Chapter 269

[ 1,084 words ]

Julian’s POV

“Mr. Windsor,” the lead guard at the main gate house said, his voice tense. “We have an unauthorized convoy at the entrance. A single silver Porsche being escorted by four black SUVs. The lead passenger is claiming to have business at the estate. He has a lot of security, sir p>

I sat up, my eyes narrowing in the dark. A business partner? A client from the Grand Prix who had bypassed the standard security protocols? Or some high-profile corporate investor trying to make a dramatic entrance after the race?

“Let them in,” I commanded calmly. “Escort them to the main gravel driveway. I’ll meet them downstairs p>

“Yes, sir p>

I slid out of the bed, carefully tucking the duvet back over Aiden’s shoulders. I picked up the silver photograph, placed it in my dresser drawer, and walked out of the room. I didn’t change my clothes. I was still in the dark trousers and black shirt from yesterday, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, my hair slightly messy, my face the frozen, unreadable mask of a predator who had spent the night claiming his territory.

I walked down the grand stone staircase, my shoes clicking slowly against the steps. Through the high glass windows of the lobby, I could see the morning light breaking over the lawns, casting long, cold shadows across the gravel.

The heavy oak front doors were held open by my security team. I walked out, stepping onto the gravel driveway just as the convoy rounded the circular path.

The silver Porsche pulled to a stop in the center of the drive, the four massive, blacked-out SUVs positioning themselves behind it like an invading army. The doors of the SUVs flew open, and eight men in dark suits and earpieces stepped out, their eyes scanning the Windsor security detail with the professional, aggressive focus of high-level military bodyguards.

Then, the door of the silver Porsche opened.

Jude fucking Wolfe stepped out.

He wore a dark, impeccable suit that cost more than a small car, his sharp, clean shoulders radiating the cold, military bearing of a man who owned every piece of ground his feet touched. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his face calm, unhurried, and completely comfortable in the face of my private security.

The sight of him made the blood in my veins turn to pure, boiling acid. The possessive, territorial rage that I had spent the night suppressing flared in my chest like gasoline, my hands clenching into fists inside my pockets. This was the man who had stood at a podium in London and claimed my wife. This was the beast who had stepped into my den.

Jude walked across the gravel, his steps slow and measured, stopping five feet from where I stood at the base of the stone steps.

“Mr. Windsor,” Jude called, his low, British accent carrying the weight of a man who did not need volume to command absolute silence.

He extended his right hand.

I didn’t move. My hands remained deep inside my pockets, my jaw set, my eyes locked onto his with a lethal, unblinking focus that would have made a lesser man drop his eyes instantly. I didn’t take his hand, and I didn’t offer a single word of welcome.

Jude saw the refusal. He didn’t look bothered. A slow, highly amused smile touched the corners of his lips, and he calmly withdrew his hand, sliding it back into his own trousers pocket.

“Well,” Jude said, looking up at the massive stone facade of the Windsor mansion, his smile widening into a cold, victorious line. “I was told my son stays here. I am here to take him home p>

The words hit my ears like a physical blow.

My son.

He had said the words. He had said them about Aiden. He had just claimed the boy I had spent the last hour sleeping next to—the boy who carried my jaw, my hands, and my blood. The sheer, staggering audacity of the claim made a violent, primitive urge roar in my throat. I wanted to step forward, grab him by his expensive tie, and slap the absolute shit out of him until his face was unrecognizable against the gravel of my driveway.

But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lose my composure. I forced my breathing to remain slow, deep, and completely level, my voice dropping to a low, quiet register that carried the full, unyielding weight of my intent.

“Son?” I asked, my tone dry, level, and empty of warmth.

“Yes,” Jude replied, matching my gaze with his own calm, unblinking certainty. “Aiden p>

I turned slowly, taking two steps back toward the heavy oak doors of my house. I stopped, my back to him for a second, before I turned my head back over my shoulder to look down at him from the top step.

“Mr. Wolfe,” I said, my voice carrying a quiet, mocking finality that cut straight through the morning air. “Do you even know what your son looks like p>

Jude froze.

The calm, victorious smile on his face faltered. For a fraction of a second, his pupils dilated, his jaw clenching as the realization of his own lie hit him. He shook his head—a single, almost imperceptible shift of his skull. He didn’t know. He had never seen a picture of the boy. His intelligence network was good, but he had never managed to secure a file on Aiden’s face.

I let a cold, highly dangerous smirk touch the corner of my lips.

“Then I suggest you talk to his mother first,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, dismissive growl that left no room for argument. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do p>

I turned on my heel and walked inside, the heavy oak doors of the Windsor estate slamming shut behind me with a loud, violent thud that echoed like gunfire across the gravel.

I didn’t look back to see him standing there with his escorting cars. The war had officially started. And I was going to make sure Jude Wolfe bled for every single frame of his lie.

But the question is, why was he lying? I planned on telling Katia I was her husband, but right now, I won’t. I want to know what exactly Jude Wolfe want with my wife.

The heavy oak front doors of the Windsor family mansion shut behind me, the deep, resonant thud vibrating through the stone lobby like a physical punctuation mark.

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