Chapter 55

[ 920 words ]

Delia’s POV

The silence in the Windsor estate wasn’t peaceful; it was heavy, like the air before a terminal storm. I sat at the edge of the sprawling king-sized bed in the East Wing, my fingers digging into the duvet. The fabric was cold. It was always cold.

Across the hallway, through two sets of soundproofed doors, was the West Wing—Julian’s territory. My husband’s territory. A place I was forbidden to enter unless invited, which, in the three months since our “I do’s,” had happened exactly zero times.

I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. I had spent two hours on my hair and makeup this morning, wearing a lace negligee that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. I looked like a bride, a wanted woman. I looked like a Windsor. But as I stared at my own wide, desperate eyes, the realization I had been sprinting away from finally tripped me.

Julian hadn’t touched me. Not since the ceremony. Not even a brush of his hand against mine that wasn’t strictly for the benefit of a camera lens or a room full of prying Kensingtons and Windsors.

At first, I told myself he was just disciplined. He was a man of logic and steel, a titan of industry who didn’t let lust dictate his schedule. I thought his warnings on our wedding night—the cold, terrifying speech about me being a “family wife” and his permission for me to find “entertainment” elsewhere were just a test. A dark, twisted joke to see if I was worthy of the Windsor name.

“You are a placeholder, Delia. Do not mistake a contract for a connection p>

His voice echoed in my head, stripped of any warmth. I had laughed it off then, leaning into his ear and whispering that I liked a challenge. I thought I could break him. I thought every man had a breaking point if the woman was beautiful enough and persistent enough.

But Julian Windsor wasn’t a man. He was a glacier.

I stood up, my legs feeling like lead, and walked toward the door of my suite. I moved like a ghost through the silent corridors of the mansion. The house staff looked away as I passed, their expressions a mix of pity and professional indifference. They knew. Of course they knew. They changed the sheets in two different wings. They saw the untouched pillows in my room and the locked doors of his.

I reached the threshold of the West Wing and stopped. The air felt thinner here, charged with the scent of his cologne and the distant hum of servers from his private study.

I watched the door at the end of the hall. He was in there. He was always in there, buried in data, staring at screens, or hunting for that phantom racer he was so obsessed with.

“Julian?” I whispered, the name catching in my throat.

There was no answer. Not even the sound of a chair shifting.

A bitter, dark humor bubbled up in my chest. I was the “Ghost Wife” of Brooklyn. I had the ring, the title, and the bank accounts, but I was living in a gilded cage with a man who looked at me with less interest than he did a fluctuating stock price.

I leaned my forehead against the cold wood of the doorframe. I remembered the way he looked at Katia during brunch. It wasn’t love; Julian didn’t do love, but it was something. It was a predatory, sharp-edged focus that made the air between them vibrate. He didn’t look at me like that. He didn’t even look at me with hate. He just… didn’t look at me.

I realized then, with a sinking horror that felt like drowning, that he hadn’t been joking. He didn’t want a wife. He wanted a shield. He wanted someone to stand next to him at galas so the world would stop asking why the great Julian Windsor was alone.

I was a prop.

I pulled my robe tighter around my shivering frame. If he had no feelings for me, if he truly viewed me as an object to be managed rather than a woman to be desired, then my position was more precarious than I ever imagined. In the Windsor world, if a tool stops being useful, it gets replaced.

My eyes hardened as I looked back toward the East Wing. I wasn’t Katia. I didn’t have her brilliance or her “IG Technologies” empire to hide behind. All I had was this marriage. And if Julian wouldn’t give me his heart or even his bed, I would have to find out exactly what he was giving his attention to.

I began my surveillance right then, in the quiet of the hallway. I started noting the times he left, the way he clutched his phone, and the specific, dark intensity that took over his face whenever Katia’s name was mentioned.

“You think I’m just a placeholder, Julian?” I breathed into the darkness, a sharp, desperate edge to my thoughts. “I’ll show you how much space a placeholder can take up p>

I turned and walked back to my cold bed; the silence of the mansion was no longer just heavy—it was an invitation to war. If my husband didn’t have feelings for me, I would make sure he didn’t have peace, either. He wanted a cold marriage? Fine. I would turn this estate into the Arctic, and I would be the only one who knew how to survive the freeze.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.