Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Accidental Billionaire Husband : Kabanata 231 - Kabanata 240

~Katia~Sam walked in at five forty-seven.I knew from her face before she said a word. I had been in the middle of reviewing the final Grand Prix logistics—paddock access, sponsor placements, and the security sweep schedule for tomorrow morning—and I looked up and read her expression and put the tablet down."Show me," I said.She turned her phone toward me.The New York Ledger. Investigative column. Front page digital edition, posted at five fourteen PM.CEO OF IG TECHNOLOGIES FACES ACTIVE MURDER CHARGE — ARREST RECORD REVEALS HOMICIDE INVESTIGATION INTO VICTOR HALE'S DEATHI read the headline once.I read the subheading.Sources close to the investigation reveal that Katia Kensington, CEO of IG Technologies and headline sponsor of tomorrow's Brooklyn Grand Prix, was arrested at the Windsor estate on homicide charges following the death of Halo Systems CEO Victor Hale. A sealed bail agreement, allegedly arranged through personal connections to the Windsor legal team, kept the arrest

~Katia~I had watched it four times.The broadcast had cut into regular programming at nine seventeen PM. Sam had been standing at my desk when it happened, both of us mid-sentence about the Grand Prix security protocols, and then her phone had buzzed and she had looked at the screen and said Katia in a voice that made me stop talking immediately.We had watched it on the office television.A man at a podium. Dark suit. British accent, low and unhurried, the kind of voice that did not need volume because it had weight. He had looked directly at the cameras with the calm, total certainty of someone who had decided something and was not interested in discussing it.My name is Jude Wolfe.Katia Kensington is my wife.I had stood in front of the television at nine twenty-three PM and felt the floor tilt slightly under my feet.Not because of the footage. The footage was extraordinary—the original, unedited forty-seven seconds of what had actually happened on that rooftop—and it was going

~Julian~The elevator ride to the penthouse was the longest ninety seconds of my life.My chest was tight, my breathing short and jagged, the raw copper taste of blood still lingering in my throat. My hand was a mess. The blood from the shattered crystal glass had dried in dark, sticky streaks across my palm and fingers, but the fresh cuts were still leaking, staining the leather of my steering wheel on the drive over. I hadn't stopped to clean it. I hadn't stopped to wrap it. The only thing that existed in my mind was the image of Jude Wolfe’s face on that broadcast and the sound of his low, British voice claiming my wife.He had said the words. He had said them to the entire world.I let myself into her penthouse with my key. I didn't make a sound. I didn't need to.Katia was standing at the floor-to-ceiling glass window of her living room, her silhouette dark against the massive, glittering wall of the Manhattan skyline across the river. She was still in the black dress from earli

~Katia~"Fuck!"I screamed the word, the raw, vibrating fury tearing from my throat as I threw my blacked-out helmet visor against the concrete wall of my Brooklyn penthouse garage. The heavy, shatterproof plastic hit the brick with a sharp, echoing crack, bouncing wildly across the polished floor before finally coming to a rest near a stack of spare Pirelli slick tires.Sam jumped nearly a foot into the air, her stylus slipping from her fingers and clattering against the screen of her iPad. She quickly recovered, pressing a hand to her chest as she exhaled a long, shaky breath. "Jesus, Katia! My heart can't take this. You won the race. You literally just embarrassed the entire Sterling Motorsports legacy on national television. Why are you so mad?"She walked over, her heels clicking softly against the concrete as she bent down to pick up the scratched black visor. She swiped her thumb across a new scuff mark on the plastic, tapping her stylus against the iPad screen with her other h

~Julian~I held her against my chest, the slow, rhythmic crawl of her breathing the only movement in the quiet dark of the living room.I hadn’t known she wanted me this badly. I hadn't realized the desperation ran this deep under that icy corporate skin of hers. The way she had demanded to know where I was on the phone, the raw, biting panic in her voice—it was the sound of a woman terrified that I had walked away. Terrified that I had gone somewhere she couldn't reach me.I had taken my time getting to her penthouse today. I had done it deliberately. With Jude Wolfe’s broadcast still vibrating through the city’s media networks, I had wanted to see what she would do. I wanted to see if she would panic and run to the British motherfucker claiming to be her husband. I had waited, my hands tight on the steering wheel, testing the limits of her loyalty.But she hadn't run to him. She had called me. And the second she saw me standing in her foyer, she had stripped herself bare and fucked