جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 60

Delia’s POVThe silence in the Windsor estate wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, like the air before a terminal storm. I sat at the edge of the sprawling king-sized bed in the East Wing, my fingers digging into the duvet. The fabric was cold. It was always cold.Across the hallway, through two sets of soundproofed doors, was the West Wing—Julian’s territory. My husband’s territory. A place I was forbidden to enter unless invited, which, in the three months since our "I do’s," had happened exactly zero times.I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. I had spent two hours on my hair and makeup this morning, wearing a lace negligee that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. I looked like a bride, a wanted woman. I looked like a Windsor. But as I stared at my own wide, desperate eyes, the realization I had been sprinting away from finally tripped me.Julian hadn't touched me. Not since the ceremony. Not even a brush of his hand against mine that wasn't strictly for the benefit of a camera len

Julian’s POVThe scent of Katia was still clinging to the fibers of my shirt, a haunting mixture of jasmine and defiance that made the air in my car feel too small. My skin was still humming from the sensation of her body against mine on that desk. I had intended to go straight to the West Wing, lock the door, and bury myself in the telemetry data of a ghost, but the moment I stepped through the front doors of the estate, the atmosphere shifted.I smelled the heavy, floral perfume of my mother-in-law before I saw her.Fuck!I rounded the corner into the kitchen, my mind already rehearsing the cold dismissal I usually reserved for Delia, when I saw them. My father-in-law, David Kensington, was leaning against the marble island, a glass of scotch in his hand, while his wife, Martha, stood beside Delia.I didn't miss the way Delia’s shoulders were hunched, or the way she looked like she had been mid-complaint.In an instant, the predator in me retreated, and the actor took the stage. I w

Julian’s POVThe scent of Katia was still a ghost in my study, a haunting mixture of jasmine, expensive skin, and that underlying hint of ozone that seemed to follow her everywhere. Even after a shower, even after scrubbing the physical memory of her from my skin, I could swear the fragrance had embedded itself into the very pores of my hands. I sat in my high-backed leather chair, the only light in the room coming from the three massive monitors displaying encrypted telemetry data and the flickering orange glow of a streetlamp outside the Windsor estate.A soft, hesitant scratching at the door broke the silence. It wasn't a knock of authority; it was the sound of someone who wasn't sure they were allowed to exist in the same hallway. I didn't need to look at the security feed to know it was Delia. She didn't have the biometric clearance to bypass the locks on the West Wing, so she stood there like a shadow, a constant, irritating reminder of the agreement my grandmother had with the

Katia’s POVThe midnight blue felt like a shroud the moment I stepped out of the plaza. The cold, biting air of Manhattan hit my exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the ballroom and the even more suffocating weight of Julian’s gaze. My pulse was still erratic, a jagged drumming in my throat that I couldn't seem to quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom pressure of his hand on the small of my back, a reminder of the fire we had played with in his office."You’re vibrating," Samantha said, her voice low and sharp as she slid into the back of the black sedan beside me. She didn't wait for me to respond before flipping open her laptop, the blue light reflecting off her glasses. Her fingers were already flying across the keys, checking the perimeter of our digital footprint. "That was a hell of a show back there. You had the board eating out of your hand, but Julian looked like he was ready to dismantle the building just to see what makes you tick.""I

~Katia~I woke up at 4 AM, like it was a punishment. No alarm. No noise. Just my eyes snapping open to the dark ceiling of my bedroom with my heart already three beats ahead of my brain, still running from a bridge I'd left two hours before.I lay there for a moment, staring at nothing, my body deciding whether it was done with the adrenaline yet. It wasn't. My hands were steady—they're always steady after a race, after the drop—but my mind was still moving at 140 mph, replaying the drone in my peripheral vision, the SUVs that came within an inch of my tail, and the red flash in the corner of my visor that said 'Target Tagged' like the universe had a grudge.I got out of bed before I thought too hard about staying in it.Aiden's door was slightly open, the way he liked it. I pushed it wider and stood in the frame for a moment. He was face-down with one arm hanging off the mattress and his duvet kicked to the foot of the bed, which was normal. His curls were a disaster, which was also n