Julian’s POV
I woke up to the soft, unforgiving light of a Manhattan morning filtering through the heavy velvet curtains of the guest suite. I never really take bi*ches to my main bedroom, but if Katia Kensington so much as looked my way, I wouldn't hesitate. The air in this wing of the estate was cooler, detached from the suffocating domesticity Delia was trying so desperately to cultivate. Beside me, Chloe stirred. She was a top-tier Parisian model I’d known for years—a woman who understood the language of silence and the transactional nature of high-end companionship.
But what I appreciated most about Chloe this morning wasn't her striking bone structure or her effortless poise; it was the specific, high-gloss set of pale pink nails she wore.
I had personally requested she get that e
