Chapter 240

[ 966 words ]

Delia’s POV

She was in a cage.

The thought was a warm, sweet hum in my blood. For eighteen months, Katia had been a shadow over my life, a constant, irritating presence that drew my husband’s attention away from where it belonged. But today, the law had finally caught up with her. The pristine, untouchable CEO of IG Technologies had been dragged out of the Windsor estate in handcuffs, wearing the shame of a murder charge. Even if she wasn’t sleeping with Julian—even if the physical proof of their betrayal hadn’t yet landed in my lap—the simple fact that she was locked behind steel bars was enough to make me breathe again.

Finally, I had him to myself.

With Katia out of the picture, the playing field was clear. I didn’t care if Julian was cold to me. I didn’t care if he had spent months treating me like a ghost in my own home. I was his wife, and tonight, I was going to remind him of exactly what that meant. I was willing to take things slow, to dismantle his defenses layer by layer, starting with the ultimate seduction.

I spent three hours preparing the dining room in my wing of the house. I had the staff clear away the standard setting, replacing it with a small, intimate table for two. I scattered fresh red rose petals across the dark, polished mahogany, their scent heavy and sweet in the warm air. I lit a dozen tall, tapered candles, casting a flickering, golden glow across the silver cutlery and the crystal glassware. It was perfect. It was a scene designed for a husband who was ready to be welcomed home by a woman who belonged to him.

Then, I dressed.

I chose a red Chanel dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was made of ultra-fine silk, clinging to every curve of my hips and bust like a second skin. It was dangerously short—so short that whenever I moved, the fabric rode up, exposing the lower curve of my ass. I didn’t care. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to see what he had been ignoring. I left my hair down, cascading over my bare shoulders, and sprayed a heavy, expensive floral perfume on the heat points of my neck and wrists.

I poured two glasses of a deep red wine and stood near the entryway, listening to the heavy silence of the house.

My heart was doing a fast, fluttery dance against my ribs. Every nerve in my body was wired, waiting for the sound of his arrival. When the heavy front doors of the estate finally groaned open in the main hall, a victorious smile spread across my face. I picked up the two crystal glasses, the red wine sloshing slightly against the rims, and walked out to meet him.

“Welcome home, husband,” I said, my voice dropping to a smooth, purring register.

Julian was standing in the foyer, his coat already off, his tie slightly loosened. He looked tired, his shoulders broad and imposing in the dim lighting. He looked at me, his gaze dragging slowly down the length of my skimmed Chanel dress, noting the exposed skin of my thighs and the red silk that barely covered my chest.

He smirked. It wasn’t a warm look—it was that cold, dangerous tilt of his lips that always made my stomach tight.

“Thank you,” he said.

He reached out and took the glass of wine from my hand. I let out a breath, thinking he was about to step into my dining room, but instead, Julian turned right back toward the front door. He reached for the brass handle and pulled it open a second time.

Katia walked in.

The smile died on my face. My fingers went cold around my own wine glass, the liquid inside suddenly looking like blood.

Katia was standing in the middle of my foyer, wearing an oversized, scratchy grey prison jumpsuit that bagged around her ankles. Her sleeves were rolled up to her wrists, and her face was pale, but her chin was held high. And then, there was the metallic, musical clink.

Silver handcuffs. They were still locked around her wrists, resting against the cheap, state-issued fabric of her jumpsuit.

I stared at her, my breathing stopping completely. She was supposed to be in a cell. She was supposed to be locked away where she couldn’t reach him. But here she was, standing in my house, looking at my romantic table, my rose petals, and my red Chanel dress with a look of mild, highly amused disbelief.

Katia wasn’t lying. When I had stood in front of her cell at the precinct, gloating about her ruin, she had leaned in and whispered those exact words into my ear: Julian will make sure I don’t sleep behind this cell. I am sleeping in your house tonight. She had told me, and I had laughed in her face. But Julian had gone to the ends of the earth to drag her out of that cage before the ink on the bail agreement was even dry.

“Delia was generous enough to prepare dinner for us,” Julian said, his voice completely level as he gestured toward my romantic table. He didn’t look at me; his eyes were locked entirely on Katia. “I think I will have to feed you, since you are still cuffed p>

I couldn’t believe my eyes. The sheer, staggering humiliation of it felt like a physical blow to my chest. I had spent hours preparing a seductive dinner for two, pouring my soul into a trap to catch my husband, and he had used it as a dumping ground for my sister.

The table was set for two. There were only two chairs.

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