My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 6

The Ghost I Married

Julian

The skyline of Manhattan stretched in front of me, bathed in soft light as the sun filtered through thick gray clouds, painting the city in shades of steel and silver. The windows of my high–rise office offered a sweeping view of it all, an empire of glass and concrete, money and power, but none of it felt satisfying anymore. Not the deals. Not the penthouses. Not the silence that lingered long after everyone left for the day. Six years, and I still hadn’t found her. Six fucking years chasing a ghost.

I sat behind my desk, the corner office a cathedral of success, every inch tailored to me–sleek, minimal, spotless. My assistant had left my schedule printed neatly beside my coffee, which had long since gone cold. The ticking of the designer wall clock was the only sound until I heard the door open without a knock.

“Still brooding?” Zane strolled in like he owned the place. He didn’t, but he was one of the few people who could walk into my space uninvited and live to tell the story.

I looked up at him, studied the smirk on his face, and knew before he even said a word that he had something to say I wouldn’t like.

“By the way you look,” I said dryly, “I’m guessing you’ve got the results.”

Zane leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, always relaxed, always amused. “Six years, man. You’ve been searching for six damn years.”

“And?”

“And maybe it’s time to stop. Let her go, Julian. You’re getting married. The Kensington girl.”

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a second. My temples throbbed. The Kensington girl, Jesus fucking Christ.

“I don’t even know what’s going on with that family,” I muttered. “At first, I was betrothed to Katia. Then they switched it to Delia. Like I’m a fucking product on clearance.”

Zane chuckled. “Well, you kind of are. You’re the Windsor heir. People expect you to marry like it’s chess.”

I gave him a look. “I don’t even know what Delia looks like.”

“You don’t have to,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not a love match. You’re marrying her for your grandmother. Duty. Legacy. All that Windsor shit.”

“If not for Grandma…” I trailed off.

“If not for Grandma, you’d still be playing Phantom King in Vegas and chasing a girl whose name you don’t know.”

I said nothing.

Zane pushed off the wall and pulled out his phone. “Well, since you’re marrying Delia Kensington, you might as well know what she looks like.”

I raised an eyebrow as he tapped on his screen and handed me the phone. I*******m. Of course. A carefully curated feed of designer clothes, overpriced cocktails, vacations in Bali and Saint–Tropez, and the kind of artificial smiles you see on department store mannequins. Delia was pretty, no doubt. Blonde, bright–eyed, and painfully polished. But nothing about her felt real.

“She’s not my type,” I muttered.

Zane smirked. “Keep scrolling,”

I did. And then I stopped.

A photo, captioned “Happy Birthday, sis” stared up at me. Two women, side by side, but only one of them made my heart stop.

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She wasn’t smiling in the usual way. It wasn’t for the camera. She wasn’t performing. She wasn’t posing. There was something distant in her expression, like her mind was somewhere else. Delia was all teeth and fake affection. But her sister Katia she was… real and beautiful. That name was tagged.

“She’s more my type,” I said quietly.

Zane nodded. “Katia. The one you were originally promised to.”

“Random face on the internet, yes,” I muttered, eyes scanning the screen.

Zane looked over. “Just another Kensington girl?”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t know. I’m just saying the face looks familiar, that’s all. But my brain doesn’t remember a damn thing.”

The bitterness in my voice was sharp, even to my own ears. The truth stung more every time I said it.

“It pains me that I’ve been chasing a ghost for the past years. And now I have to marry some girl named Delia. ” I say and then go on. “The pilot told me we were making out in the chopper,” I added, voice low. “Said there were stains, blood on the seat. The staff at the hotel had to burn the sheets. I woke up alone the next morning. With a ring, no name, and no trace of her.”

Zane winced and leaned back in his chair. “Still can’t believe you went through with it.”

“I was drugged,” I snapped, rubbing my tempie. “Your idea of a bachelor send–off nearly got me married to a stripper.”

Zane laughed. “That’s slander. She wasn’t a stripper.”

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