Chapter 27

[ 1,265 words ]

Gail’s POV

I stood at the window of the west wing, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the black sedans line up like a funeral procession in the driveway below. I was dressed in emerald silk, the color of envy, or perhaps just the color of a woman hiding a suspicion that felt like poison in her veins. My hands were shaking so violently that I had to lace my fingers together to keep from ripping the lace of my sleeves.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to watch my brother throw his life away on a marriage that felt as cold as the marble floors beneath my feet.

I turned away from the window and walked toward Julian’s suite. Every step felt like wading through deep water. I had known Julian my entire life. I knew the way he tightened his jaw when he was lying to himself. I knew the way he used silence as a weapon. But the man I saw in glimpses this morning wasn’t my brother; he was a statue being prepared for an altar. I saw him going back to his dressing room.

I pushed open the door to his dressing room and stopped.

Julian was standing before the mirror, the morning sun hitting the sharp angles of his face. He looked magnificent—and utterly dead. He was adjusting his cuffs with detached precision that made my stomach turn. I watched him for a long moment, my breath catching in my throat.

My mind did what it had been doing since I first saw Katia again: it betrayed me.

I looked at Julian’s profile—the straight, arrogant line of his nose, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, and the brooding intensity of his brow. And then, like a ghost overlaying reality, I saw Aiden. I saw my best friend’s son in my brother.

I remembered the first time I had met Katia’s son years ago. I had joked even then, laughing as the toddler scowled at me with a ferocity that was far too mature for a child. “Kat, he has my family’s scowl,” I had teased. We had laughed it off as a coincidence back then. After all, the world was full of dark-haired, blue-eyed boys. I had always assumed the “stranger” Katia met in Vegas—the man she never spoke of, the man who left her to raise a child alone was just some faceless mistake from her past.

But seeing Julian now, standing in this specific light, the “coincidence” felt like a scream in a quiet room.

It wasn’t just the eyes. It was the way Aiden tilted his head when he was thinking. It was the way he folded his arms across his chest when he was stubborn. It was that cold, analytical intelligence that shone out of a four-year-old’s gaze—the same intelligence that was currently making Julian treat his own wedding like a corporate merger.

The thought was insane. It was impossible. Katia had never mentioned Julian. Julian had never mentioned her. My brother had spent years looking for a woman named “Kat,” but New York was full of Kats. And Katia? She was a single mother who had built an empire out of spite and survival. There was no way their paths had crossed in that way.

And yet, looking at Julian’s face, I couldn’t unsee it. The resemblance wasn’t just physical; it was spiritual. It was haunting.

“Julian,” I called out, my voice sounding thin and brittle.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t even flinch. “Not now, Gail. We’re already behind schedule p>

I moved into his line of sight, my silk gown rustling like a warning. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I touched his lapel. I wanted to shake him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him if he’d ever been to Vegas six years ago. I wanted to ask him if he’d ever met a girl who looked like the sun.

But I saw the look in his eyes, the “structural” coldness he had used to survive the Windsor legacy—and the words died in my throat. If I were wrong, I would sound like a lunatic. If I was right… God, if I was right, I would be opening a door to a room full of monsters.

Katia had built a peaceful life for Aiden. She had protected him from the very thing Julian was currently surrendering to: the Windsor Machine. If I brought Julian into their lives based on a “feeling,” I might be destroying the only sanctuary that boy had.

“You look like a stranger,” I whispered, my eyes burning.

“I look like a groom,” he countered. His voice was a flat, dead thing.

I looked at him and felt a sob rising in my chest. He looked so alone. He was walking into a cathedral to pledge himself to Delia—a woman who saw him as a trophy—while he remained completely oblivious to the fact that somewhere in this city, there was a boy who carried his exact laugh. A boy who had his rare, sudden, and brilliant smile.

I wanted to tell him that he isn’t alone in the world. I wanted to tell him that there is a piece of him out there that isn’t transactional or cold.

But I looked at the morning suit, the silver tie, and the “Windsor” mask, and I realized that Julian wasn’t ready for a truth this big, and maybe Aiden wasn’t his son, and I could be wrong, so let me not ruin his wedding day over things in my mind, because thinking about Katia and Julian, nah, it’s crazy. There was no way.

He was too deep in the lie of this wedding.

“Julian, don’t do this,” I said, my voice dropping to a frantic murmur. “There are things you don’t see… things that could change everything if you just had the courage to look at the people around you p>

“I’ve looked close enough,” he said, pulling away from my touch with a finality that broke my heart. “I see a contract. I see a partner. I see a life I can manage p>

I watched him turn toward the door, his silhouette tall and imposing. He looked like a king, but I saw the tragedy. I saw the waste.

I didn’t follow him down the stairs. I couldn’t. I stayed in that room, the scent of his expensive cologne lingering in the air like a ghost. I walked back to the window and watched him step into the Rolls-Royce. The car pulled away, a black speck moving toward a grand cathedral, carrying a man who was leaving his heart behind in a safe he didn’t even know was empty.

I sank onto the velvet settee, my emerald silk spilling around me like a sea of regret. I thought of Aiden, probably playing with his toys right now, oblivious to the fact that his father—or the man who looked exactly like him was currently trading away their future for a “debt” to the wrong woman.

“I’m sorry, Kat,” I whispered to the empty room, but then this is just me suspecting that my godson could be my nephew.

I didn’t know if I was apologizing for the secret I was keeping or for the fact that I was about to let my brother walk into a prison because I was too afraid of the truth. All I knew was that today, the Windsors were winning, and the cost was going to be more than any of us could afford to pay.

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