My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 263

You’re not just sleeping with her

-Julian-

I found him at the Whitmore Manhattan.

Room 1401. The presidential suite. Of course. A man like Jude Wolfe did not convalesce in a standard room-he occupied the entire fourteenth floor and made the staff bring his meals on silver service while his jaw was wired shut.

I had not called ahead.

I walked past the front desk without stopping, past the concierge, who looked up with the professionally alarmed expression of someone about to say something; and into the private elevator that the Whitmore reserved for the top-floor guests. My security credentials from the WEG infrastructure contract with the building’s management company gave me the access code ! had not planned to use it today. Plans changed.

I didn’t have Marcus with me. I didn’t have my security detail. I had left Zane at the family mansion to watch over Katia and Aiden, ensuring the perimeter was entirely airtight. I was alone, dressed in a dark charcoal overcoat, my taped knuckles still stiff and aching from the bone-shattering blows. I had delivered to Jude Wolfe’s face twenty-four hours ago.

I didn’t need a weapon. My hands were enough.

The elevator doors slid open directly into the private marble-floored lobby of the penthouse suite. Two of Wolfe’s dark-suited security guards stood near the entrance doors, their postures instantly going rigid, their hands moving toward their jackets the moment they saw me step out.

I didn’t stop.

“Mr. Windsor.” Alistair’s dry, level voice cut through the tension. He stepped out from the main suite holding a tablet, his face pale but his composure locked into place. He looked at my taped hands, then at my face, and nodded to the guards. “Stand down. Mr. Wolfe is expecting him. Alone.”

The guards stepped back.

“No lawyers, Alistair,” I said. “And if I see a single active security camera in that room, I will throw you off this balcony myself.”

“The suite has been swept and completely disconnected from our local network, sir,” Alistair said deadpan. “You have my word.

“1

I stepped inside. The heavy doors closed behind me with a quiet, solid click

The penthouse suite was massive-dark velvet, polished mahogany, and floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the grev, musty skyline of Central Park. Sitting in a high-backed leather armchair near the window, a silk robe draped over his shoulders, was Jude Wolfe.

His face was an absolute catastrophe.

The nose was packed with gauze, the left eye swollen into a dark plum colored slit, and the jaw held together by tight wire mesh and titanium screws. He held a crystal glass of water with a straw between his wired teeth, his dark hair perfectly styled. The man was physically dismantled and still trying to play the elegant British aristocrat.

The sight of my handiwork did not make me feel satisfaction.

It made my jaw clench with a renewed hunger to finish what I had started.

“Mr. Windsor,” Jude whistled through his wired teeth, the sound wet and metallic. He didn’t stand. He kept his head back against the leather, his good eye tracking my approach. “I must say, your bedside manner lacks a certain corporate elegance.”

I walked to the center of the room and stopped five feet from his chair. I did not take off my overcoat. I stood like a stone pillar, hands in my pockets, my shadow completely engulfing his seat.

eping with her

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“I’m not here to discuss your face, Wolfe,” I said.

Jude let out a short rattling laugh that made him wince, his hand rising to his wired jaw. “No. I suppose you’re not. You’re here because of the flowers.”

“I burned them,” I said, my face a mask of absolute frozen contempt. “Every single leaf is sitting in the incinerator at the back of my grandmother’s estate. If you send another rose to my family’s sanctuary, i won’t just break your jaw, Jude. I will pull your tongue out of your throat.”

Jude’s amusement vanished. His fingers tapped the mahogany table.

“You’re very protective of your sister-in-law, Julian,” he said, his voice carrying that heavy, deliberate British weight. “The devoted brother-in-law. The white knight of the Windsor name. A touching narrative. But we both know a corporate executive does not physically storm a penthouse and commit first-degree manslaughter over a sister’s marriage dispute.” He paused.” The physics simply do not add up.”

“I don’t care about your physics,” I said.

“I do,” Jude said. “I am a corporate executive. I analyze data. And the data tells me that you are sleeping with my wife ”

The accusation sat in the room, heavy and toxic.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t move. I kept my face a flawless icy wall and gave him nothing. Inside my chest the territorial rage was roaring-the sound of him calling her his wife made my blood turn to acid. She was mine. Legally, irreversibly bound to me on the paper locked in my safe. She carried my name, my ring, my son. And this broken, vain man was sitting in a silk robe trying to claim my life.

“She is not your wife,” I said. The words came out quiet. The kind of quiet that had no give in it.

“The state of New York disagrees,” Jude replied, a slow, painful smirk touching the corner of his lips. “The marriage certificate Alistair’s team processed is legally registered. The timeline fits perfectly. She was in Las Vegas seven years ago; she came back with a ring, and now the world knows she belongs to me. The homicide charge is dead, her company’s stock is recovering, and it’s all because her devoted husband stepped out of the shadows to save her.”

He paused.

“And the boy,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Aiden. He is legally and biologically my son. The press is already preparing the heir of the Wolfe Motorsport profile. I can file a custody injunction tomorrow morning, and there is absolutely nothing your legal team can do to stop a legal husband from claiming his family.”

The threat to Aiden was the exact breaking point.

I took my hands out of my pockets.

I stepped forward, grabbed Jude by the collar of his silk robe, and yanked him out of the chair. The crystal glass shattered on the marble floor. I slammed him flat against the floor-to-ceiling glass, his back hitting the pane with a loud, vibrating thud that shook the room. I leaned in until my face was inches from his broken nose.

“Let me make the rules of this territory very clear to you, Wolte,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that tasted of pure “You do not have a son. You have never seen his face; you do not know his name, and if you so much as look in his direction again, I will physically detach your arms from your torso. I don’t care about your lawyers, I don’t care about your press, and I certainly do not care about the laws of this state.”

Jude’s breathing was shallow and frantic. But through the swelling of his left eye, he looked at my face.

iron

He saw the pitch-black unhinged madness. The raw primitive possessiveness of a beast ready to tear him to pieces right here on the glass regardless of the consequences.

He began to suspect.

7

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“You’re not just sleeping with her,” Jude whistled through his wired teeth, his voice shaking slightly. “You actually think she belongs to you. You’re completely mad.”

“I don’t think,” I rasped, my grip on his collar tightening until the silk began to tear “I know.”

I looked at him directly. The last thing I was going to say in this room.

“Drop the claim. Walk away from the marriage narrative. Leave the boy out of it entirely.” My voice was quiet. The quietest it had been since I walked in. “You have forty-eight hours. If I don’t have confirmation by then, you will find out what it looks like when the Windsor Empire Group decides something needs to stop existing. I am not Victor Hale. I don’t fabricate evidence I buy the infrastructure your business depends on, and I redirect it.”

I released him with a dismissive shove that sent him stumbling back onto the leather armchair.

I turned on my heel and walked to the double oak doors.

“You are not what I expected,” Jude said behind me, his voice still shaking.

I stopped with my hand on the door.

“Nobody ever is,” I said.

I walked out.

The elevator closed behind me, and I stood in the quiet steel cabin and thought about a man sitting in a presidential suite with his wired jaw and his forty-eight hours and the one piece of information he had spent forty minutes in that room trying to find and had not found.

I was Jules.

I was her husband.

And the war had not even started yet.

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Let’s be Ufficial

-Sam-

Zane was a problem.

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Not in the way that Julian Windsor was a problem – Julian was a walking natural disaster with taped knuckles and a marriage certificate nobody knew about, and that was Katia’s problem to survive. Zane was & different category of problem. He was the kind of problem that showed up at your door at eleven PM with good wine and better conversation and then stayed until four in the morning and made you forget why having boundaries was a reasonable life choice.

We had been doing this for three months.

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