Chapter 395

[ 1,004 words ]

Delia’s POV

The car stopped at the base of the wide stone steps. Flashbulbs exploded the second the door opened. I stepped out slowly, chin high, the black dress cutting a sharp line against the floodlights. Every camera caught the dark handprints on my face.

Good! Let them. Let the entire city see what Julian Windsor had done to his wife.

Security tried to form a barrier, but the media had already spilled past the outer gates. Voices shouted my name from every direction. I ignored them all and walked up the steps as if I still belonged here. As if the house had not already started rejecting me.

Inside, the air was thick with perfume, champagne, and low, nervous conversation. The grand dining room had been transformed. Long tables glittered under crystal chandeliers. Board members, socialites, and old-money families filled the seats. Conversations died the moment people noticed me. Eyes locked on my bruised face. Whispers started before I even reached the center of the room.

I moved toward the head of the table, the place that had always been mine on nights like this. A staff member stepped into my path, polite but firm.

“Mrs. Kensington, your seat is further down p>

Mrs. Kensington, not Windsor.

The insult landed cleanly. I stared at the man until he dropped his gaze, then turned and took an empty seat three places away from the head. Close enough to be impossible to ignore. Close enough that every time Julian looked up, he would have to see the marks he left on me.

I sat. Crossed my legs. Folded my hands on the tablecloth so the bruises stayed visible under the lights. Around me, the room tried to resume normal conversation and failed. Phones were face-down, but I knew recordings had already started.

Julian entered ten minutes later.

He did not come through the main doors like a host greeting guests. He walked in from the side hall with Zane half a step behind him and Aiden at his side. The boy was dressed in a dark suit that made him look older than he was. His cheek still carried a faint shadow from where I had slapped him. He did not look at me. Julian did not look at me either. He went straight to the head of the table, pulled out the chair for Aiden, then took his own seat as if the rest of us were already irrelevant.

The room went silent.

I stood.

“You hit me,” I said clearly, my voice carrying across the tables. “In front of children. In front of cameras. And then you claimed my sister’s child as your own p>

Every head turned. Julian finally lifted his eyes to mine. There was no guilt in them. No apology. Only that same freezing calm.

“Sit down, Delia p>

“No.” I stepped away from my chair. “You put your hands on me because I questioned the boy. You called him your son. You told the entire courtyard that I was never your wife. And now you want to stand here and announce some other woman in my place p>

A low ripple moved through the guests. Someone’s fork hit a plate. Julian leaned back in his chair, completely unhurried.

“You were never my wife, but you already knew that from the start, and this is getting boring because if we were indeed husband and wife, wouldn’t we have photos together as husband and wife? Are you my wife, Delia?” He asked. The words were quiet, but they landed like another slap. “And the child you struck today is my son. That is not up for discussion p>

“Your son?” I laughed, sharp and ugly. “That is my sister’s child. Katia’s bastard. And you expect this room to believe you suddenly became a father overnight p>

Aiden’s head snapped up at the word “bastard.” Julian’s hand settled on the boy’s shoulder. The gesture was protective and final.

“Call him that again,” Julian said, his voice dropping into something lethal, “and you will not like what happens next p>

I took another step forward. My pulse hammered in my throat. The cameras outside had followed me here. Phones inside the room were almost certainly still recording. I needed every second of this.

“You hate the spotlight,” I said. “You’ve spent your whole life hiding from it. Yet here you are, about to announce a new wife while the entire city is watching the video of you striking the woman who actually carries your name. Do you think they will cheer for you? Do you think they will accept whatever woman you drag in here tonight p>

Julian stood slowly and was somehow more threatening than if he had shouted. He looked at me the way a man looks at something he has already decided to erase.

“You involved the press,” he said. “You turned a private matter into a circus. You put your hands on my son. And now you stand in my house, in front of my guests, still pretending you have any claim here p>

He turned his head slightly toward the double doors at the far end of the room.

“The only person who has a claim,” he continued, “is the woman I am about to introduce p>

The doors opened.

I did not turn at first. I kept my eyes locked on Julian, waiting for the moment he would have to say the name, waiting for the room to see that no one could replace me. Then I heard the soft sound of heels on marble and the shift in the air as every guest looked past me.

I turned.

Katia stood in the doorway.

She wore a simple dark dress. No jewelry. No makeup heavy enough to hide the quiet strength in her face. She did not look triumphant. She did not look nervous. She looked like a woman who had already survived worse than this room and was prepared to survive it again. Julian’s eyes found hers across the distance, and something unspoken passed between them.

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