Chapter 245

[ 980 words ]

Katia’s POV

A collective gasp went through the media line. The camera flashes went from a steady rhythm to a blinding, continuous strobe, the white light washing over the three of them.

Inside my chest, something went completely black.

The cold glass of water in my hand felt like ice against my skin. Seeing her mouth on him—seeing another woman’s fingers curled into the fabric of the suit I had watched him take off in my bedroom—didn’t make me flinch. It didn’t make me want to cry. It made me want to take the heavy glass in my hand, step forward, and shatter it directly against her jaw.

I knew the taste of his mouth. I knew the aggressive, possessive weight of his tongue. I knew the raw, vicious way he had claimed my body against the wall of my penthouse at three in the morning, whispering that he would destroy me if I ever let another man near me. The lethal, territorial instinct that I had been trying to suppress since Las Vegas flared in my veins like gasoline.

But I didn’t move.

I stood exactly where I was. I kept my shoulders straight, my chin up, and my face arranged into a flawless, untouchable mask of mild, highly amused disbelief. I looked at the three of them as if I were watching a cheap, entertaining soap opera at a terminal gate.

“Oh my god!” Delia’s voice broke.

It was a loud, raw screech of pure, public humiliation. Her hand dropped from Julian’s arm, her face turning a violent, blotchy red under the harsh white lights of the cameras. The rehearsed wife was gone, replaced by a screaming, hysterical woman whose public illusion had just been shattered in a fraction of a second.

“Get off him! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Delia screamed, her fingers clawing at the air as she tried to pull Tessa away.

Julian didn’t wait for Delia’s hysterics to finish.

He reacted. He didn’t just step back; he shoved Tessa. Hard.

His large hands clamped around her wrists, twisting them off his lapels with a sudden, violent torque, and he pushed her back. The force of the shove made Tessa’s heels skid on the slick red carpet, her gold dress swishing as she had to take two quick steps back to keep her balance.

Julian’s face was a mask of murderous, frozen fury. His chest was heaving, his dark eyes locked onto Tessa with a silent, icy threat that would have frozen water in a desert. The alpha control he had maintained all evening had vanished, replaced by a raw, lethal anger that made the photographers closest to him step back, their fingers freezing on their shutters.

“Touch me again, Tessa,” Julian said. His voice was low, quiet, and carried a weight that cut straight through the noise of the room. “And I will buy your father’s company and dismantle it for scrap before the sun comes up tomorrow p>

The threat was absolute. It wasn’t a corporate warning; it was a promise.

Tessa didn’t look frightened. She stood her ground, her fingers slowly tracing her own wrists where his grip had left immediate, dark red marks under the skin. She looked at him with a slow, victorious smile—the smile of a woman who had gotten exactly what she wanted. She had made her claim. She had shown the room, the cameras, and the public that Julian Windsor belonged in her past, and she intended to put him in her future.

“Five years, Julian,” Tessa said quietly, her eyes burning with her own stubborn heat. “You’re still as dramatic as you were in Monaco p>

She turned, her gold dress catching the light one last time, and walked away. The crowd parted for her instantly, the press scrambling to follow her as she left the media wall.

Delia was sobbing now. It was a messy, embarrassing sound, her hands covering her face as she turned away from the cameras that were still flashing, trying to capture every tear. “Julian, how could you… in front of them… how could you let her p>

Julian didn’t look at her. He didn’t offer a hand, a word of comfort, or a single glance.

He turned his head. His eyes cut through the blinding white light of the cameras, bypassing the crying woman beside him, and found me.

He looked at my face. He looked at the glass of water in my hand. He looked at the slow, amused smirk I had deliberately let touch the corner of my mouth. He was searching for the crack. He wanted to see the jealousy, the anger, the possessiveness that he knew was running through my blood.

I didn’t give it to him. I raised my glass of water, took a slow sip, and gave him a polite, mocking nod.

Julian’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitching under his skin. The fury in his eyes didn’t lessen; it shifted, turning hot and focused entirely on me.

“The car,” Julian ordered Marcus, who had just stepped into the light, his face pale as he tried to manage the security team. “Get Delia out of here. Now p>

“Julian, please—” Delia choked out, but Julian was already moving.

He didn’t wait for her. He walked past the media wall, his strides long, heavy, and furious, leaving the flashing lights and the ruined step-and-repeat behind.

I watched him go. I finished my water, set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and smoothed down the fabric of my black dress.

The room had just gotten significantly more complicated.

But as I looked at the spot where Tessa Sterling had stood, my smirk slowly faded, replaced by a cold, calculating promise of my own.

She wanted a war on this track. And she had no idea who she was actually racing against.

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