Love's Cunning Ruse novel Chapter 332

Julie's gaze wandered outside the car window, watching the streets morph into an unfamiliar landscape. They were not on the usual route to Simpo Liberty Square. She turned to question Rowan, but he remained silent. After that, Julie decided to keep her peace.

Rowan had expected a barrage of questions from Julie, but to his surprise, she asked just one and then fell quiet. She sat there, docile as ever, not even probing about his relationship with Sansa.

Julie's calm demeanor had a reason. Glancing down at her wristwatch, a gift from Julien, fitted on her during a secretive USB handoff at the Cardinal Hotel. She remembered his assurance of its GPS capabilities. Julie never doubted Julien's words.

She was certain that even if she didn't disclose her whereabouts to Kieran, he would find her.

Ultimately, Rowan did take Julie to a shopping mall, but it wasn't Simpo Liberty Square.

Exiting the car, Julie followed Rowan, who marched straight to the shops without uttering a word. Not even a hint about Sansa slipped from his lips.

Deciding to take the initiative, Julie quickened her pace to match his stride, "How do you know Sansa?" she inquired.

Rowan pointed at a grey and black striped tie and told the salesperson, "That's a nice tie. Let's see that one."

The salesperson, recognizing the aura of affluence around Rowan, immediately presented the tie. Kleist snatched it from her hands before Rowan took it and handed it to Julie, "Know how to tie this?"

"I just know how to tie it for my husband," she replied with a smile.

The salesperson felt a twinge of awkwardness, sensing Julie's familiar presence. It dawned on them, with a start, "Aren't you the CEO's wife from Simpo Co., Mrs..."

"Her name is Patriot Newell," Rowan cut in with the tie in hand, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

Julie's face tightened, sensing his lingering resentment over her past deception.

Seeing Julie's discomfort, another salesperson quickly silenced her colleague and apologized, "My associate here is face-blind, always mixing people up. Please don't take it to heart."

Julie merely offered a thin smile, not denying her Patriot identity.

"Ms. Newell, what's this?" Rowan suddenly extended his hand towards Julie.

She noticed a large red patch on the back of his hand, likely from when she accidentally spilled coffee on him earlier. He hadn't complained then, but clearly, he was calling her to account now.

"Shall we go to the hospital?" Julie suggested, "Considering your fragile constitution, I wouldn't want to bear the blame for any accidents."

"It's not that bad, just makes tying a tie a bit difficult. Maybe Ms. Newell could do the honors?" Rowan held the tie, coffee stains blotching his white shirt, but still looking every bit at the aristocrat.

This was clearly a challenge for Julie.

She took the tie and beckoned the salesperson, "Could you help this gentleman with his tie? He's injured his hand and can't do it himself."

The salesperson's smile was strained, and they were used as pawns.

With a stern look from Rowan, Kleist stepped forward, intimidating the salespeople into submission. Their imposing presence was enough to deter any further approach.

To break the tension, Julie laughed, "You're scaring the poor girl, Mr. Rowan. Anyone would think you're with the mafia. It's just a tie, and with your looks, Mr. Rowan, we don't even need to try it on to know it'll suit you."

She handed the tie back to the salesperson, "Wrap it up, please."

Before her bold declaration, Julie had caught a glimpse of the price tag, a Versace black and green silk tie for a whopping $1,900.

A tie could be half a month's salary for a salesperson.

It was indeed perfect for Rowan, especially with the exquisitely detailed peacock print at the bottom.

It was practically tailor-made for him.

But to Julie's surprise, Rowan selected another tie, this one with a Mississippi River print, and handed it to the salesperson, "Add this one too."

Julie was taken aback. It wasn't just about the money, and these ties cost a small fortune.

Rowan, standing before the mirror, fingers nimbly adjusting his tie, made no move to stop Julie. However, as she barely stepped out the door, Rowan's indifferent voice echoed through the shop, "I fancy Sansa."

Julie paused, card in hand, as if she had just stumbled upon something monumental. Her feet refused to move.

Even Kleist, who was on the phone arranging the car, froze, giving Rowan a look as if he'd seen a ghost. He racked his brain, and Rowan hadn't been sick that morning, so he should be normal.

Julie, intending to leave, found herself doing exactly as Rowan predicted, turning around and walking back to him, "What did you just say?"

"Do you have a moment now?" Rowan replied without missing a beat, straightening his tie and heading for the door.

Kleist hung up and followed swiftly, and after a moment's hesitation, Julie hurried after Rowan.

She expected Rowan to leave, but he surprised her by choosing a café and taking a seat by a window with a view of the street below.

Julie caught up and sat across from him. He casually asked, "Ms. Newell, what would you like to drink?"

"I think it's time I clarify," she said, "My name's Julie Abraham, you can call me Ms. Abraham. My name is not Patriot."

"Is that so? I recall you saying your friends call you Patriot," he responded with such earnestness that Julie couldn't argue.

Defeated, she just muttered, "A cappuccino, please."

After Rowan ordered, she tried to steer the conversation back on track, "What do you mean, you like Sansa?"

"I like Sansa, but Sansa likes Kyle. They fell for each other, so I was upset and arranged a car accident. It left Sansa in a coma. Kyle was taken away by Grace, losing touch with Sansa's condition. Guilty, I had Kleist contact Professor Fred to save her, but Fred lost his legs in another accident. Later, Kyle cheats on Grace and returns home, kidnapping Emily to force Fred to treat Sansa. Out of curiosity, I came back to see if Sansa might wake up." Rowan stirred his espresso, speaking each word with gravitas.

Julie scrutinized him from head to toe, searching for any hint of a lie in his expression, but whether he was too skilled a liar or she too poor a judge, she couldn't detect any deceit.

Her delicate brows furrowed deeply as she asked, "Is all this true?"