Chapter 290

[ 1,254 words ]

Julian’s POV

The front doors of my city mansion closed behind me with a heavy, hollow thud.

I pulled off my overcoat and handed it to the waiting houseman, my mind still racing with the fallout of the London telemetry logistics. My knuckles, wrapped in fresh medical tape, were stiff and aching. I wanted nothing more than to clear the remaining administrative wreckage, make the long drive upstate to the family estate, and pull my wife’s soft, warm body against mine until the static in my head finally went quiet.

But as I stepped into the gallery, the scent of heavy, suffocating floral perfume hit my nose.

I looked toward the formal dining room of my wing. The overhead chandelier was dark, replaced instead by the weak, flickering glow of a dozen tapered candles. The dark mahogany of the table was scattered with red rose petals.

And sitting at the head of it, watching my approach with a desperate intensity, was Delia.

An immediate, sharp wave of annoyance tightened my chest. The sight of the candles and the petals didn’t make my heart soften; it made my jaw clench until my teeth ached. The only person in this world who should be lighting candles for me in this house is my wife. The only woman whose welcome I cared to receive was currently safe miles away upstate, sleeping soundly under my grandmother’s roof with our son, completely unaware of the dangers I was navigating to keep them both protected.

I walked toward the table, my boots clicking heavily against the stone floor, my face settled into a frozen, unreadable wall of slate.

Delia stood up.

In the dim, shifting candlelight, the sheer fabric of her dress was entirely laid bare. She had worn it intentionally. The black lace of her bra was fully visible, and beneath the sheer midnight fabric over her hips, the thin string of a black thong was completely exposed. She shifted her weight, turning her body just a fraction of an inch so the curve of her bare ass caught the light.

I looked away.

The display didn’t arouse me; it disgusted me. I pulled out the heavy leather chair across from her and sat down, refusing to accept the crystal glass of red wine she was already holding out to me.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low, warning register that was completely devoid of warmth.

Delia smiled. It was a wide, innocent, and entirely rehearsed smile, but I knew her too well. I had lived under the same roof with her for five years, and I knew the exact shape of her malice. Delia was the type of woman who would do absolutely anything to be a real Mrs. Windsor—or even just to get me to fuck her. She was a desperate woman.

And I hated desperate women.

“A dress,” she said softly, her voice carrying an artificial sweetness that made my stomach turn.

She held the glass of wine out to me again, her fingers brushing against mine. This time, I took it. I needed something to wash the taste of the day out of my mouth. I raised the crystal to my lips and took a slow, deliberate sip.

The wine hit the back of my throat, and I immediately frowned.

It tasted wrong. Under the heavy, dark red fruit of the vintage, there was a metallic, chemically sweet undertone that didn’t belong. I set the glass down with a sharp click against the wood.

“You wanted to talk,” I said, leaning back in my chair, my hands resting flat on the table. “I’m here p>

“Let’s eat first,” Delia murmured, gesturing to the covered platters between us. “We can talk over dinner p>

“Woman,” I growled, my voice dropping to a freezing whisper that made the housemaid near the sideboard instantly step back. “I did not leave my fully packed schedule to come and eat dinner with you. What do you want p>

I had never been warm around her. I had never given her a single frame of hope to believe that our arrangement was anything more than a legal transaction.

Delia’s smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she forced it back into place. “Um… us. We have never had a real conversation, Julian p>

“What is there to talk about?” I asked, my eyes narrowing into cold, lethal slits as I looked at her sheer dress. “You are an arrangement, Delia. You are not my wife. You are just there for appearances. Or are you starting to have ideas p>

She took a long time to respond, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass as she absorbed the impact of the rejection.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” she said quietly.

She raised her glass, taking a slow sip of her wine. To keep the compliance in the room, I picked up mine and did the same, taking another swallow.

The metallic taste was stronger this time, coating the back of my tongue like oil. It was wrong. It was very, very wrong.

“Well, since you have nothing to talk about, I’m going to leave,” I said, pushing my chair back.

I started to stand up.

But the moment my weight shifted, my thighs went entirely numb. My knees buckled slightly, a sudden, violent wave of dizziness washing over my brain, making the candlelight spin into a blurred, golden streak. My legs were failing me.

The realization hit my stomach like concrete.

She drugged the wine.

She wanted me. She had realized her time was running out, that her social empire was collapsing, and she had gone to the ultimate, desperate extent to ensure I ended up in her bed tonight. She was going to wait until I collapsed, drag me to her sheets, and claim a physical connection she could use to bind me to her forever.

I didn’t ask her if she had put something in the drink. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing the panic, and I certainly didn’t let her see that the drug was already working. I forced my breathing to remain slow, deep, and completely level, keeping my face a flawless, unbending wall of ice.

I slowly reached into my trouser pocket, my fingers heavy and numb as I gripped my phone. I unlocked the screen by touch and dialed the one number that mattered.

The line connected on the second ring.

“Ms. Kensington,” I rasped, my voice sounding like iron sliding over stone as I forced the words through my tightening throat. “I’m afraid you will have to rush to my home. We need to discuss the London extension. It’s urgent p>

I hung up before she could ask a single question.

I didn’t look at Delia’s stunned face. I turned on my heel, my steps slow, heavy, and forcing my failing muscles to obey me as I walked out of the dining room. Every step felt like I was moving through wet cement, the cold darkness of the corridor rising up to swallow me as I slowly began to climb the grand stone staircase toward my wing.

I pulled my phone out one last time, my thumb trembling against the glass as I typed the message.

You better be fast, or another woman might just fuck me.

I sent it. And as the dark static of the drug began to fully claw at the edges of my vision, I gripped the railing of the stairs and forced myself to walk.

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