My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 330

Burn It All Down

Delia’s POV

The morning sun hit my face, but I felt no warmth. I sat up in the stiff sheets of my childhood bed, my lead throbbing with the memories of the night before. I did not bother with coffee or breakfast. I walked downstairs to find Martha and David sitting at the breakfast table, their faces tight with concern and pity

“Delia, sit and have something to eat,” Martha said, her voice soft.

“I need to go back,” I cut her off. I did not listen to their protests. I grabbed the keys to Martha’s car from the hok by the door and walked out into the biting morning air. I drove toward Manhattan, my knuckles white against the Every mile brought more fury, more desperation. I had to fix this. I had to reclaim what was mine

steering

Whe

at the mansion, my stomach dropped. Workers were hauling bags out of the front door, tossing lawn like trash. They were my things. Every silk dress, every pair of heels, every piece of jewelry I curated for two years was being treated like refuse. Katia emerged from the house, gesturing for d the clothes into a waiting car. I slammed the door of my mother’s car and rushed over, my heart

what is this?” I screamed, my voice cracking under the weight of the humiliation.

a turned, wearing a devilish smile. She looked entirely at peace, completely satisfied with the destruction of y life. “Your clothes, of course. I wanted to save you the trouble of coming back here to collect them. I wanted to deliver them to you.”

“You bitch,” I spat. “This is my house. Why are you acting like it’s yours?”

Katia laughed, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the morning air. “Your house? Has this house ever been yours, Delia? Have you ever seen the deed, or did you just enjoy playing Mrs. Windsor and staying in a mansion? Sis, this is my house, and I want you out. I am sending you off the same way you came. Oh, and I froze your cards. If you are hungry and need money, ask your parents, because I am not your mother.”

“You can’t do that,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Oh, then try swiping the card,” she said, her expression hardening. “My house, my money, and I am not funding your fancy lifestyle. You want a fancy lifestyle, little sis? Earn it. Go look for a job, not a rich man.”

I felt the ground shifting beneath me. “Give me the keys to my cars.”

“Your cars? You don’t have a car, Delia. You were just driving the cars. Did you ask your husband to do the change of ownership, or did you just choose the cars you liked? You have nothing. You will go back the same way you came to this house.”

“Why are yo

“You t

ther

th and handed it to the police; you thought I wouldn’t know? And You are such a mastermind, lil sis. You wanted me gone by any the same man you have never seen naked. The one whose drink you you, but luck has never been on your side, has it? You will never see his cock;

of it, but I suck it, ride it, and you? You can just dream. Now, get the fuck out of my

pulling my bag and throwing it into the trunk.

unded by the remnants of my existence, watching her. She stood tall, victorious, and

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completely indifferent to the wreckage she had caused. I tried to think of something to say, some biting retort that would break her composure, but my mind was blank, clouded by the sheer reality of my defeat.

The workers continued to dump my possessions onto the grass, heedless of the fine fabrics or the delicate glass bottles that shattered upon impact. Every crash sounded like a nail in the coffin of the life I had built.

I looked at the house the towering pillars, the grand entrance, the windows that had reflected my face back to me for two years. It looked different now, alien and cold. It was no longer a place of safety or status; it was a fortress, and I was on the wrong side of the gate. I searched my mind for a way to appeal to Julian, but then I remembered him walking out without a word. He was not coming to save me.

I felt a surge of bitterness that tasted like bile. I had spent two years perfecting the art of being Mrs. Windsor. I had learned the nuances of the household, the preferred coffee blends, the way to navigate the social circles that defined our world. I had done it all for a man who could discard me as easily as he would a piece of mail. And now, I was back at square one, standing on the pavement with my parents’ car and a trunk full of discarded clothes.

Katia watched me with a glint of amusement in her eyes, as if she were observing a stray animal finally being pushed out of the yard. She did not even blink as I struggled to shove my suitcase into the cramped space of the trunk. She just watched, waiting for me to leave, for me to admit that the game was finished.

“You think you’ve won?” I asked, my voice rising in a desperate pitch. “You think you can just step in and take everything? You don’t even know what you’re dealing with. Julian is mine in ways you cannot comprehend, regardless of what you think you have.”

Katia tilted her head, her smile never fading. “The delusion is truly impressive, Delia. It is the only thing you have ever possessed of any real value. Keep it. It will be the only thing you have left when reality finally sets in.”

She turned her back on me, walking away toward the mansion as if I were already a ghost, already forgotten, already erased from the narrative of her life. I watched the door close behind her, the heavy wood latching with a finality that made my heart sink. I was left standing alone, the morning light bright and mocking, revealing every tear-streaked inch of my face to the world.

I climbed into the driver’s seat of my mother’s car, the smell of the interior-old leather and faint perfume- reminding me of home. But it did not feel like home. It felt like a trap. I gripped the wheel, staring at the mansion one last time. The windows were blank, showing me nothing of what was happening inside.

I put the car in gear and pulled away, the tires crunching against the gravel. I did not look back. I could not. I had to find a way to get back in, or I had to find a way to burn it all down from the outside. I knew one thing for certain: I was not finished. I had endured too much, lost too much, to simply disappear. The house might be hers for now, but I would make it a hell she could not inhabit. I would find the cracks in her victory, and I would pull at them until the entire structure collapsed. And when it did, I would be there to watch it fall.

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