DeliaI’ve always been the "good" daughter. The one who wore the right dresses, smiled at the right donors, and never made a scene unless it was choreographed for maximum impact. But sitting in the plush, overly silent library of the Windsor estate, I felt like a background character in my own life.Julian was never home. And when he was, he looked through me like I was a piece of expensive furniture he’d inherited but didn't know where to place. I was a Kensington, raised to be the crown jewel of the family, yet here I was, playing house in a mausoleum while my sister, Katia, seemed to occupy every corner of Julian’s mind. It wasn't just the lack of attention; it was the erasure. I was his wife on paper, a secret contract meant to solidify the Kensington-Windsor alliance, but I was strictly forbidden from uttering a word of it to the public. To the world, I was just another socialite; to Julian, I was a ghost he’d paid to stay quiet.By Friday, the silence of the estate became deafen
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