Billionaire's Betrayal a contracted revenge (Aurelia) novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Chapter 72

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Dawson sat very still in his sitting room and watched his own ruin play out on the wide screen across from him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. A glass of scotch was on the table at his elbow, untouched, while the news anchor said his name and Charlotte’s name and wore the small smile they all wore when a rich man fell.

“Still no word from the Valerius camp,” the woman was saying, “after Saturday’s now infamous scene at the charity gala, where socialite Charlotte was unable to pay for a piece she had publicly won. One million, and the card declined. Or, as some are now asking, was there ever any money there at all?”

The screen then showed the clip of Charlotte, golden and round and glowing, digging through her little gold bag while the whole room stared.

Dawson’s jaw tightened.

Then the anchor said something that made him sit forward.

“We have also been sent an article, written anonymously, that paints a rather different picture of Miss Charlotte.” The woman glanced at her notes. “The writer claims she has spent her whole adult life living off the wealth of the men around her. That she has never earned a cent of her own. That she moves, and I quote, from one rich man’s pocket straight into the next.”

Dawson frowned. This part was new to him.

He had always known Charlotte was expensive. He had taken her at her word about the rest, the family money she spoke of so easily, the trust fund she never quite seemed to touch. He had never once checked.

Why would he? A man didn’t run the numbers on a beautiful woman in his bed.

Suddenly the front door opened.

He smelled her before he saw her, that thick sweet lily perfume she drowned herself in, a smell he had once liked and could now barely stand. She came in quickly, heels clicking, phone in her hand, her pretty face blotched from crying.

“Dawson, you wouldn’t believe what they are saying about me, it’s all lies, every word of it, someone is out to ruin me and I think we both know who, that little…”

“Stop.” His voice was very quiet.

She stopped.

“How could you be so careless?” He stood up slowly. “Your name is all over the news. My name is all over it too, sitting right next to yours, right next to the word broke. Do you understand what that costs me? Do you have the first idea?”

“It is not my fault.” Her voice climbed and broke. “My cards were gone, Dawson. Gone. Someone took them out of my bag. And your phone was in there too, you put it there yourself, so don’t stand there and…”

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Chapter 72

“I said stop.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He never had to with her.

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“You will stay out of sight,” he told her. “You will say nothing to anyone. You will not so much as buy a coffee where a camera can find you. Is that clear?”

Her eyes filled. “Dawson…”

“Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

The office didn’t help.

Dawson stood at the window high above the city he had spent his whole life clawing his way up over, and for the first time in years it looked like something that could be taken from him.

A scene. A woman who couldn’t pay. A few cruel headlines. It should have been nothing. He had lived through worse and laughed about it after.

But money wasn’t built on what was true. Money was built on what people believed. And right now the city believed Dawson was running dry.

His assistant knocked and came in pale, a tablet held to his chest.

“Sir. The numbers from this morning.”

“Tell me.”

“The stock is down.” The young man swallowed. “The bankruptcy talk, even though it’s false, has people nervous. We have dipped. Not a crash. But a clear dip, and it is still sliding.”

Dawson said nothing.

“There is also a board meeting,” the assistant went on, quieter now. “This afternoon. They moved it up.”

“Cancel it. I am not in the mood to hold anyone’s hand today.”

“Sir, I can’t.” The young man’s throat worked. “They are already gathering. Most of the senior members are here. And…” He hesitated. “Mr. Ashford is here. In person.”

Dawson turned from the window.

“Ashford?” He hadn’t expected that name. “Ashford doesn’t come in person. He hasn’t set foot in this building in three years.”

“He is here today, sir.”

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Chapter 72

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Mr. Ashford was one of the largest shareholders Dawson had. Old money, the cold and quiet kind, the kind that didn’t shout and didn’t threaten, that just moved all at once and left you standing in the wreck of what used to be yours. If Ashford had come down out of his tower in the flesh, it wasn’t to ask questions.

It was to make a decision.

Dawson straightened his white jacket and set his face into the easy, bored mask he wore better than any other.

“Well then,” he said. “Let’s go and calm the nervous old man.”

The boardroom smelled of coffee and money and fear.

They were all there, the senior members, twelve of them around the long table, and at the far end, small and grey and still, sat Mr. Ashford, his hands folded on the polished wood, his eyes on Dawson the second he walked in.

“Dawson,” Ashford said. No handshake. No smile. “Sit.”

It was Dawson’s own table, his own room, and the old man told him to sit at it, and the worst part was that

Dawson sat.

“I will be brief, because I am old and I don’t enjoy this city,” Ashford said. “I have seen the news. I have seen the clip. I have seen your numbers this morning. And I have one question, and I would like a true answer, not the pretty kind.” He leaned forward. “Is my money safe?”

“Completely.” Dawson gave him the warm smile that had closed a thousand deals. “It’s noise, Mr. Ashford. A jealous woman, a silly stunt, a few headlines. The company is strong. The dip will be corrected by the end of the week. You have my word.”

Ashford looked at him for a long moment.

“Your word,” the old man said softly, “is worth a great deal less today than it was on Friday.”

The room went very still.

“So here is what will happen,” Ashford went on, calm as a man ordering his lunch. “I am pulling twenty percent of my investment out of this company. Today. Before the close.”

“Mr. Ashford…” Dawson started.

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