All Chapters of My Accidental Billionaire Husband : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

316 Chapters

Forgetting the ghost wife

Julian’s POVThe check was paid before she could even reach for her purse. I didn't do it out of a sense of archaic chivalry; I did it because, in my world, the one who pays controls the pace. Information is currency, but timing is power, and I wasn't ready for this night to end. Not yet. I had spent my life moving from one objective to the next, but for the first time in years, the "machine" was idling.As we stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool, salt-heavy air of the French Riviera, the town of Antibes was glowing like a string of amber pearls against the velvet throat of the Mediterranean. The tourists were thinning out, leaving the cobblestone streets to the ghosts of old poets and the quiet hum of high-end security details."I heard that a boat sailing at night is much nicer," I said, glancing toward the marina where the superyachts bobbed like sleeping giants. "The water is calmer. The stars don't have to compete with the city lights or the noise of people trying too

The Confession

Julian's POVThe flight back from France had been a vacuum of silence, a pressurized cabin of forced isolation that I desperately needed. But the world I returned to was anything but quiet. The moment the wheels of the Windsor private jet touched the tarmac at Teterboro, my phone had become a live wire, a constant vibration of notifications that felt like a physical assault. Lawyers were demanding statements, PR managers were drafting "clarifications," and there was digital vitriol in my voicemail that I didn't even have to listen to to understand.I ignored them all. I wasn't in the mood for the theater of damage control.I was back in my Manhattan office, the eighty-third-floor sanctuary that usually felt like the cockpit of the world. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, staring out at the skyline as the sun began to dip behind the skyscrapers, casting long, jagged shadows across the city. The city looked like a circuit board, ordered, predictable, and cold. Exactly how I liked i

The Paper Bride

Delia’s POVThe dining room of the Windsor estate was large enough to host a gala, yet it felt like a tomb. I had spent the last three hours ensuring the table was perfect. The silver was polished to a mirror finish, the candles were flickering with a soft, romantic glow, and the scent of the roasted duck, Julian’s favorite, or so the staff told me, filled the air.I was wearing a dress that cost more than most people’s cars, my hair swept into a perfect, effortless chignon. I looked exactly like a Windsor wife should. I looked like a woman who had won.Then I heard the heavy thud of the front door, followed by the measured, rhythmic footsteps of a man who didn't care who was waiting for him.Julian walked into the dining room, his presence immediately sucking the warmth out of the air. He looked tired, but it wasn't the exhaustion of a groom returning to his bride; it was the weariness of a king returning from a conquest. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at the table. He simply u

The Digital Footprint

Katia’s POVBrooklyn felt smaller after the salt air of the Riviera. Returning to my office usually offered a sense of grounding, a sanctuary where the high-gloss finishes and the quiet hum of world-class technology reflected the empire I had built from nothing. But today, the luxury felt stifling. I sat behind my desk, the sprawling city skyline looming through the glass, and did something I hadn’t done in nearly a decade.I opened Instagram. I didn't even have his handle saved; I had to type his name into the search bar, feeling a strange, tight knot of anxiety in my chest. I had never cared to look before. Julian Windsor was a man I dealt with in boardrooms and through legal contracts, not through a social media lens.When his profile loaded, I was surprised. It was exactly as I should have expected, intimidatingly corporate. It was a digital mausoleum of black-and-white architecture, sharp angles of the Windsor headquarters, and the occasional press photo of Julian looking like an

Where is your ring

Katia’s POVThe lobby of the Windsor Empire Group was a temple of glass and brushed steel, a monument to the cold efficiency Julian Windsor demanded from the world. Usually, walking into a high-stakes meeting felt like stepping onto a battlefield where I held all the best weapons. But today, my grip on my briefcase felt loose. My skin felt too thin."Remember," Samantha whispered as the elevator surged toward the executive floor, "eyes on the data, not the man. You’re the CEO of IG Technologies. You’re here to prove our integration is seamless, not to answer for a jazz club in Antibes.""I know how to do my job, Sam," I replied, though my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. I glanced down at my hands. They were bare, my fingers looking pale and vulnerable against the black leather of my bag. I had left the ring in my jewelry box at the loft. I couldn't risk it, not here. That ring cost a lot, so showcasing it would be a death wish.The elevator doors slid open.The conference ro

The Kitchen Table

Delia’s POVThe Windsor main house was an architectural marvel of limestone and history, a sprawling estate that whispered of old money and generations of power. To me, it always felt like a museum where I wasn't allowed to touch the exhibits. Every vase looked like it belonged in a gallery, and every rug felt too expensive to step on. I walked into the kitchen, the heels of my designer boots clicking sharply against the white marble, a sound that felt intrusive in the quiet, purposeful hum of the room.Julian’s grandmother, Celesta, and his sister, Gail, were already there. To my surprise, they weren't just supervising the staff; they were actually cooking. The kitchen, which was large enough to serve a hotel, smelled of rosemary, garlic, and expensive wine. I didn't offer to help. I didn't know the first thing about cooking, and I certainly didn't want to ruin my fresh manicure, the one I’d spent an hour getting done to match that damn photo on Julian’s Instagram.I stood there for

Did you spend time with my husband?

Katia’s POVMy phone had been buzzing for three solid minutes, vibrating against the mahogany surface of my desk like a persistent, gold-plated insect. I immediately knew it was one of my family members, and I also know that they didn't call unless they had a curated audience to perform for or a problem that required someone else’s hands to get dirty. Since Delia had just landed the "wedding of the century" and hitched her wagon to the Windsor star, I assumed she was calling to gloat about the size of her rock or the thread count of her new sheets.I finally picked up on the tenth ring, not even bothering with a greeting or the pretense of warmth. "I’m busy, Delia. Unless the house is on fire or you’re calling to tell me you’ve moved to another hemisphere, make it quick.""Hey, sis," her voice came through, sounding suspiciously soft, layered with a forced fragility that she usually reserved for the press. "Can we meet? Just for a bit? I’m in the neighborhood.""No. I have a company t

The Mother’s Gambit

Delia’s POVThe tires of the Rolls-Royce screeched as the chauffeur pulled into the Kensington driveway. I didn’t wait for him to open the door. I threw it open myself and stormed toward the front entrance, my heart hammering a beat against my ribs. The opulence of my childhood home usually calmed me, but today, every gilded frame and curtain felt like it was mocking me."Mother!" I yelled, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the foyer."In the kitchen!" Mother's voice drifted back, calm and domestic, as if the world wasn't currently crumbling beneath my feet.I marched into the kitchen, the scent of expensive spices and lemon zest hitting me like a physical wall. My mother was standing by the island, elegantly dressed even for a casual afternoon at home. I didn’t sit. I couldn't. I started pacing the length of the marble floor, my heels clicking like a countdown."Are you going to tell me what’s eating you up, or am I supposed to guess?" Mother asked, not looking up from her

Chloe the model

Julian’s POVI woke up to the soft, unforgiving light of a Manhattan morning filtering through the heavy velvet curtains of the guest suite. I never really take bitches to my main bedroom, but if Katia Kensington so much as looked my way, I wouldn't hesitate. The air in this wing of the estate was cooler, detached from the suffocating domesticity Delia was trying so desperately to cultivate. Beside me, Chloe stirred. She was a top-tier Parisian model I’d known for years—a woman who understood the language of silence and the transactional nature of high-end companionship.But what I appreciated most about Chloe this morning wasn't her striking bone structure or her effortless poise; it was the specific, high-gloss set of pale pink nails she wore.I had personally requested she get that exact shade before her flight touched down.I smiled, a cold expression, as I brushed my thumb over her knuckles. I didn't love Chloe. I didn't love anyone. But I did love a well-executed variable. Delia

The Performance of a Lifetime

Delia’s POVI spent the afternoon in a state of vibrating anxiety, pacing the length of my solitary bedroom and checking the clock every five minutes. The humiliation from the morning still burned in the back of my throat. The image of that model, the sting of her words, and the absolute coldness of Julian’s gaze. But my mother was coming. Martha Kensington didn't just visit; she inspected. And if Julian didn't play his part, the facade of my perfect life would shatter before the first course was served.I had sent Julian a text, my fingers trembling as I typed. Mother is coming for dinner at seven.I expected him not to respond. I expected a cold assistant to call and say he was "detained" or busy, but no response came. Julian was cold to me in every way possible.At precisely six-thirty, the front doors of the estate groaned open. I hurried to the top of the stairs, bracing myself for a fight, but stopped dead. Julian was standing in the foyer, looking every bit the king I had marri

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