Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Accidental Billionaire Husband : Kabanata 261 - Kabanata 270

~Katia~I brushed past Delia's shoulder without another word. The suffocating, heavy scent of her floral perfume and the flicker of her useless dinner candles faded behind me as I crossed the threshold of the formal dining room and headed straight for the grand stone staircase.My heels clicked sharply against the stone as I ascended, each step carrying me further into the quiet, dark sanctuary of Julian's private wing. My heart was hammering against my ribs, wild and fueled by the sheer audacity of what lay downstairs and the unknown danger waiting for me above.When I reached his room, the door was slightly ajar. A single, warm sliver of light cut a sharp line through the dim corridor.I pushed the door open and stepped inside.Julian was standing just inside the bedroom, his massive frame trembling slightly. He was holding onto the heavy wooden doorframe with a white-knuckled grip, using it as an anchor just to keep himself balanced against the invisible weight pressing down on his

~Katia~The cool bedroom air was a brief, stinging shock against my bare, soaking wet skin, but the relief lasted only a fraction of a second.Julian’s heavy, furnace-like heat descended on my back once more, his massive frame pinning me flat against the mattress. The weight of him was suffocating, his sweat-slicked chest pressing hard against my shoulder blades, forcing my face deep into the bunching silk pillows.Before I could even drag a full breath into my lungs, his large, scarred hands clamped around my hips with a bruising, iron-like grip. He adjusted my position, pulling my hips higher, tilting my pelvis to expose my wet, swollen core completely to his dark, heavy pressure.He didn't wait. He didn't ease into the transition.He aligned the swollen, throbbing head of his massive cock at my entrance and drove in from behind.I screamed.The muffled cry was swallowed instantly by the plush fabric of the pillow. The angle was brutal—an agonizingly deep, unyielding stretch that fe

~Delia~Three days.It had been three fucking days since Katia walked through the front doors of this house, and I had not seen her walk back out.I had been counting.The first day I had told myself it was nothing. Katia had come on Julian's call—the so-called London Extension, the business emergency that required her to drive to the city mansion at nine o'clock at night—and maybe she had stayed in one of the guest rooms. It was a large house. There were plenty of rooms. It did not have to mean anything.The second day the trays started.One of the housemaids carried a breakfast tray upstairs at eight in the morning and came back with it empty. Lunch tray at noon. Empty. Dinner tray at seven. Empty. Two trays. Side by side on the trolley when they went up. Two sets of cutlery. Two glasses.I had watched from the corridor. I had counted the cutlery.Two, fucking two!Julian had not left his wing. Not once in three days. His meetings had been rescheduled — I knew this because I had see

~Martha~Delia had sent the information the previous evening.Jude Wolfe, CEO of Wolfe Motorsport. British. Mid-thirties. Currently in residence at the Whitmore Manhattan Presidential Suite on the fourteenth floor.I had read the message twice and then set my phone down and thought about it for a long time.Sending the invitation to Katia was not an option. I knew that before Delia had even suggested it. Katia had been very clear the last time we were in the same room—she had stood at my dinner table and said things that a daughter was not supposed to say to a mother in front of witnesses, and then she had looked at me before she left and said something I had not forgotten.You lost the right to invite me to anything the day you threw me out.She had not said it loudly. That was the thing about Katia; she never raised her voice when she was being most serious. She had said it quietly, and she had meant it, and I had known in that moment that sending her an invitation to a family dinne

~Julian~I had been driving for forty minutes through traffic that should have taken fifteen, and the only thing keeping my temper level was the thought of getting home, taking off this suit, and not speaking to another human being for at least an hour.That plan ended the moment I walked through my own front door.Delia was standing at the entrance of the gallery, waiting. Fully dressed this time, holding a glass of red wine out toward me with both hands like an offering.I stopped walking.I looked at her and then looked at the wine.I had not forgotten what happened the last time she handed me a glass in this house. My knuckles still remembered the way my legs had stopped working halfway up these stairs, the way the room had tilted, the cold certainty that something had been put in the drink before I ever raised it to my mouth.I took the glass anyway, because refusing it would have started a conversation I did not want to have, and I held it without drinking from it."What's this?