Delia’s POV
The 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 reali
