My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 337

And nobody had told me.

1 thought about every moment I had watched the two of them together and told myself it was simply a man who was good with children. Every time Aiden had reached for Julian without asking. Every time Julian’s head had turned before anyone else’s when Aiden called out across a room. Every sign I had filed away under something easier because looking at it directly would have meant asking a question I wasn’t ready to answer.

My son had known the truth before I did.

He hadn’t needed results or certificates or any of the documents that had turned my world over in the past few weeks. He had simply felt the truth of it and given it a name, the way children gave names to things that mattered, without ceremony, without waiting for anyone’s permission.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or wonder how many signs I had been standing in front of all this time without once letting myself actually see them.

I heard his voice from the kitchen, something about biscuits, the completely ordinary sound of a child at home in

breathing. a place he loved, and I pressed one hand flat against the wall and stood there for a moment,

Then I followed him down the hall.

“Aiden,” I called. “Two biscuits. Not the whole tin.”

“Three,” he called back.

“Two.”

There was a pause. “Two and a half,” he said.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway and laughed, really laughed, for the first time in longer than I could remember, and the sound of it surprised me almost as much as the word ‘Dad’ had.

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Julian’s POV

I had spent forty-eight hours in the Aman presidential suite, and the silence of the place was starting to feel like physical weight. Every corner of that room, the polished marble, the oversized velvet chairs, and the panoramic view of a city that suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else, was a reminder of my own strategic failure.

I had played the long game, trying to secure the pieces of my life, thinking I was the architect of my own family’s stability. I had found out a year ago that the woman I’d married seven years ago was the same woman I’d been sharing a life with, and I had chosen to keep that knowledge buried. I had let my son call me “Dad” for a year, watching him grow, feeling that bond, while I let Katia wander in the dark.

I thought I was being smart. I thought I was protecting them from the chaos of my world, from the boardrooms and the rivals and the people who would use my personal history as a weapon. Now, I was the one rotting in a hotel room while she took over the mansion. I was the one being locked.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The lack of control was eating me alive. I drove to the house, my knuckles white against the steering wheel, my heart hammering against my ribs. I pulled up to the main gate, the massive iron structure that usually swung open at the sight of my vehicle. I slowed to a crawl, waiting for the security detail to acknowledge me, to step out and buzz me through the way they had every day for decades.

Instead, the gate remained firmly closed.

I hit the horn once and twice; the sound was demanding. Finally, a security guard stepped out of the booth. He wasn’t one of the usual men I’d hired; he was a stranger, tall and stone-faced. His movement told me he knew exactly who I was and exactly what he was doing.

I rolled down my window, ready to bark an order, but he didn’t even look at my face. He just shook his head, his hands resting on his belt.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Windsor,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of the deference I was used to. “We have instructions. You are not to be granted entry.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” I spat, my voice tight. “Do you have any idea who you are talking to? I am the owner of this property. I am your employer. Open the gate.”

“My employer is currently Mrs. Windsor,” he replied, not flinching. “And my instructions are to keep the perimeter secure. You are not on the approved guest list.”

My blood went cold. She had fired my team. She had replaced them with people who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘Julian’ unless it was preceded by an order to keep me out. I sat there, staring at the imposing iron bars, the house visible in the distance, warm and glowing with a life I was now barred from.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I slammed the car into park, jumped out, and marched up to the gate, my jaw aching from how hard I was clenching it. The guard moved to block me, his hand hovering near his radio, but I brushed past him, my fury making me reckless. I didn’t care if it looked desperate. I walked up to the heavy oak front door and pounded on it. The sound echoed into the night, pathetic and loud. It was the sound of a man who had realized he was no longer the one pulling the strings.

The heavy door didn’t swing open. Instead, the small peephole slid back, and then the intercom crackled to life. Katia’s voice, cool, and entirely devoid of warmth, filled the air.

“The house is occupied, Julian. You’re trespassing.

I leaned into the speaker, my voice tight. “Open the door, Katia. We are not doing this. This is my house, and I am

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