The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled Chapter 141: The Reflection in the Glass

Even during the initial period after he had first transmigrated into this unfamiliar world, back when his feelings were still ambiguous and undefined, Julian Sterling had maintained a fortress around his heart. In those early days, he had adopted a mindset of calculated survival, feigning compliance with Ethan Caldwell’s wishes solely to leverage the man’s power. He had operated with a perpetually cool head, his emotions kept in check behind a wall of rationality, always prepared to retreat and cut ties the mont the situation beca unfavorable. He was a strategist in a strange land, playing a role to ensure his own safety.

But now... looking at his current state, Julian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

It seed that lately, he had developed a dangerous tendency to act spoiled, to indulge in a level of coquettishness that was entirely foreign to his original self. He found himself enjoying the sensation of leaning his weight against Ethan’s broad shoulders, craving the man’s soothing coaxing, and, perhaps most alarmingly, willingly using his own physical fragility as a currency to purchase the older man’s attention and care. He was lying here, enduring the gnawing emptiness of hunger and the lingering soreness of his body, simply so he could wait for Ethan to return and feed him spoonful by spoonful, like a helpless child.

This was not a good sign. In fact, it was a glaring red alert.

This was the hallmark of dependency, a toxic, insidious weed taking root in his psyche. To beco dependent in a relationship that could not even be clearly defined, especially with a man as powerful, imposing, and inherently unpredictable as Ethan Caldwell, was tantamount to voluntarily placing a noose around one’s own neck and handing the other end of the rope to the executioner. If a day ever ca when Ethan grew bored of this ga, if he decided to let go of the rope, Julian would not rely fall, he would plumt into an abyss so deep that climbing back up would be an impossibility.

Julian exhaled a heavy, ragged breath, the sound loud in the quiet room. He tossed his phone to the side, the device skidding across the sheets. Gritting his teeth against the protest of his muscles, he planted both hands firmly onto the mattress and forced his heavy, leaden body to rise.

A sharp, distinct ache radiated from his lower back and hips, shooting through his nerves and causing him to wince visibly. It was a physical reminder of the previous night’s intensity, a testant to the overwhelming dominance of the man who shared this bed. But this ti, Julian did not allow himself the luxury of collapsing back into the pillows. He refused to yield to the softness.

Dragging his weary fra, he moved with unsteady, swaying steps toward the bathroom. The mont his bare feet made contact with the tiled floor, the biting cold sent a jolt through his system, stimulating his nerve endings and clearing the fog from his brain, if only slightly.

He gripped the edge of the marble sink for support, his knuckles turning white, and slowly lifted his head.

It was only when he truly confronted his own reflection in the expansive, well-lit mirror that the reality of his situation struck him with full force.

The face staring back at him was etched with exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, making them look hollow and haunted. His hair was a disheveled ss, sticking up in tufts. But what drew his gaze most were the marks on his skin. His neck and shoulders were a canvas of mottled red and purple bruises, hickeys left behind like stamps of ownership, undeniable proof of Ethan’s possession.

Yet, as he scrutinized the image, a wave of self-loathing washed over him. Was he truly so tired that he couldn’t function? No. This body was far younger and more resilient than his body in his previous life.

In his past life... he had faced horrors far worse than a night of passion. He rembered the nights spent wide awake, fueled only by coffee and panic, racing against impossible deadlines. He rembered the acute, blinding agony of gastric attacks that left him retching bile until his throat burned, curled up on the floor of a cold, rented apartnt.

And yet, in that past life, he had always lived alone in his big family. He had dragged himself to the hospital, hailed his own taxis, worked through the pain, and overco every obstacle in solitary silence without begging for anyone’s pity.

But today? The reason he had been lying paralyzed on that King-size bed like an invalid was not because of physical incapacity. It was because, deep in his subconscious, he wanted to wait for Ethan Caldwell to return. Julian wanted the man to see him in pain. He wanted Ethan to feel a pang of distress, to feel sorry for him, to coax him, and to lavish him with even more affection.

He was using his weakness as a weapon. It was a "bitter at stratagem", a ploy to gain favor through suffering. But Julian realized with a sudden, terrifying clarity that this weapon was double-edged. While it might win him a mont of tenderness, it was simultaneously slaughtering his resilience. It was killing the strong, independent Julian Sterling.

Julian stood motionless before the mirror for a long ti, staring deep into his own pupils as if trying to find the spark of his old self. Fear began to creep in, not fear of Ethan, but fear of what he, Julian, was becoming.

Abruptly, he reached out and twisted the tap to the coldest setting.

The water gushed out with a splash. Julian cupped his hands, collecting the freezing liquid, and splashed it violently onto his face. He rubbed his skin hard, almost aggressively, trying to scrub away the drowsiness and the delusion. The icy water numbed his skin, shocking his pores, but it ignited a fire in his reason.

"Wake up, Julian." He whispered to the dripping, wet reflection in the glass: "Pull yourself together."

No. It could not go on like this. It absolutely could not.

Julian could not afford to trust anyone completely ever again. The lessons of his past life were written in blood and scars. They were still there, aching and throbbing in his mory.

Even his biological father, the man who had given him life, had never truly loved him. That man had viewed Julian rely as a tool, a shiny trophy to polish his own reputation. He had used Julian to build an image of a successful patriarch with a talented son, exploiting Julian’s achievents to line his own pockets and boost his social standing. To his father, Julian was an asset, not a human being.

And then there were the people of the Sterling family in this world, the "family" of the original owner of this body. In na, they were his flesh and blood, his closest kin. And how had they treated him? They had kidnapped him. They had plotted against him. They had drugged him and served him up on a platter like a piece of rchandise to be exchanged for benefits.