تسجيل الدخولKatiaThe room had gone so quiet I could hear the ice shifting in David's glass, the small clink of it the only sound moving through a space that had, only minutes earlier, been full of laughter and the easy clatter of a family pretending to enjoy itself."Excuse me," I said, turning to face my sister fully."You heard me," Delia said, lifting her chin, color rising along her throat in a way that told me she had not actually thought this sentence through before she said it, only reached for the sharpest thing within arm's reach and thrown it. "All of this. The accusations, the timing, doing it tonight, in front of everyone. Maybe you're not actually upset about Jude at all. Maybe you're upset because you want something you can't have.""And what is that, exactly?" I asked.Delia's eyes flicked, just briefly, toward Julian, who had not moved from his place near the window since this entire conversation began, watching the unfolding scene with the same flat composure he wore into every
KatiaI felt Julian's eyes on me long after I walked back to my mother, the weight of them settling somewhere between my shoulder blades the way they always did when he was watching me work a room he disapproved of, but I had a dinner to host and a family to manage, and there was no room tonight for whatever conversation his stare was trying to start.Martha had migrated toward the bar cart, a fresh glass of champagne already in her hand, watching Jude move through my living room with the kind of open fondness she had never once aimed in my direction for anything I had built on my own."He really is wonderful," she said, to no one in particular, though clearly meant for the whole room to hear. "I don't think I've ever met a son-in-law quite like him.""Mother.""I mean it," she continued, raising her glass slightly in Jude's direction as he laughed at something Dad had said near the window. "The gifts, the warmth, the way he simply walked into this family and made himself at home. Per
JulianI arrived early, which was not something I did often, but I had told myself the entire drive over that I wanted a few minutes alone with her before the rest of them filled the room with noise I would have to perform through.The elevator opened directly into her private hall the way it always did, white marble underfoot, a path I could have walked blind by now. I knew which floorboard near the kitchen entrance gave slightly underfoot. I knew which side of the bed she slept on when the city lights outside kept her awake. I knew this penthouse the way a man knows a place he has spent more nights inside than he has ever admitted to a single person in his life, and walking through that door tonight as a guest, announced and expected, felt almost obscene given everything else I knew about it.She met me at the door herself."You're early," she said, something flickering behind her expression that I could not quite name before she smoothed it away."I wanted a few minutes before the
DeliaThe invitation arrived on my phone while I was sitting across from my mother in her sunroom, the porcelain teacup balanced on its saucer the way she insisted it always be balanced, handle facing exactly the same direction as the spoon.I read it twice before I said anything."Katia is inviting everyone to dinner," I said, setting my phone face down on the table beside my own untouched tea. "Tonight. Her penthouse.""Oh?" Mama said, not looking up from whatever she was doing to her own cup, stirring sugar she did not need into tea she had been drinking the same way for thirty years."I wonder why she wants us all there," I said. "Whether she just wants to flaunt the fact that she has more money than me. Show off the view, the floors, whatever new piece of art she's bought since the last time any of us were allowed inside."Martha laughed, a small, dismissive sound that landed harder than she probably meant it to, or perhaps exactly as hard as she meant it to. With my mother it wa
KatiaThe smell of coffee turned my stomach the moment I stepped into the kitchen, which made no sense at all, since I had been drinking the same brand every morning for the better part of a decade.I stood at the counter and stared at the machine like it had personally betrayed me, then gave up and poured myself a glass of water instead, holding it against my lips longer than I drank from it, waiting for the wave behind my ribs to settle before it climbed any higher.This was the third morning in a row.I told myself it was the flight back from the Maldives. Recycled air, pressurized cabins, and the kind of low-grade nausea that came from sitting in a metal tube for fourteen hours and pretending it was relaxing because the water below happened to be turquoise. I told myself it was the wine at dinner the night before, even though I had barely finished half a glass before pushing the rest away, the smell of it suddenly wrong in a way I could not name.I told myself a lot of things that
~Jude~I stepped out of the Obsidian Lounge into the cold night air and walked half a block before I trusted my hands enough to pull out my phone.The street was mostly empty at this hour, just the occasional taxi sliding past and a doorman two buildings down stamping his feet against the cold. I leaned against the stone facade of a closed boutique and tried to slow my breathing before I dialed, because I did not want him to hear anything in my voice that he could use against me later.I dialed the number from memory. I had never saved it under a name, never trusted a phone enough to leave a trace of who he actually was, not after everything he had told me about the kind of people who might come looking if this arrangement ever unraveled in the wrong direction.It picked up on the second ring."Talk to me," the voice said."Windsor is not making this easy," I said, keeping my voice low, my eyes scanning the street out of habit more than necessity. "I think he might have a clue. About
~Delia~Julian was not reacting.That was the problem. That was the entire problem, and it was driving me out of my mind because the whole point of this dinner — the whole carefully constructed, Christopher-sourced, both-families-invited point of this dinner — was to make Julian Windsor show his ha
~Katia~It had been a week.Seven mornings of waking up next to him. Seven nights of him appearing in my bed—at the penthouse mostly, once at his mansion the night of the family dinner, and once in a hotel in the city when we had worked late and he had simply booked a suite and told me I was not go
~Delia~I spent forty minutes trying to find the hangar.Not because I had a plan. I want to be honest with myself about that — I did not have a plan. I had a cracked phone screen and an Instagram photograph and the fury of a woman who had been sitting still for too long and had finally decided tha
~Delia~I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw it.Julian's account. He posted rarely—maybe once a month, sometimes less, always something curated and controlled and giving nothing away. A view from an office window. A car. The Windsor estate gardens in a particular light. The kind of posts t







