Chapter 100
[ 1,052 words ]
Delia’s POV
I had been rehearsing it for three days.
Not the words exactly; I had learnt by now that with Julian, scripted words were a liability. He heard the rehearsal underneath them, the preparation, and the moment he heard it, he closed. So I hadn’t scripted it. I had just decided I was going to say it tonight before he left for Dubai in the morning, because if I let him walk out of this house without saying it, I would spend the next week in the silence of the estate asking myself why I hadn’t.
I knocked on the study door at half past ten.
He didn’t answer immediately. He never did — it was one of his methods, the pause before responding, the fractional delay that reminded you he was choosing to acknowledge you rather than obligated to. I had catalogued all of his methods by now. It didn’t make them less effective. It just meant I could see them for what they were.
“Come in,” he said.
I opened the door.
He was at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the particular focused stillness he had when he was working through something that required his full attention. He looked up when I entered. His expression did what it always did when I came into a room, not hostility, nothing as direct as that. Just a careful, managed neutrality that said he was present and waiting and not particularly expecting anything that would require him to feel something.
I closed the door behind me.
“I won’t keep you long,” I said.
“Alright p>
I stood in front of his desk rather than sitting. Sitting would have made it a longer conversation. I wanted to say what I had come to say and leave with my dignity intact, which meant standing.
“You leave for Dubai tomorrow,” I said.
“In the morning. Yes p>
“With Katia p>
Something moved in his expression — barely, a fractional adjustment. “With the IG Technologies team,” he said. “Among others p>
“Among others,” I repeated. I looked at him steadily. “Julian. I’m not going to pretend I haven’t noticed. I’m asking you directly, which I think you’ll find more respectful than pretending p>
He said nothing. He held my gaze with the patience of a man who had decided to let me finish before he responded, which was either courtesy or strategy, and with Julian, it was usually both.
“You look at her,” I said. “Every room. Every event. Every meeting where she happens to be present.” I kept my voice level. Not accusatory. Observational, the tone I had worked on, the one that couldn’t be dismissed as jealousy or hysteria. “You look at her the way you have never once looked at me. And I am your wife p>
The study was very quiet. Outside, the estate grounds were dark and still.
“You agreed to the terms of this arrangement,” Julian said. His voice was not unkind. It was simply what it was, factual, the way he was always factual, with the specific chill of a man who had decided that honesty was more efficient than warmth.
“I agreed to the terms,” I said. “I did not agree to be invisible p>
“You’re not invisible p>
“In this house I am.” I said it without self-pity. Just clearly. “In public you are everything a husband is supposed to be. In this house you walk past me like I’m furniture you’ve stopped noticing.” I paused. “And then there’s Katia p>
He stood up. It was slow, not aggressive, not threatening. Julian didn’t need to be either of those things to command a room. He simply stood, and the room rearranged itself around the fact of him standing, and I made myself stay exactly where I was and not step back.
“Delia,” he said.
“I’m not finished p>
He looked at me and waited.
“I’m not asking you to love me,” I said. “I understand what this is. I have always understood what this is.” I looked at him directly. “But I am asking you to be honest with me. About her. About whatever this is that you are doing with her that you think I don’t see.” I held his gaze. “Because I see everything, Julian. I have been standing in the corners of this arrangement since the day it started, and I see everything p>
The silence stretched between us. Julian looked at me, really looked, in the way he rarely did, the way he reserved for things that required his genuine attention rather than his managed one. Something in his expression shifted. Not warmth. Something closer to acknowledgement. The specific, uncomfortable acknowledgement of a man who had underestimated someone and was revising his assessment in real time.
“The arrangement is what it is,” he said finally. “That hasn’t changed p>
“And Katia p>
He continued looking at me for longer this time.
“She’s a business partner, not that I owe you any explanation,” he said.
It was not a lie exactly. It was the truth with everything important removed from it, the conversational equivalent of a clean desk — all the significant things put away before anyone could see them.
I looked at him for a long moment.
“Alright,” I said.
I turned toward the door.
“Delia p>
I stopped. I didn’t turn.
“I know this isn’t what you expected,” he said. His voice had shifted, still controlled, but with something underneath it that was the closest thing to an apology Julian Windsor was probably capable of producing. “I know the arrangement has been — I know it isn’t easy p>
I stood at the door with my hand on the frame.
“No,” I said quietly. “It isn’t p>
“But then, if you feel like furniture, you are probably going to feel worse because I will never look at you as a woman or a little sister; I look at you as a business partner, just like your sister. So if it’s too hard, maybe you should go home for some time. I did not hide the terms, and you walking into my study is also not acceptable, as I don’t want you here; you are not welcome. So stop asking me useless questions and stop acting like there is something I promised you. You are nothing to me but a pretence wife. Are we clear p>
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