Too Late to Ask Too Late to Love (Julian and Eleanor) novel Chapter 1

“Aunty May, I’m done chasing after my uncle. Once I finish handing over my projects next month, I’m quitting the industry and moving to Provence,” Eleanor declared, her voice steady but heavy with finality.

Aunt May nodded knowingly. “It’s about time you saw reason. Julian Blackwood isn’t the right man for you. And beyond the fact that he’s your uncle, remember when you confessed your feelings at eighteen? If even a flicker of romance had been there, he wouldn’t have so bluntly said he’d never marry.”

For seven long years, Eleanor had held on, refusing to let go.

After all, there was no blood relation between them. She told herself she could wait, that she could endure the ache and uncertainty.

But now, that resolve had crumbled.

Just yesterday, Julian had made his relationship public. His new girlfriend was Sophia Miller, a bright and innocent student from a prestigious film school.

The news had exploded online, trending everywhere.

Eleanor hadn’t slept a wink last night, dialing Julian’s number eighty-eight times, only to be met with silence and rejection.

After years of relentless pursuit, he had chosen someone else. The exhaustion weighed down on her like a stone.

She no longer wanted to love Julian.

Feeling numb and hollow, Eleanor rose slowly from her chair and headed upstairs. Since she had made up her mind to leave, it was time to pack her things.

Her last name wasn’t Blackwood, and now she knew she would never be part of the family’s photo albums. The Blackwood estate no longer felt like home.

Yet, standing before her eighty-square-meter bedroom, surrounded by countless pieces of her past confessions, she felt lost and disoriented.

She had been shattered, haunted by nightmares every night. In those dreams, Julian was always there by her bedside. When her despair made her lose her appetite, he—an uncompromising CEO who had never stepped foot in a kitchen—would swallow his pride to cook for her, coax her back to life. He would take her out for fresh air, buy her anything she glanced at, as if to shield her from the world’s cruelty.

When a classmate at school had cruelly called her a burden, Julian had severed the Blackwood Group’s business ties with that family, banishing them from high society.

Carrying the box downstairs, Eleanor’s phone rang. It was her agent, Sarah Lynn.

“Eleanor, we’ve tried five times to get you cast in ‘Mural.’ The producers are firm—it’s Julian Blackwood’s project, and he refuses to have you in it.”

Sarah’s voice softened. “We’re best friends. I’ve watched you chase Julian publicly for five years, get rejected again and again, and be made a fool of. Now he’s with someone else. Please, just let him go, okay?”

Eleanor was about to respond when she rounded a corner and collided with someone. The box slipped from her hands, scattering the confession notes across the floor.

A familiar scent of sandalwood filled the air. Looking up, Eleanor met a pair of deep, unreadable eyes.

The tall man stood silhouetted against the light, a bracelet gleaming on his wrist. His handsome face was calm, distant, and unreadable.

“Julian,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s been a long time.”