Chapter 235

[ 996 words ]

Julian’s POV

I hadn’t slept.

I sat in the armchair in the corner of my bedroom, watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Katia’s shoulders under the dark duvet. She was exhausted, her mind and body finally collapsing under the weight of the shock from yesterday afternoon. Every few minutes, her fingers would twitch against the fabric, her brow furrowing as her brain tried to process the phantom rush of wind and the quiet, heavy sound of Victor Hale’s body hitting the concrete twenty stories below.

She was safe here. I had brought her to the Windsor estate because the estate was a fortress, a place where the world could not reach her unless I allowed it. I had spent the night watching her, my hands still carrying the phantom memory of the way she had trembled against my chest in the dark of the stairwell.

At exactly five-forty AM, my encrypted radio buzzed on the bedside table. A low, static hum.

“Mr. Windsor,” my head of security, Marcus, whispered. “We have a situation at the main gate. NYPD. Three cruisers and two unmarked vehicles. They have a warrant p>

I was out of the chair before he finished the sentence. I didn’t look back at Katia. I walked to the door, my movements silent and deliberate, my blood pressure rising with a cold, steady heat.

“On what charge?” I asked, my voice a quiet, deadly rasp into the transmitter.

“Homicide, sir. They have a warrant for Katia Kensington p>

My grip on the radio tightened until the plastic groaned. “Hold them at the gate for exactly three minutes. Do not let them cross the driveway until I am downstairs p>

I slipped out of the room, pulling the heavy door shut behind me, ensuring the latch clicked softly so Katia wouldn’t wake. I didn’t put on a suit. I was in a black t-shirt and trousers, my sleeves rolled up, my hair unbrushed. I didn’t need the corporate armor today. I needed the raw, unyielding authority of a man who owned the land they were about to step on.

I reached the bottom of the grand staircase just as the tires of the police cruisers crunched onto the gravel of the circular driveway. The blue and red lights flashed against the high glass windows of the entrance hall, throwing jagged patterns of color across the stone walls.

The heavy front doors opened, and Marcus let them in. Two detectives in overcoats led the way, followed by four uniformed officers. The lead detective was Detective Reeves, a hardened, cynical investigator who had spent too many years looking at the worst parts of New York to be impressed by the Windsor name.

“Julian Windsor,” Reeves said, stopping ten feet from the base of the stairs. “We’re here for Katia Kensington. We have a warrant for her arrest p>

I didn’t descend the last three steps. I stood above them, my shadow stretching long and imposing across the stone floor. I looked down at him, my face a mask of absolute, frozen control.

“You’re on private property, Detective,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet hum of the morning like a blade. “And you are standing in my house at six AM. Explain the warrant before I have my legal team remove you from this county p>

Reeves didn’t flinch, but the officers behind him shifted their weight, their hands resting uncomfortably near their utility belts. They knew who I was. They knew the resources I had.

“Victor Hale was pushed off the roof of the IG Technologies building yesterday afternoon,” Reeves said, pulling a folded document from his coat pocket. “We have the security feed from the adjacent building. It’s not a question, Mr. Windsor. We have the footage. Your guest pushed him p>

“That is a lie,” I said.

“We have the tape,” Reeves repeated, pulling a rugged tablet from his pocket. He tapped the screen and held it up, angling it so I could see the glow of the display.

I looked down at the screen. The footage was grainy, taken from a high-angle camera across the alley. It showed Katia standing at the railing in her grey wool coat. It showed Victor lunging at her from behind. But then, the frame skipped—a microscopic fraction of a second that only someone who had spent years analyzing digital surveillance would catch. In the next frame, Katia’s hands were on Victor’s chest, pushing him. The physics of the movement were completely wrong; her body didn’t shift its weight to support the momentum of a hundred-and-ninety-pound man, yet he was thrown back, over the iron bar, into the empty air.

It was a splice. A high-grade, pre-programmed loop that had been overlaid on the original feed. Victor’s backup plan. If he failed to kill her, he was going to destroy her from beyond the grave.

“The footage is fabricated,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “The frame rate skips at the three-second mark. The metadata is compromised p>

“The judge didn’t think so,” Reeves said, pocketing the tablet. “He signed the warrant. Now, bring her down, or we’ll go up and get her p>

Before I could answer, I heard a soft, bare-foot scuffle on the landing above.

I turned. Aiden was standing at the railing of the second floor, rubbing his eyes, his blue pajamas rumpled from sleep. He looked down at the flashing lights, his small face pale and confused as he stared at the uniformed officers in the lobby.

“Dad?” he whispered, his voice small and trembling. “What’s happening p>

The father instinct in my chest flared like gasoline. I didn’t want him to see this. I didn’t want my son to watch his mother being treated like a criminal in the house where he was supposed to be safe.

I took the stairs three at a time, reaching him in a second. I knelt, my large hands cupping his shoulders, blocking his view of the lobby below.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.