Chapter 391
[ 1,082 words ]
Delia’s POV
Aiden pushed himself up slowly, brushing dirt from his uniform. His cheek was already turning red from my slap, but his eyes never wavered.
“Then why are you not staying at the Windsor mansion if you are the Windsor wife?” he asked, voice dripping with contempt. “Why do you have to come here and slap a child? Because you know the truth. You’re not the wife. You never were. My dad will drag you to hell; he will handle you p>
I raised my hand to slap him again, fury boiling over. This little shit thought he could talk to me like that? In public? With everyone watching?
But a strong hand caught my wrist midair, gripping it so tightly I gasped in pain. “You dare touch my son!” I turned, eyes wide, to see who had dared interfere.
Slap!
The sound cracked across the courtyard of Windsor Academy like a gunshot. My head snapped sideways. Fire exploded across my left cheek. I staggered back two full steps, hand flying up to cover the burning skin. For one dizzy second the world tilted. The crowd of parents, teachers, and uniformed children blurred into a wall of open mouths and raised phones. My ears rang. My vision swam.
“You dare touch my son!” Julian barked.
I spun toward the voice, still clutching my cheek. He stood there like violence wrapped in a three-piece suit, tall, cold, eyes black with the kind of rage I had only ever seen him direct at enemies who no longer breathed. Zane was already moving behind him, heading straight for Aiden.
Something ugly and molten rose in my chest.
“Just because you might be fucking Katia doesn’t mean you can claim this bastard as yours!” I screamed, loud enough for every recording phone and every gaping parent to catch every syllable.
Julian’s hand came up again.
Slap!
The second blow landed harder than the first. My right cheek flared white-hot. Tears sprang to my eyes from pure force. I tasted blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my lip. The entire courtyard gasped as one. Someone muttered “Jesus Christ.” A mother pulled her daughter behind her like I was contagious. I didn’t care. I was staring at the man who had just hit me twice in public for a child who was not even his.
“Nobody touches my son, Delia. No one!” he barked again, voice low and lethal, the kind of quiet that used to make boardrooms go silent.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke next. He looked past me, straight at Zane.
“Zane, take my son to the car p>
Zane didn’t hesitate. He scooped Aiden up like the boy weighed nothing and ran for the black SUV waiting at the curb. Aiden’s skinny arms locked around Zane’s neck. His cheek was still flaming red from my palm. The little shit had the nerve to look back at me over Zane’s shoulder with those cold, dry eyes. No tears. Just pure ice and something that looked disturbingly like triumph. I wanted to slap him again just for existing.
The courtyard suddenly felt too small. Phones were recording from every angle. Teachers whispered frantically into walkie-talkies. Parents stared like they were watching a car crash in slow motion. I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and faced Julian fully, chin high even though both cheeks throbbed like open wounds.
“What is this?” I demanded, my voice shaking with fury I couldn’t fully hide. “That bastard is your son now? Are you the one who got Katia pregnant this time around, Julian p>
Julian’s jaw flexed once. He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne and the cold, clean rage underneath it. The same scent that used to make my knees weak now made my stomach twist with something darker.
“You are starting to annoy the living shit out of me,” he said, each word clipped and deadly quiet. “I told you I would never fuck you. Who I fuck and who I do not fuck is none of your business. Stop acting like you are my wife. I am married, and you will find out tonight who my wife is. Right now, you touched my son, and that is something I will never forgive, Delia Kensington p>
The name hit harder than both slaps combined.
Kensington, not Windsor.
He said it like I was trash again, like the last two years of living in his house, wearing his ring, and answering to his name had never happened.
“I am Delia Windsor!” I screamed. My voice cracked in the middle. “I am your wife, and you just slapped me because of Katia’s bastard p>
Julian’s eyes went completely flat. He took one more step until we were almost chest to chest. The crowd had gone dead silent. Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere a phone camera zoomed in with an audible click.
“Call my son a bastard again,” he said, voice soft and terrifying, “and I will knock you over that rock p>
He pointed at the decorative stone border lining the courtyard path. I looked at the rock, then back at his face, and something cold and real slid down my spine. He meant every single word. The man standing in front of me was not the Julian who used to buy me flowers when my parents were around to look the part. This was the Julian who destroyed companies before breakfast. I closed my mouth. For the first time since I walked into this courtyard, actual fear cut cleanly through the anger.
I forced my voice to be softer. Sweet. The tone that used to work when I wanted a new Birkin or a weekend in Saint-Tropez.
“Julian, baby… that was wrong of me to call my sister’s son a bastard. Please, baby. I need to come home. I can’t be staying at my father’s house. It’s very disturbing. People would talk p>
He stared at me like I had grown a second head and then lost both of them. The look was pure disgust mixed with something colder — the kind of pity that makes a person feel smaller than dirt.
“I think you have lost some screws in your head,” he said flatly. “You were never my wife, so stop with this delusion of yours. Touch my son again and I will make sure you regret ever setting your eyes on him p>
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