Julian's POV
I made my way down the staircase, my head throbbing in a steady pulse that felt like a hammer against my skull. I hadn't slept for more than two hours. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the sting of Catherine's palm against my cheek and heard the word slut echoing back at me in my own voice. I knew I had crossed a line. I knew I had let the jealousy transform me into something I hated, but the sight of that leather jacket in her room had felt like a physical assault.
The dining room was already occupied when I walked in. Richard was sitting at the head of the table, his plate pushed aside, completely absorbed in his tablet. He looked refreshed, triumphant even. My mother was seated to his right, picking at a piece of dry toast and looking anywhere but at the empty chair where Catherine usually sat.
