Chapter 43

[ 912 words ]

Delia’s POV

“And you will never see him naked,” Chloe whispered, her voice turning as sharp as a razor blade. “You can wear the ring, you can use the name, and you can tell the world whatever fairy tale helps you sleep at night, but you are a stranger to him. I’ve seen the way he looks when he’s satisfied. You? You just look hungry. If you want to go low, sweetheart, I can go much lower. I’m the one fucking your husband while you’re upstairs scrolling through Instagram wondering which hotel he’s checking into p>

She picked up her coffee cup, tilting it toward me in a mock toast. “You’re a visitor here, Delia. A legal formality. A business arrangement. I’m the one he actually wants in his bed. Maybe try a new perfume? Or perhaps a personality? Though I doubt either would help at this point. You’re simply… unremarkable p>

I sat there, paralyzed, as she went back to her breakfast, humming a soft tune. She had decimated me. She had taken my pride, my marriage, and my status and crushed them under her expensive, polished heels. And the worst part, the part that made me want to scream until my throat bled, was that she was right.

Julian hadn’t just brought a mistress home to spite me. He had brought a weapon. He was using Chloe to tell me that the woman in the photo, the woman he actually desired, was someone I could never be, no matter how many manicures I got.

I looked at her nails again. My mind flashed back to Katia’s office. The same nails. If Chloe wasn’t in France, then it was Katia. But if I admitted that, I’d lose everything. I had to believe this model was the one. I had to make her the villain because the alternative that Julian was in love with my sister was a death sentence for my future.

I stood up, my chair screeching against the floor. “My mother is coming for dinner tonight,” I said, my voice cold and trembling. “And when she sees how you’ve disrespected this house, Julian will have a lot more than just a bored wife to deal with p>

Chloe didn’t even blink. “I’ll be gone by lunch, darling. I have a campaign in Milan. But don’t worry… I’ll leave a little of my scent on his pillows for you to find later. Consider it a gift p>

I turned and fled the room, the sound of her soft, melodic laughter following me all the way up the stairs.

I 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 married. He was dressed in a crisp, charcoal suit, but the sharpness of his usual aura had been softened. In his hands, he held two massive, exquisite bouquets of peonies and lilies, my mother’s favorite.

He looked up and caught my eye, and for a heartbeat, I didn’t see the man who had brought a model to breakfast. He gave me a small, boyish smile. “You look beautiful, Delia,” he called up.

I descended the stairs in a daze. As I reached the bottom, he didn’t turn away. He stepped into my space, the scent of sandalwood and something expensive enveloping me. He leaned down and pressed a lingering, tender peck on my cheek.

“For you, my wife,” he whispered, handing me the larger of the two bouquets.

I was still reeling when the doorbell rang. It was time.

The dining room was a masterclass in elegance. The candlelight danced off the crystal, and the air was filled with the scent of the flowers Julian had provided. Mother sat across from us, her eyes looking for any sign of the discord I had described to her earlier that day.

But Julian gave her nothing but perfection.

He sat next to me, not across from me, but right beside me, his chair angled so our shoulders brushed. Throughout the meal, he was attentive in a way that made my heart race. He reached over, his long fingers steady, and placed the best cuts of the roast onto my plate.

“How is everything at the office, Julian?” Mother asked, her voice carrying that classic Kensington interrogative edge. “I imagine the office has kept you quite occupied p>

Julian didn’t miss a beat. He took a sip of his wine and then reached under the table, finding my hand and interlacing his fingers with mine. His grip was warm and firm.

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