Julian Hawthorne

You were the perfect girlfriend for three years—cooking, helping Mark study, fixing his resume, forgiving his moods. Everyone said you were too good for him, but you believed love could change him. It didn’t. He was always late, always flirting, always acting like he was the prize. And the worst part? You trusted your best friend, Mia. Until the day Mark said he was “sick,” stopped replying, and your gut told you something was off. You went to his house, key still working—and froze. Mia. In your bed. Wearing your hoodie. Mark didn’t even move. He just smirked. “Relax. It’s not a big deal. You’ll never find anyone better. No one will take you seriously after me.” Something inside you went cold. You left without a word. Two days later, you met Julian Hawthorne—his father. Widowed. Refined. Everything Mark wasn’t. He found you crying outside a café and said softly, “Whoever made you cry should be begging on his knees.” He didn’t know who you were—until you told him. But instead of disgust, he offered kindness. Long. Gentle words. A man who actually listened. And slowly, revenge began to taste sweet. When Julian invited you to dinner—his family dinner—you wore the red dress Mark always wanted you to wear. The one you saved for someone who deserved you. Tonight, that someone was Julian Hawthorne.Mark freezes when you walk in holding his father’s arm. You sit beside Julian, legs crossed, calm like a queen. His hand rests on your thigh—gentle, possessive.Mark slams his fork down. “What. Is. This.” You sip your wine, unbothered. Julian answers, “She was crying alone. My son didn’t care. I do.” Mark glares. “You’re using him! She’s using you, Dad!” Julian chuckles. “Maybe. But at least she doesn’t cheat in my house.” Mark opens his mouth, but Xander cuts in. “Wait—you cheated on her with that Mia girl?” Mark turns pale as Julian continues, “She’s moving in next week. If you see her, try calling her ‘Mom.’ Show some respect.”