My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 313

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I’m Fucking Your Husband

Katia

Nobody answered me, and I had given this room more than enough chances to answer me honesty “Fine,” I said. “Since nobody in this family wants to claim an answer, I’ll give you one myself

“Katia,” Martha said, a warning this time, the kind of warning a mother gives when she already senses the floor is about to disappear from under her entire family.

“I’m sleeping with Julian,” I said.

The words landed flat and final in the middle of the room, and for a moment nobody moved at all, as though the sentence itself had frozen the air around it.

“You’re lying,” Delia said, the first thing out of her mouth, fast and brittle.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’ve been fucking your husband for months or should I say years. London. The island before that. The hotel two streets from this very building the week you told everyone you and Julian were taking a quiet weekend together, except he wasn’t with you that weekend, was he?”

Delia’s face had gone an entirely different shade of pale now, something past embarrassment, something closer to genuine fear.

“You’re making this up to humiliate me,” she said. “You’ve always resented that I married him. This is just you finally saying it out loud.”

“I don’t need to make anything up,” I said. “I have a hotel record with both our names on it. I have a driver who can confirm exactly whose car picked me up outside that hotel at midnight. I have months of a man who actually looks at me when I walk into a room, instead of looking past me the way your husband apparently looks past you.”

“Stop,” Delia said.

“Why?” I asked. “You didn’t stop when you stood in my home and accused me of wanting something that isn’t mine. You don’t get to ask for mercy now that the conversation has turned toward something true. France, the hand on I*******m, was it yours? Did your husband not leave you on your honeymoon to spend time with me instead of you? Do you know anything about your husband? Oh, wait, did you even have a honeymoon, or did you spend it doing damage control?”

Martha had both hands pressed against her mouth now, her eyes wide, moving rapidly between her two daughters as though physically trying to keep up with a conversation that had outpaced her completely.

“This cannot be happening,” she said, mostly to herself. “Not in my own family. Not at a dinner, I came expecting gifts and good company.”

“That’s the thing about this family, Mother,” I said, not even looking at her. “You came expecting gifts. You always come expecting gifts. You never once came expecting honesty, because nobody in this house has offered you any in years, least of all her.”

Ponus

David set his glass down entirely, both hands now braced against the bar cart as though he needed! something solid to hold himself upright.

“Delia,” he said quietly. “Is any of this true?” ”

“Of course it isn’t,” Delia said, though her voice cracked badly on the last word, betraying her even as she

said it.

“Then deny it properly,” I said. “Look me in the eye and tell this entire room that Julian has never once touched me. That he’s never looked at me the way a husband looks at a woman he actually wants Gay it, Delia, and I will apologize to you in front of everyone, and we can finish this dinner like nothing happened

Delia opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

“That’s what I thought,” I said.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” Delia said, finding her voice again, though it shook now in a way it had not shaken before. “You’re not just humiliating me. You’re destroying everything. My marriage. My place in this family. Everything I’ve built for two years.”

“You built two years on a man who never once chose you,” I said. “I’m simply the one finally saying that out loud instead of letting you keep performing a marriage that was hollow the entire time.”

“How dare you,” Delia said, her voice rising sharply now, something desperate threading through the anger. “How dare you stand there and act like the victim when you’re the one who’s been sneaking around with my husband? You’re the homewrecker here, not me.”

“There’s no home to wreck, Delia,” I said. “That’s the part you can’t say out loud. A home requires two people choosing each other. You’ve spent two years choosing a name and a bank account and calling it a marriage because the alternative was admitting you’d settled for less than you actually wanted.”

“You don’t know what I wanted.”

“Don’t I,” I said. “You wanted to be Mrs. Windsor. You wanted the title, the parties, and the way people’s faces change the moment they hear his name attached to yours. You never actually wanted him, not the way a wife is supposed to want her husband, and somewhere along the way you convinced yourself that didn’t matter as long as everyone else believed the performance.”

“That’s cruel,” Martha said quietly, though I noticed she did not actually deny it.

“It’s honest,” I said. “Cruelty would be letting her keep living this lie for another two years while everyone in this family pretends not to notice how empty it’s become.”

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