beside you."
"I heard the day she moved out, she looked like a kicked lapdog with nowhere to go! Hahahaha…"
Inside the private club's lounge, the air swirled with liquor and cigar smoke.
Julian lounged back on a leather sofa, swirling amber whiskey in his hand, a smile curling at his lips, as if he truly enjoyed this party thrown to celebrate his "freedom" from Aria.
In truth, he wasn't nearly as pleased as he'd expected to be. Instead, an indescribable irritation kept scratching at him.
Because all at once, he remembered Aria's ashen, quietly sorrowful face, and the words she'd said, "If I tell you I'm sick, that I'm leaving the country for treatment soon… that I may not come back… will you feel sad?"
"Mr. Lawson, what are you zoning out for?" Rory Hardy offered him a cigarette, half teasing. "Missing Aria?"
"No." Julian took the cigarette and drew in a deep breath, forcing down the irritation in his chest. "Good riddance. Now I don't have to deal with her nagging all day."
"Exactly!" another man egged on. "She was never in your league anyway. She stuck around for ten years because of money, didn't she?"
Amid the laughter, Julian clenched his fist. He almost snapped back on instinct, because Aria had never been with him for money.
It had been for… love.
Julian's fingers twitched. Deep down, he'd always known exactly how much Aria loved him.
The party was loud and lively, yet Julian couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
Not until the night ended and he watched neon lights streak past the car window did he realize it. Tonight, Aria hadn't messaged him once.
Whenever he came home late before, she would always text him, "Are you home yet? I made you some warm milk."
Even if he never replied, she would still ask the next day, "You drank too much last night, didn't you? Does your head hurt?"
Tonight, his phone was silent as a stone.
He let out a scoff, deliberately ignoring the strange feeling crawling up from his chest, yet it still felt as if a wad of cotton had been stuffed inside him, heavy and suffocating.
When he pushed open the front door, the entry sensor light flicked on automatically.
By habit, he loosened his tie, pulled off the designer shirt stained with alcohol, and held it out without looking. "Hand-wash it. Be gentle…"
He cut off mid-sentence.
No one took it.
He stood frozen, arm suspended in the air like some ridiculous statue.
That shirt could only be hand-washed. The water couldn't be over thirty degrees. It needed a specific softener. All those tedious little rules had only ever been remembered by Aria.
"Julian?" Lila peeked out from the bedroom, wearing a black lace nightdress.
The cut was nearly identical to the cotton lounge dress Aria used to wear, only more revealing, more deliberately seductive.
She rushed over with a sweet pout. "I've been waiting forever!"
Julian frowned, his gaze landing on the lace barely covering her chest, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Change it. It looks awful."
Lila's smile froze, her eyes reddening instantly. "Why? This is brand new! It's the latest design!"
"I said, change it." His voice was cold and hard as he turned toward the bathroom.
Behind him came Lila's stifled, aggrieved sobs.
He stood beneath the showerhead, hot water washing over him, yet it couldn't rinse away the irritation clinging to his skin.
What was he so irritated about?
Hadn't he gotten sick of Aria's nagging and clinginess long ago?
So why did it feel unbearable, seeing Lila wearing that "imitation"?
Why had his chest tightened when his friends called Aria a "bitch"?
He shut off the water and came out wrapped in a towel.
Lila sat on the edge of the bed wiping her tears. When she saw him, she looked up miserably.
Julian sighed, walked over, cupped her face, and lowered his head to kiss her.
He needed to prove to himself that he didn't care about Aria at all. He also needed to confirm that Lila was the future he'd chosen.
But when Lila kissed him back with enthusiasm, Aria's face flashed through his mind instead. She never initiated kisses. Every time he leaned in, she would close her eyes first, her lashes trembling, as if she were waiting for a gift she didn't dare demand.
He deepened the kiss abruptly, almost rough, as though trying to crush whatever feelings were rising inside him.
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