I Play Hard to Get, Trap Billionaire

Chapter 4

In the second year of treating him, I finally met the owner of the profile picture I had seen below my chat. She used Julian's phone to text me, saying he was having a migraine attack and telling me to come over. The address was a bar Julian frequented.

I didn't drink and hated the smell of alcohol, a fact Julian was well aware of. Because of this, he always smelled clean whenever he came to see me. That was why, when I received those messages, I immediately suspected someone else had sent them.

Driven by some inexplicable urge, I hailed a cab and headed straight to the bar.

When I pushed the door open, feeling weary from the journey, deafening heavy metal music assaulted my ears. The twisting figures on the dance floor were fragmented by the chaotic, colorful lights. I reflexively squinted. When I opened my eyes again, I spotted that familiar face.

Beside him sat a stunning girl in a slip dress—the complete opposite of my style. I was plain and flavorless, like plain water, though he insisted I was like fresh, fragrant jasmine. Unable to argue with him, I would just stay quiet, puffing my cheeks out like an angry pufferfish. He would then lean in to kiss me under the pretense of cheering me up, but whenever I met his sharp gaze, I always dodged. If he were the person he resembled, I wouldn't have avoided it; I might have even initiated the kiss.

With a carefree and unrestrained look in his eyes, Julian lifted his glass and downed his drink in one gulp. His friends immediately started cheering and teasing him.

"Julian, are you seriously settling down?"

"Julian, do you really like that boring little holistic doctor?"

"Since when did you start going for the good girl type?"

I was close enough to hear every word clearly. I couldn't explain why, but my heart clenched, and it felt like a thousand needles were piercing my insides.

The pretty girl next to him suddenly straddled his lap. From my angle, she leaned down as if kissing him, sparking a wave of suggestive teasing from the group. Julian tilted his head back slightly, looking as though he was thoroughly enjoying her bold move.

When I first met him, I had heard about his romantic escapades. He was a playboy who frequented the nightlife scene, yet he was never known to be in a serious relationship—only casual flings. Some even jokingly called him "the Flirt." Honestly, I admitted I enjoyed the push-and-pull of our ambiguous relationship. I liked it when he wore that familiar face and went out of his way to treat me well, drawing me into a dream woven from regret and guilt.

A sudden tear rolled down my cheek. Startled, I raised my hand to wipe it away. Why was I crying over him?

He was nothing more than a stand-in.