All Chapters of My Accidental Billionaire Husband : Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

310 Chapters

What If I Like Married Men

~Delia~Julian was not reacting.That was the problem. That was the entire problem, and it was driving me out of my mind because the whole point of this dinner — the whole carefully constructed, Christopher-sourced, both-families-invited point of this dinner — was to make Julian Windsor show his hand. To make him react. To see something on his face that confirmed what I already knew in my bones.There was nothing.He was eating his lamb with the calm, unhurried attention of a man who had nowhere to be and nothing on his mind. He was listening to conversations around the table. He was answering when addressed. He was doing every single thing a man at a family dinner was supposed to do, and he was not once — not once — looking at Christopher the way a man looked at someone sitting next to his woman.I watched Christopher lean toward Katia.I watched Katia smile.I watched Julian cut his meat.I wanted to fucking flip the table.I did not flip the table. I was a Kensington, and Kensingto

The Ground She Wished Would Open

~Martha~I had made a mistake.I knew it the moment Katia turned to me.Not the dinner. Not Christopher. Not the seating plan I had spent three days constructing like a woman who believed every situation had a correct move. The mistake was older than that. It was seven years old, and it had been sitting in this dining room with us the entire evening, and I had been looking at the centerpiece and pretending it was not there.Katia looked at me."Mother," she said. Her voice was the quiet kind. The kind that did not need volume because it had something underneath it that volume would only have cheapened. "Do you want me to betray my husband by dating men you have lined up for me?"The table went completely still.I had always known how to read a room. I had been reading rooms since I was nineteen years old and had married into the Kensington name and understood that rooms were the arena in which everything important happened. I read this one.Grandma Celeste was watching Katia. Not me.

Get to My Wife

~Julian~I saw it for exactly what it was.The dinner. Christopher. The seating. The hand-holding performance Delia had put on at the table like she was auditioning for a role she had never been cast in. All of it — every carefully arranged piece of it — was a response to the night Katia had stayed in my house. Martha had seen what she had seen and had drawn the conclusion anyone with functioning eyes would have drawn and had built this entire evening around confirming it.I had not given them what they wanted.I was not going to give them what they wanted. Not tonight. Not in Martha Kensington's dining room with Christopher sitting there with his charter jet and his five-figure salary and his very good jaw, waiting for me to show something that would give the whole table permission to discuss it.I had sat through the entire evening. I had eaten my food, and I had kept my face entirely still, and I had watched Katia handle her mother with the precise, controlled devastation of a woma

Just Here

~Julian~She had not gone to the penthouse.The team sent me the location fifteen minutes after I left the Kensington house, and I sat in the car outside the Kensington's gate and looked at the address on my phone and understood immediately. She had not gone home. She had driven somewhere else—not far, not toward Manhattan, just somewhere that was not her mother's house and was not mine and was hers in a different way.The waterfront.I had been there once, briefly, in a different context. A stretch of the Brooklyn waterfront with a car park that looked over the water toward Manhattan. The kind of place people went when they needed the city in their eyeline but at a distance they could manage.I drove there.Her car was the only one in the car park.She was not in it.I found her on the walkway along the water. Standing at the railing, her coat pulled around her, looking at Manhattan across the river. The city was doing what it did at night — the lights, the movement, the particular b

I will destroy that little cunt of yours

~Julian~I lay in the dark of her Brooklyn penthouse, but the quiet of the room was a lie.She was asleep against my chest, her breathing slow and even, but my blood was still running hot and black. Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see the dark bedroom. I saw the dining room table at the Kensington house. I saw Christopher leaning toward her. I saw the polite, receptive nod she had given him—the nod she usually reserved for clients she wanted to hook, or worse, men she was actually willing to listen to. And then there were the words that had been looping in my head like a disease since we left: Chris, reach out.She had invited him into her space. Right in front of me.At three in the morning, the tension in my jaw was so tight it ached. My cock was already rock-hard, pressing heavy and insistent against the curve of her thigh. I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to destroy the boundary she kept trying to draw between us.I reached down, gripped her hip, and turned her.She woke wit

Not a Committee Decision

~Julian~I arrived at the mansion at eight fourteen.I knew about the meeting before I walked through the door. The team had flagged the activity the previous evening—the calls between Martha and my grandmother, the arrangements, and the time agreed upon. I had read it on my phone at six in the morning while Katia was still asleep against my chest and had decided two things simultaneously: I was not leaving early, and I was not going to let the meeting happen without me present.I had left at seven thirty.I had taken my time driving.I walked through the front door still in yesterday's clothes—the jacket, the shirt, and the trousers that had sat on a chair in a Brooklyn bedroom for the better part of the night. I was aware of what I looked like. I did not particularly care.I could smell coffee.I went to the kitchen first.I poured a cup. I stood at the counter and drank half of it, looking out the window at the garden. The morning was grey. The oak tree at the far end was doing wha

You Were Never My Type

JulianShe was eating when I came back downstairs.Sitting at the kitchen table with a plate in front of her, having the composure of someone who had decided that eating was the correct response to having just sat through that sitting room. The Kensingtons had gone. Grandma and Gail had taken Aiden somewhere in the house. It was just Delia and the plate and the kitchen and me.I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.She looked up and I looked at her.“Before we started this arrangement,” I said, “do you remember what I told you?”She said nothing.“I told you I was already married,” I said. “I told you I could never touch you. I told you that you could sleep with whoever you wanted because I was not going to be that person for you.” I held her gaze. “Do you remember that conversation?”She looked at her plate.“Did I lie to you?” I said. “Did I promise you something I might have forgotten about? Did I say something that led you to believe this was going to become somethin

Little Brat

~Delia~I called him at nine in the morning.Marcus—not his real name; nobody in his line of work used their real name—had been my private investigator for eight months. He had found things I had not expected him to find. He had also consistently failed to find the one thing I actually needed, which was any usable information about Katia Kensington's private life.He answered on the third ring."Tell me you have something," I said.A pause. The kind of pause that told me before he said a word that what was coming was not what I wanted to hear."Ms. Kensington," he said. "I have been working on this for eight months. I have tried every channel available to me—public records, financial databases, social media forensics, and contacts within the legal and corporate system." He paused again. "Your sister's private information is untouchable."I sat very still."What do you mean, untouchable?" I said."I mean that every avenue I have pursued has hit a wall," he said. "Her personal finances

Wanna Bet

~Katia~I was reviewing the quarterly projections when my office door opened. Not knocked. Not buzzed through from reception. Opened. With the force of someone who had decided that the normal rules of entry did not apply to them today and had acted accordingly.Delia walked in.She was dressed nicely, hair in place. The full Kensington presentation that she deployed when she needed to feel like herself—which told me before she opened her mouth that she was not feeling like herself.Sam appeared in the doorway behind her with the expression of someone who had tried to stop something and had not succeeded.I looked at Sam. Sam looked at me. I gave the smallest nod and Sam stepped back and closed the door.I put my pen down and folded my hands on the desk. Then waited."You are sleeping with my husband," Delia said.Her voice was not quite steady. She had rehearsed this; I could tell by the way you could tell when someone had practiced something in the car on the way over, but the emotio

Did you win?

~Katia~I wore the grey suit.Not because it was a power suit or because I had thought about what message it sent. I wore it because it was the first thing I reached for that morning, and I had stopped overthinking my wardrobe six months ago when I realized that the kind of woman who spent forty minutes deciding what to wear to destroy someone in court was not the kind of woman I wanted to be.Sam was already in the lobby when I came down.She handed me coffee without being asked. We did not speak on the drive over. There was nothing to say that had not already been said in the months of preparation that had led to this morning—the counter-filing, the fraud complaint, and the evidence that Marcus had assembled like a man who genuinely enjoyed being right.The courthouse was cold the way courthouses always were. That institutional cold that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the weight of what happened inside them.Victor was already there.I saw him across th

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