Chapter 478

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

"Vivian, where's your husband? Too busy to join us today?" Giselle approached with saccharine sweetness, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor.

Julian remained concealed behind the elevator's control panel, his tall frame hidden by Vivian's slender silhouette. Just as Giselle took another step forward, Julian emerged from the shadows.

The moment Giselle recognized his face, her confident stride faltered. The practiced smirk she'd perfected over years of social climbing melted into an uncharacteristic flush. "Julian? Julian Montclair? Is that really you?"

Vivian turned toward Julian, eyebrows arching in genuine surprise. "You two are acquainted?"

Julian offered Giselle a polite but distant smile. "My apologies, I don't quite recall. Perhaps you were part of the debate club during my senior year?" The unspoken implication hung in the air - he'd had countless admirers during his university days, and Giselle clearly hadn't made enough impression to be remembered.

That "I'm sorry" wasn't merely about his faulty memory. It was also his discreet way of avoiding Vivian's question without outright lying.

Vivian caught the nuance immediately, her lips curling in silent appreciation.

She felt no sympathy for Giselle. The woman had willingly become Victor's mistress, and now her obvious infatuation with Julian felt like an insult to his impeccable reputation.

Giselle's face cycled through emotions like a broken kaleidoscope - hope, desperation, wounded pride. "We attended middle school together," she insisted, voice trembling. "Don't you remember that little stationery shop near Fairwyn Academy? You bought me a fountain pen when I forgot my wallet. I've kept it all these years."

Julian's expression remained politely blank. "Forgive me, but such gestures were commonplace for me. Whether for classmates or strangers, even street beggars - I never gave it much thought." His tone was gentle, but the dismissal cut deeper than any insult.

Giselle recoiled as if struck. To him, was she truly no different from some homeless vagrant?

Then suspicion dawned in her narrowed eyes. She looked between Vivian and Julian, voice shaking. "Did you two arrive together?"

Vivian met her gaze with cool detachment. "Isn't it obvious?"

Giselle's breath hitched. "Your husband... he's not... not Julian, is he?"

Ice crept into Vivian's voice. "No."

A shadow of disappointment flickered across Julian's features, gone so quickly one might have imagined it. The corners of his lips lifted in a wistful smile. "Unfortunately, I'm not that fortunate."

The corridor lights caught in his eyes, turning them into pools of liquid silver. The raw sincerity in his voice made Vivian's pulse stutter for one treacherous moment.