My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 57

The morning after the bridge

– Katia –

+25 Bonus

I woke up at 4 AM, like it was a pishment. No alarm. No noise. Just my eyes snapping open to the dark ceiling of my bedroom with my heart already three beats ahead of my brain, still running from a bridge I’d left two hours before.

I lay there for a moment, staring at nothing, my body deciding whether it was done with the adrenaline yet. It wasn’t. My hands were steady–they’re always steady after a race, after the drop–but my mind was still moving at 140 mph, replaying the drone in my peripheral vision, the SUVs that came within an inch of my tail, and the red flash in the corner of my visor that said ‘ Target Tagged‘ like the universe had a grudge.

I got out of bed before I thought too hard about staying in it.

Aiden’s door was slightly open, the way he liked it. I pushed it wider and stood in the frame for a moment. He was face–down with one arm hanging off the mattress and his duvet kicked to the foot of the bed, which was normal. His curls were a disaster, which was also normal. He was breathing in that deep, total way that only children and people with no guilt manage.

I fixed the duvet. He didn’t stir.

Back in the hallway, I pulled my robe tighter and padded to the kitchen. The city was a dark glitter outside the floor–to–ceiling windows, and I stood in front of it for a moment, arms crossed, watching Manhattan breathe. Somewhere out there Julian Windsor was probably at a desk. Surrounded by server logs and drone feeds and the digital outline of a woman who had just made his entire security grid look like a suggestion.

I smiled at the window. I couldn’t help it.

Then I thought about his text.

That was a hell of a dive into the river, Katia. I hope the water wasn’t too cold for you.

I picked up my phone from the counter. Unlocked it. Read the text again, and then the one after it.

I’ll see you in the boardroom at 9:00 AM. Don’t be late. We have a lot to discuss regarding your… ‘technical difficulties.‘

He knew. He didn’t know how much he knew, but he knew enough to be dangerous. The ellipsis before technical difficulties was doing a lot of work. The man punctuated like he interrogated, leaving exactly the right amount of space for you to hang yourself in.

I put the phone down.

I put it face–down.

Then I picked it up again and pulled up Sam’s number.

She answered on the second ring, which meant she hadn’t been sleeping either.

“I saw the drone feed,” she said before I could speak. “I’ve already moved the bike to the third location. New plates. The RFID is wiped. You’re clean, and Katia, you evidence that it was very compromising, but I dealt with it.”

I exhaled, knowing exactly what I left behind. “You’re extraordinary.”

“I know. Also, you need a new hobby.”

“Racing is not a hobby.”

“Racing his drones through the city at midnight absolutely is,” I heard her moving around keys, a drawer, and the sound of laptop opening. “His text, Katia. He sent it from a personal number.”

“I know.”

Blow muster the budge

+25 Bonus

“That’s not a WEG communication. That’s him, persofially.”

“I know that too, Sam.”

A took a pause. “What did you text back?”

“Goodnight.”

She was quiet for three seconds. Which, for Sam, was the equivalent of a standing ovation. “You said goodnight.”

“I did.”

“To the man who just deployed a city–wide drone grid to catch you.”

“Correct.”

She took another pause. “And you’re not scared.”

I looked at the city outside Brooklyn at 4 AM. It looked exactly like Brooklyn at any other hour, all glass and indifference, never quite dark, never quite honest.

“Not scared,” I said. “Something else.”

“Katia.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to figure it out.”

“He’s already figuring it out.” I moved to the kitchen counter and started the coffee because it was 4 AM, and I was absolutely not going back to sleep. “He just doesn’t have proof. He has a pattern and a heat signature and the fact that I sent him ‘goodnight ‘ instead of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.“”

“That was a tactical error.”

“It was honest.”

“Honesty is a tactical error, Katia; we’ve talked about this.” But her voice had shifted–still sharp, but underneath it was something careful. She knew what honesty with Julian meant better than I was ready to say out loud. “What time is your meeting?”

“Nine. He said don’t be late.”

“So you’re going at 9:01.”

“Obviously.”

Γ

The coffee started. I watched it drip and thought about a man I’d left standing in the centre of his glass empire at 3 AM, tie in his hand, eyes following me to the elevator. I thought about the way he’d touched my hair. Just the one strand, tucked behind my ear like it was the most careful thing he’d ever done with his hands. I thought about how I’d almost reached for him before the desk stopped me.

I stopped thinking about it.

“Sam, the bike’s clean. The grid’s down. He has a text message that proves nothing and a hunch that proves even less.” I poured coffee I didn’t need yet. “We show up at 9:01 like professionals, and we do our jobs.”

“And if he asks directly?”

“He won’t ask directly. Not yet. He’ll circle.” I wrapped both hands around the mug. “Julian Windsor doesn’t ask directly until he already has the answer.”

the morning after the bridge

+25 Bonus

Sami made a sound that was not quite agreement but also wasn’t an argument. “I’ll be at the office by eight. You should sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t slept.”

“I’ll sleep when Nikolai Voss is in prison, “I said, and then realised I’d said that to the wrong person entirely and that name meant nothing to Sam yet and would require a very long conversation I did not have the bandwidth for at 4 AM.

“Who,” said Sam, “is Nikolai Voss?”

“Nobody. Go back to sleep.”

“Katia-”

“I’ll explain later. Go. Sleep. I love you.”

I hung up before she could ask again.

The city blinked back at me through the glass. I drank my coffee standing up because sitting felt too much like settling, and I had six hours until I needed to be in a boardroom looking like I hadn’t spent the night outrunning billionaire drones on a Ducati while wearing seventeen thousand pounds‘ worth of carbon fibre.

Aiden appeared in the kitchen doorway at 4:43 AM in his dinosaur pyjamas, eyes barely open, hair magnificent.

“Why are you up?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep. Why are you up, champ?”

“I smelled coffee,” he said, climbing onto the kitchen stool with the ease of someone who had been doing it since he could walk. “You only make coffee in the middle of the night when something has happened.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify