Chapter 174

[ 1,043 words ]

Delia’s POV

The humiliation of the other night should have been enough to keep me away. A normal woman, a woman with a shred of dignity left in her designer marrow, would have locked herself in her room and plotted her exit. But the itch under my skin—that relentless, agonizing hunger that had been sparked by Victor and neglected by Julian—was driving me mad. I felt like a ghost haunting my own hallways, drifting through a mansion that felt more like a mausoleum with every passing hour.

I knew Julian was in his study. He spent more time in that soundproofed fortress than he did in his own bed. It was the nerve centre of the Windsor empire, a place where he made decisions that moved markets and crushed lives. It was also the one place I was never invited.

I walked down the long corridor of the east wing, my heels clicking sharply against the polished wood. Each step was a defiance. I reached the massive, double-oak doors of his study and reached for the handle. I turned it, expecting the smooth give of the mechanism, but it didn’t budge.

Locked. He had locked me out of a room in a house I was supposed to be the mistress of.

I didn’t just walk away. I couldn’t. I knocked, a polite sound that befitted a Kensingtonian. No answer. I knocked harder. Still, nothing but the heavy, oppressive silence of the house. The rage that had been simmering since his “type” comment boiled over. I balled my fists and began to bang on the wood, the sound thundering through the hallway.

“Julian! Open this door!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Julian p>

I was prepared to kick the door in if I had to, but suddenly, the click of the deadbolt echoed like a gunshot. The door swung open, and the sheer presence of the man standing there nearly knocked me backward.

Julian didn’t look like the billionaire CEO right now. He was wearing light grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes. His chest was a broad expanse of hard, sculpted muscle, and the way the fabric of the sweatpants draped, I could tell he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. If I reached out, if I just pulled at the waistband, I would see exactly what I had been begging for.

But his face… his face was made of granite. He didn’t look angry. He looked bored. Truly, deeply bored by the sight of me.

“Can we talk?” I asked, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over that massive chest. The movement made his biceps bulge, a display of power that felt like a threat. “About p>

“Us p>

Julian raised an eyebrow, a slow, mocking arch. “Us. That’s a very broad topic, Delia. Go on. Entertain me p>

“I want us to be a real husband and wife,” I said, the words rushing out of me. I tried to look him in the eye, to show him the “good” sister he was supposed to want. “This arrangement… it’s cold. We’re bound by contract, Julian. Why can’t we just try to make it real? I’m right here. I’m willing to be whatever you need p>

Julian didn’t move. He slid his fingers into the pockets of his sweatpants, the action pulling the fabric tighter against his thighs. He took a slow breath, his chest expanding, and then he looked me up and down with a soul-crushing detachment.

“Listen closely, because I’m only going to say this one more time,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I told you. You are not my type. Looking at you does absolutely nothing to my dick. In fact, the more you beg, the more repulsive you become. You’re like a persistent itch that I’ve already paid to have treated p>

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, a mixture of shame and fury. “Repulsive? I’m a Kensington! Men spend millions just for the chance to sit at a table with me p>

“Then go find one of them,” Julian snapped, his eyes flashing with a sudden, ruthless intensity. “Because in this house, you are an invoice. You are a line item in a contract. Nothing more. Never come to this side of my wing again. Don’t touch this door, don’t knock, and don’t breathe near my study. You’re a guest here, Delia. Start acting like one before I decide the guest list is too crowded p>

“But you want my sister!” I yelled, the words tearing out of my throat before I could stop them.

The change in the room was instantaneous. At the mention of Katia, the boredom vanished. A slow, dark smile spread across Julian’s face—a smile that held more heat than he had ever directed at me in six months. It wasn’t a kind smile; it was the look of a predator thinking about a kill.

“Katia,” he whispered, the name sounding like a prayer and a threat all at once. “Katia, I would fuck. In a heartbeat. On this desk, on the floor, in the dirt. She’s everything I need in a woman. She has fire, she has a spine, and she doesn’t spend her time weeping in hallways. She’s a challenge. You? You’re a chore p>

“She has a husband!” I shrieked, desperate to throw any dirt I could on her image. “And she has a child! How can you want someone like that? Someone who is used goods? I don’t have a child. I’m clean. I’m yours p>

Julian stepped closer, invading my personal space until I was forced to look up at him, the scent of his skin—something like cedar and ozone—overwhelming me. He looked down at me with a pity that was more painful than his anger.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice a cruel silk. “You think a child makes her less? I hear women with children are much spicier than those without. They know what their bodies are for. They aren’t afraid of the mess. Katia is a woman who has lived, Delia. You’re a woman who has merely been polished. But if I’m being honest, your mileage is higher than hers p>

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