My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 136

Another silence.

“Mr Windsor,” the second lawyer said. “If you identify this woman and she does not wish to complete the registration “That’s her right,” I said. “I’m not forcing anything. I want to understand the process. What happens when I’m ready to move.” The senior partner made a note. “And the current arrangement? With Miss Kensington?”

“Miss Delia Kensington,” I said, “signed a private agreement to play a social role. There is no marriage certificate. There is no legal union. Ending that arrangement requires a conversation, not a lawyer.” I looked at him directly. “She is not my wife. She has never been my wife. The only marriage certificate with my name on it under any alias is the one on this table.”

The lawyers exchanged a look.

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“There is one complication,” the senior partner said. “Once the certificate is formally amended with full legal names, it becomes part of the public record. A registered marriage between Julian Windsor and whoever this woman is would be, findable. By anyone who looked.”

I thought about that.

I thought about Delia. About Victor. About the investigator Delia had hired whose report she had been building into a list titled ‘ What I Know‘. About the eighteen months Victor had spent dismantling I from the outside and the bounty he had posted to unmask Catwoman and the dinner he had engineered with his hand on Katia’s and the photographs he had probably already commissioned.

“How long from the amendment to public record?” I said.

“Star dard processing. Four to six weeks.”

“And in that window — who has access?”

“The parties involved and their legal representatives.”

“Nobody else?”

“Not unless someone knew to look and had reason to subpoena the records.” He paused. “Which would require knowing the certificate existed.”

I looked at the certificate on the table.

Jules and Kat. Two names I had looked at for six years. Two names that had been the only thread connecting me to a night I remembered in fragments and a morning I had woken up from alone.

She did not know she was married to me.

She thought she was married to a man she had met once in Las Vegas whose face she had never seen clearly. A man she had spent six years not looking for, not publicly, though she wore the evidence of the night on her left hand every day.

I had spent six years looking for her.

And she had been in my boardroom. In my grandmother’s garden. In a desert at sunset with her head tilted toward mine while our shadows stretched long across the sand.

I had told her I loved her. I had promised to fix things. I had said I know who she is to Zane in a port road at two in the morning with the tyre mark still warm under my fingers.

I had not yet told her what I suspected.

I had been waiting until I was certain. Until I had proof and not just a pattern. Until I could look her in the eyes and say it with the weight of something that could not be argued with.

I wanted to be the one to tell her.

Not Gail, who was getting closer to saying it out loud. Not Delia, who was building a list of everything she knew. Not Victor, who was circling both of them from different angles. Not a court document or a public record or a newspaper article.

Me.

I wanted to look at her across a table or in a car park or on a balcony or wherever it happened who you are.‘ I have known for months. And I am not going anywhere.

and I wanted to say, ‘I know

And then I wanted to watch her face when she understood that the man she had been telling herself she had never met before the WEG partnership was the same man who had been on the other side of a Las Vegas marriage certificate for six years.

“Proceed,” I said. “Quietly. Nothing moves to public record until I tell you it can.”

The senior partner nodded. “And the woman’s name?”

I picked up the certificate. Hooked at it one more time.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said, “when I’m ready.”

I folded it carefully and put it back in my jacket pocket.

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I had carried it there before. The first time I had taken it out of the safe and held it, I had been twenty–eight years old and and certain she would be found within a year.

Six years later. Still in my pocket. Almost ready.

angry

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Yes, Daddy

-Julian-

It had been seven days since the midnight report.

Seven days of looking at the photograph of Victor Hale’s hand on Katia’s skin. I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that prick leaning into her space at the restaurant, looking at her like she was something he could just reach out and take.

The text she sent me afterward–he had his hands all over me, by the way–had been a provocation. She wanted to see me break. She wanted to see how much I could handle before the mask of the professional Julian Windsor cracked and the man underneath took over.

I’d spent the week in a state of controlled homicidal rage. I had walked through boardrooms and handled multimillion–dollar acquisitions, but my mind was always in that restaurant in Tribeca. I was thinking about her thighs. I was thinking about the way she looked at Hale. Most of all, I was thinking about how I was going to remind her exactly who she belonged to.

By Monday morning, I was done waiting. I didn’t care about the schedule or the meetings she had lined up. I drove to I* Technologies, my hands white–knuckled on the steering wheel. I didn’t stop for the receptionist. I didn’t wait for Sam to announce me. I walked through the executive floor with a look on my face that made everyone get out of my way.

I threw her office doors open. They slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

“Are you avoiding me, princess?” I said. My voice was a low, dangerous rasp.

Katia and Sam both turned sharply. They were standing by the window, looking at some floor plans. Sam took one look at me at the dark circles under my eyes and the sheer, aggressive intent in my posture–and she didn’t say a word. She grabbed her folder and walked out immediately. She knew what was about to happen.

“Julian,” Katia called out. She stood her ground, but I could see the way her chest was rising and falling. She knew why I was

here.

I didn’t give her a chance to explain. I crossed the floor in three strides, grabbed her face, and crashed my lips into hers. It was a violent, desperate kiss. I was reclaiming her, erasing any trace of Victor Hale’s memory from her mind. I broke the kiss abruptly, my forehead resting against hers as I breathed her in. My hands were shaking.

“He touched you,” I rasped, my fingers digging into her jaw. “He put his hands on what belongs to me.”

“Julian, it was

“I don’t care what it was.” I grabbed her and hauled her toward her desk. With one sweep of my arm, I sent her laptop and a stack of folders flying. They hit the floor with a loud crash. I lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the mahogany, forcing her legs apart with my body.

I didn’t waste time. I unbuckled my trousers, my cock springing free–hard, thick, and aching for her. I wanted her to feel exactly how angry I was. I claimed her lips again, muffling her gasp as I positioned myself. I didn’t go all the way in. I shoved just the tip of my cock into her, teasing the entrance. I wanted her to feel the weight and the heat of me, but I wasn’t going to give her the full length yet.

I started fucking her with just the tip of my cock. It was a slow, punishing sin. I watched her face, watched the way her eyes rolled back as I rubbed the head of my cock against her most sensitive spot. She started to shake on the desk, her fingers digging into my shoulders. She was wet, so incredibly wet for me, but I held back, keeping the thrusts shallow and torturous.

“You like his touch, Katia?” I growled in her ear. “You like him looking at you? Remember this. Remember who is actually inside you.”

I kept teasing her. Every time she tried to pull me deeper, I held her hips and kept the movement focused only on the tip. I reached up and unbuttoned her blouse, my hand finding her breast. I thumbed her nipple until it was a hard peak, then leaned down and claimed it with my mouth. I sucked it deep, the sharp pull of pleasure making her cry out as I continued that shallow, maddening fuck.

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“Jultan, please,” she sobbed, her back arching off the desk.

“No,” I hissed. “You don’t get please‘ today.”

I increased the pace, the friction building until her body couldn’t take it anymore. Katia’s breath came in ragged hitches until she finally broke. Her body convulsed in a violent climax as she came around the head of my cock, her thighs shaking against my hips. I didn’t stop. I kept the shallow rhythms steady until I felt my own release hit. I groaned, a raw sound of approval, and pulled out just as I came. The heat of it spilled across her thighs and the dark wood of the desk.

The office was silent except for our breathing. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and cleaned myself up. I looked down at her -her hair was a mess, her skirt was hiked up, and her lips were swollen from my mouth. She looked like she had been thoroughly claimed.

“Next time you let another man hold you or come close to you,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, cold vibration, “just fucking remember who you belong to. Got it?”

Katia bit her index finger, her eyes glazed as she looked up at me. “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

The name hit me like a physical punch. My blood, which had been starting to cool, turned to fire again.

“What did you call me?” I asked, stepping back into her space. I gripped the edge of the desk on either side of her, pinning her

there.

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