Mr. Fairchild's Rose: She is Wild and Proud Chapter 181 - 170: Julian Fairchild, Why Didn’t You Come Loo

At this mont, Julian Fairchild finally seized the opportunity and kissed her lips.

Maeve Lane forcefully pushed his furry head away and threatened, "Get a grip, or I’ll throw you out."

Julian clearly ignored her warning and just held onto her, kissing her.

Forget it, talking to a drunk is pointless; he won’t understand anyway.

Maeve gave the driver the na of a hotel and said, "Let’s go here, quickly."

The sll of alcohol on Julian was so intoxicating that being in his embrace made her feel drunk too.

Miles Hughes dutifully followed them from behind; this indeed was the way back to Aurelia University.

"Looks like I’m not needed anymore," he sighed with relief, "I should have called Maeve earlier, knowing how effective she is with the young master."

As Miles was about to turn around, he saw the car in front make a U-turn as well.

Looking puzzled, he quickly steered to follow them.

Maeve and Julian got out of the car at the hotel entrance.

Miles watched as Maeve struggled to drag their young master out of the car, barely managing to keep him standing.

Glancing at the hotel in front, he muttered, "Why didn’t they just go back to Aurelia University? Why bring the young master to a hotel in the middle of the night..."

Suddenly, it dawned on him.

Clearly, Maeve has so interest in the young master. What else could a man and a woman possibly do, coming to a hotel at this hour?

That’s what he thought, and the receptionist thought the sa.

So, when Maeve requested two single rooms, the receptionist was a bit surprised.

At this mont, Julian suddenly spoke up. Staring drunkenly at the receptionist, he said slowly, "One room."

Maeve: "..."

Miles, who had quietly walked in: "..."

Maeve: "Ignore him, he’s drunk."

The receptionist, nodding along, then gave Maeve two room keys.

Julian was very unhappy with this result. Despite being drunk, his dissatisfaction was written all over his face as he stared intently at the card in Maeve’s hand, as if trying to bore a hole through it.

Maeve sighed and put the room keys away.

On the seventh floor, she first escorted Julian to his room.

As she was about to leave, he clung tightly to her shoulder, his features as pristine as fresh snow, cold and distant. His eyes were deep, and his gaze was firmly locked on hers.

He held on tighter and repeated, "...Don’t go."

No amount of coaxing or persuasion could make him let go.

She thought for a mont, then her gaze fell on the towel nearby, "Let help you sober up a bit."

She took a towel, dampened it, and wiped Julian’s face, trying to bring him to his senses.

Julian held onto her from the side; inevitably, the water from the towel soaked Maeve’s shirt.

He seed to sober up a bit.

There was a brief mont of clarity in Julian’s eyes, but upon seeing Maeve, he seed to get drunk again and bit her earlobe.

A shiver ran down Maeve’s spine; she wanted to push him away, but Julian flipped her over.

She couldn’t understand why Julian, despite being drunk, still had such strength. Even as she tried to prop him up, he pinned her down with the back of his hand.

After a bout of struggle, Maeve was slightly out of breath. She looked at the man and asked, "Julian, do you see clearly who I am?"

"Maeve."

Julian bent down and gently kissed her lips —

"Maeve."

His voice was low, rich, and magnetic, carrying a warmth that was almost electrifying.

But not for Maeve. She was instantly reminded of sothing unpleasant; her face turned slightly pale. "Julian, let go."

Julian ignored her request and continued kissing her, but he ended up tasting her tears.

His body froze instantly, and consciousness gradually returned.

Realizing the situation, a trace of panic flashed in his heart as he quickly held Maeve, gently patting her back. His voice was slightly hoarse, "I’m sorry."

He had never seen Maeve cry before.

And the worst part was, he was the cause.

Julian softly comforted her, "Don’t cry, I won’t touch you."

Maeve’s eyes seed hollow, and her body trembled.

He dared not hold her tightly, only repeating those few words.

Maeve’s chin rested on his broad shoulder, tears still on her lashes, making one’s heart ache.

Julian wished he could strangle his past self for making Maeve cry like this.

When Maeve’s hand was restrained, broken mories flashed through her mind.

The mories from that night erged uncontrollably.

She thought she had forgotten, but unexpectedly, it seed to have deeply rooted in her mind.

She self-destructively dug her nails into her palm.

Julian noticed her actions and quickly grabbed her wrist, "What are you doing?"

Maeve felt herself sinking into that dream, and she subconsciously replied, "Filthy..."