All Chapters of My Accidental Billionaire Husband : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

310 Chapters

Digital Ashes and Glass Walls

Katia’s POV“Mommy, why are you breaking your clothes? Is it because they don’t fit anymore?”Aiden’s voice startled me, cutting through the snip-crunch of industrial shears. I froze, my hand still gripping the heavy-duty metal blades. He was standing in the doorway of our private garage, clutching a juice box with both hands, his head tilted in that inquisitive way that always made my heart do a painful somersault. Every time he looked at me like that, I saw the ghost of a man I couldn't remember.I forced a smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear with a gloved hand. “I’m just recycling, baby,” I said, my voice smooth despite the adrenaline still humming in my veins. “Sometimes, to make something new and better, you have to get rid of the old stuff. It’s like when you outgrow your Legos.”“But that’s your superhero suit,” he pointed out, stepping over a pile of discarded, high-grade leather that had been shredded into unrecognizable strips.“Even superheroes need an upgrade

The Quiet Realization

Delia’s POVThe silence in the Windsor estate wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, like the air before a terminal storm. I sat at the edge of the sprawling king-sized bed in the East Wing, my fingers digging into the duvet. The fabric was cold. It was always cold.Across the hallway, through two sets of soundproofed doors, was the West Wing—Julian’s territory. My husband’s territory. A place I was forbidden to enter unless invited, which, in the three months since our "I do’s," had happened exactly zero times.I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. I had spent two hours on my hair and makeup this morning, wearing a lace negligee that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. I looked like a bride, a wanted woman. I looked like a Windsor. But as I stared at my own wide, desperate eyes, the realization I had been sprinting away from finally tripped me.Julian hadn't touched me. Not since the ceremony. Not even a brush of his hand against mine that wasn't strictly for the benefit of a camera len

The Meeting Trap

Julian’s POVThe digital clock on my desk flickered to 9:00 AM. In the world of global finance, time was a commodity I traded like gold, but today, time felt like a noose I was tightening around my neck.I adjusted my cufflinks, the platinum cold against my skin. "Zane, are the 'emergency' protocols drafted?"Zane leaned against the mahogany doorframe of my office, a tablet tucked under his arm and an expression of pure, raw skepticism on his face. "You mean the emergency protocols that didn't exist forty-eight hours ago? The ones that magically require the personal oversight of the IG Technologies CEO or the entire WEG mainframe will supposedly spontaneously combust""Precision is vital during integration," I said, my voice a flat, dangerous monotone. "If Katia Kensington wants to play the elusive genius, she needs to understand that I own the playground.""You don't want a briefing, Julian. You want her in this building. You’re hunting, and it’s getting loud. Even the board is whisp

The Performance

Julian’s POVThe scent of Katia was still clinging to the fibers of my shirt, a haunting mixture of jasmine and defiance that made the air in my car feel too small. My skin was still humming from the sensation of her body against mine on that desk. I had intended to go straight to the West Wing, lock the door, and bury myself in the telemetry data of a ghost, but the moment I stepped through the front doors of the estate, the atmosphere shifted.I smelled the heavy, floral perfume of my mother-in-law before I saw her.Fuck!I rounded the corner into the kitchen, my mind already rehearsing the cold dismissal I usually reserved for Delia, when I saw them. My father-in-law, David Kensington, was leaning against the marble island, a glass of scotch in his hand, while his wife, Martha, stood beside Delia.I didn't miss the way Delia’s shoulders were hunched, or the way she looked like she had been mid-complaint.In an instant, the predator in me retreated, and the actor took the stage. I w

Since when do I answer to you?

Delia’s POVThe smell of that perfume that was on Julian yesterday had been haunting me since the moment Julian stepped into the kitchen last night. When he hugged me, that brief performance of affection for my parents, the scent had clung to his coat like a confession. It was floral with an expensive, metallic edge that smelled like power and secrets. I knew that scent. I had smelled it before, but every time I tried to place it, the memory slipped through my fingers like silk.Julian didn't let me get close. He lived in the West Wing behind biometric locks and cold glares, only playing the role of the doting husband when Mom and Dad were watching or on the rare occasion the senior Windsors deigned to visit. To him, I was a piece of furniture that occasionally spoke.I sat in my car, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. I was going to drive forty-five minutes to Brooklyn. I told myself I was going to see my sister. I told myself I needed to talk to Katia about the IG Techno

Stop trying

Julian’s POVThe scent of Katia was still a ghost in my study, a haunting mixture of jasmine, expensive skin, and that underlying hint of ozone that seemed to follow her everywhere. Even after a shower, even after scrubbing the physical memory of her from my skin, I could swear the fragrance had embedded itself into the very pores of my hands. I sat in my high-backed leather chair, the only light in the room coming from the three massive monitors displaying encrypted telemetry data and the flickering orange glow of a streetlamp outside the Windsor estate.A soft, hesitant scratching at the door broke the silence. It wasn't a knock of authority; it was the sound of someone who wasn't sure they were allowed to exist in the same hallway. I didn't need to look at the security feed to know it was Delia. She didn't have the biometric clearance to bypass the locks on the West Wing, so she stood there like a shadow, a constant, irritating reminder of the agreement my grandmother had with the

The Gala trap

Julian’s POVThe Grand Ballroom of the Plaza was a gilded cage of the city’s elite, filled with the scent of lilies and the sharp, underlying hum of corporate greed. I stood on the mezzanine, my hand gripped tight around a glass of scotch. I didn't care about the charity, and I certainly didn't care about the accolades. My focus was entirely on the woman standing at the center of the room, currently surrounded by a swarm of tech investors and board members who looked at her as if she were the second coming of the digital age, Katia.She was wearing a gown of midnight blue that fit her like a second skin, the fabric catching the light with every breath she took. She looked untouchable and professional, and yet, looking at her, all I could feel was the ghost of her weight against my desk and the memory of the way she had arched into me just days ago in my office. The "dry fuck" had left me on edge for a week, a lingering hunger that no amount of business or distance could satiate."The

That was a hell of a dive into the river, Katia

Katia’s POVThe midnight blue felt like a shroud the moment I stepped out of the plaza. The cold, biting air of Manhattan hit my exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the ballroom and the even more suffocating weight of Julian’s gaze. My pulse was still erratic, a jagged drumming in my throat that I couldn't seem to quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom pressure of his hand on the small of my back, a reminder of the fire we had played with in his office."You’re vibrating," Samantha said, her voice low and sharp as she slid into the back of the black sedan beside me. She didn't wait for me to respond before flipping open her laptop, the blue light reflecting off her glasses. Her fingers were already flying across the keys, checking the perimeter of our digital footprint. "That was a hell of a show back there. You had the board eating out of your hand, but Julian looked like he was ready to dismantle the building just to see what makes you tick.""I

late night meeting

Katia’s POVThe digital clock on my dashboard flickered to 2:14 AM. The city was a graveyard of steel and glass at this hour, yet the Windsor Building glowed like a beacon of restless power. I shouldn't have been here. I should have been in bed, trying to scrub the smell of adrenaline and high-octane fuel from my skin, but Julian’s "emergency" summons had been impossible to ignore. A legal technicality regarding the WEG-IG merger required a physical signature on a series of notary papers that apparently couldn't wait until dawn.I knew it was a power play. A test to see if I was still rattled after the chase on the bridge.The lobby was empty, the marble floors echoing with the sharp click of my boots. The security guards didn't even stop me; they simply tapped their hats, their eyes fixed on the monitors. I was a "partner" now, but as the elevator rose upwards, I felt more like a gladiator entering an arena.The doors hissed open to the executive floor. The lights were dimmed, castin

The morning after the bridge

~Katia~I woke up at 4 AM, like it was a punishment. 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 n

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