Mistaken Identity: The Cold CEO's Runaway Lover

Julian's complete indifference to being splashed in public reignited a wave of helpless fury in Aubree. It was like punching a brick wall. He hadn't even flinched.

She spun away from the bar and, using the metal footrest of the barstool for leverage, clumsily climbed onto it, elevating herself a foot above the surrounding patrons. The room tilted dizzily.

Her hand trembled as she pointed at Julian, her voice ringing out during a brief lull between songs.

"This man," she shouted, her voice hoarse, "is a scumbag! A bastard!"

The buzzing conversation in the bar gradually died down. Heads turned. A sea of curious, judgmental faces swiveled toward them. Julian Sterling, a man who had spent his entire life avoiding messy public emotional displays, was now standing right in the middle of one.

His face, previously a mask of detached amusement, finally hardened into a thunderous scowl. This had crossed the line from a bizarre diversion into a potential liability.

He strode forward, closing the distance in two steps. He grabbed her wrist, his voice low and carrying a threatening command. "You're drunk. Get down."

There was that tone again.

Aubree shoved him hard. "Bullshit! How could I not be drunk, when you're out screwing other women behind my back..." As she spoke, tears streamed out uncontrollably, choking off whatever else she wanted to say.

As she cried, the strange looks from the crowd intensified, making Julian frown deeply. Faced with mounting suspicion, he offered an awkward explanation.

"My friend just went through a breakup."

Someone jeered, "What friend? More like an ex-girlfriend."

His feeble explanation did nothing to dispel the crowd's curiosity. Under the watchful eyes of the public, he was painted as a cheating, irresponsible scoundrel, and a few overly enthusiastic bystanders began to condemn him.

"Bro, you're just going to leave your girl here? Aren't you worried something might happen to her?"

"That's not very manly of you. Cheating is one thing, but you should at least take her home!"

"Yeah, leaving her alone in a club like this, aren't you afraid some creep will pick her up?"

"If you don't take her, I'm calling the cops!"

Seeing the situation spiraling toward public condemnation, Julian gritted his teeth. He knew that if he didn't resolve this right now, it would escalate into tomorrow's Page Six headline: Billionaire Julian Sterling in Drunken Brawl Over Mystery Woman. His grandmother would have an aneurysm.

His chiseled face darkened. He hoisted her over his shoulder and headed for the exit, gritting out through suppressed anger:

"Look closely! I am not your scumbag boyfriend!"

Aubree shrieked as the world spun wildly. She stared blurrily at the floor, her dress riding up to her thighs. She started pummeling his back with her fists.

"Put me down, you psycho!" she screamed, her legs kicking wildly in the air.

His arm clamped down on the back of her thighs like a band of steel, immobilizing her. "Shut up," he growled, the words vibrating in a low rumble against her stomach, "or I will drop you."

The bouncers stepped forward to intercept them, but he pulled out a black Amex card. The manager's eyes widened as he read the name on it. He gave a sharp nod to his security team, and they melted back into the crowd.

As he pushed through the brass doors, the frigid night wind hit them. The shock of the cold, combined with being upside down, made Aubree's stomach churn violently.

"I'm going to throw up," she groaned, her struggles weakening. "I swear to God, if you don't put me down, I will puke all over your stupidly expensive suit."

That sentence finally seemed to grab his attention. His pace quickened. A black Maybach, which had been idling silently at the end of the block, pulled up to the curb, the driver opening the door before the car even came to a complete stop.

Julian unceremoniously dumped her inside.

Her head hit the soft leather with a dull thud. The world spun, then finally settled. Her fighting spirit evaporated, replaced by a deep, dizzying exhaustion. The alcohol, the anger, the humiliation—it all crashed down on her at once.

He slid in beside her, the scent of cedarwood and crisp night air filling the confined space.

He slammed the door shut and started digging for her phone, only to find it was dead, leaving him no way to contact her family or friends.

Just as he was about to call the police, the person next to him suddenly lunged forward, threw her arms around Julian's neck, and began to kiss him.

"Mmph..."

Julian froze for a second, but as he watched her slowly open her eyes, he instantly realized she was playing hard to get.

Hah. So much for being drunk. It was all an act.

A flare of irritation sparked within him. After being mistaken for a scumbag at the club and enduring the icy glares of the entire crowd, he figured it would be a shame to bear the title without getting a little payback.

He leaned forward, issuing a low, clipped command to the driver. "To the Tribeca residence."

The Maybach pulled away from the curb without a sound, seamlessly merging into the rushing current of New York City traffic.