Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 105

Chapter 105 Crashing the Fake Charity Gala

The flashbulbs from the press pool outside the Grand Atrium still burned a bright, jagged imprint behind my eyelids.

I sat in the back of the black sedan. The leather seat felt cold against my spine. Leo steered the car away from the financial district, leaving the ruined charity launch behind us. Celeste Whitmore was finished. Her foundation was a public joke. The major tech and banking sponsors withdrew their funding the minute I exposed her stolen grant proposal. I defended my reputation/1 dismantled

hers.

I stared out the tinted window. The capital city blurred into streaks of gold and white streetlights.

The victory tasted like ash.

I did not feel triumphant. I felt hollow. Every aggressive strike I made against the legacy families required me to build the walls

around my heart higher. I spent the entire evening wearing a flawless white suit, projecting the image of an untouchable CEO, white

my chest ached with a raw, relentless terror for my son.

Celeste leaked the rumor. She branded Elias as an illegitimate mistake. She exposed him to the wolves.

“We are approaching the residential tower, Miss Hayes,” Leo stated from the front seat.

“Take the service entrance to the underground garage,” I instructed. My voice lacked inflection. The adrenaline from the stage

confrontation was fading, leaving a heavy, crushing exhaustion in its wake.

The sedan descended down the concrete ramp into the subterranean parking structure. The tires squealed against the polished gray

floor. The garage was dim, lit by rows of harsh fluorescent tubes.

Leo pulled into my reserved space near the private elevator bank.

Marcus stepped out first. He scanned the concrete pillars and the empty parking spots. He gave a short nod. The area looked clear.

I opened my door and stepped out. The damp chill of the underground level bit through the thin fabric of my suit. I wrapped my

arms around my waist. I wanted to get upstairs. I wanted to unlock the door to the penthouse, call Eduardo at the safe house, and

hear my son’s voice over the phone. I needed to remind myself why I fought this war.

I took three steps toward the elevator.

A shadow detached itself from the concrete wall near the steel doors.

Marcus reacted without hesitation. He moved to intercept the threat, his hand dropping to his hip.

The figure stepped into the harsh overhead light.

Tristan.

13

ODG ||| O

Г

1/3

10:58 Mon, Jul 13 s.

Chapter 105 Crashing the Fake Charity Gala

He did not wear his usual bespoke suit. He wore a dark wool coat, the collar turned up against the cold. He lacked a tie. His dark hair was a mess, pushed back by frustrated hands. He looked like a man who had not slept since the tabloid rumor dropped. The polished, unshakeable billionaire ceased to exist. He looked hollowed out. He looked ruined.

“Give us a minute, Tristan told my security team. His voice was a rough, broken rasp.

Marcus blocked his path. “Miss Hayes?”

I looked at the man standing ten feet away from me. The man who broke my heart. The man who sat silent at a dinner table while his family called me a stray dog.

“Wait by the car, Marcus,” I said.

Marcus cast a hard glare at Tristan before stepping back.

I stood my ground. I did not close the distance. I let him come to me.

Tristan walked forward. His steps were slow and heavy. He stopped three feet away. His steel-gray eyes were bloodshot. A frantic,

desperate energy radiated from his skin. He looked at my face, searching for a fracture in my armor. He found nothing but cold,

unyielding ice.

He reached into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a crumpled, folded piece of newspaper. The tabloid article Celeste leaked to

the press.

He held it out. His hand trembled.

“I tracked the timeline, Tristan said. The words tore from his throat. “I read the dates she printed. I looked at the photograph.”

I kept my expression entirely blank. I did not confirm. I did not deny. I let him bleed.

‘I saw his face, Minerva, Tristan continued. A single tear escaped his eye, cutting a track down his pale cheek. “I saw the shape of

his jaw. I saw his eyes. They are gray.”

“Many people have gray eyes,” I replied. My tone offered no comfort. It was a sterile, unforgiving line.

‘Do not play games with me,” Tristan begged. He dropped the crumpled newspaper onto the concrete floor. He stepped closer. The

scent of cedar and cold rain washed over me, a bitter reminder of a life that no longer existed. “I did the math. You disappeared in

December. You checked into that charity ward in September. The timeline fits.”

He reached out. He wanted to touch my arms. He wanted to anchor himself to me.

I stepped backward, out of his reach.

He dropped his hands to his sides. His chest heaved with uneven, panicked breaths. He was unraveling right in front of me. The realization was choking him.

13

ODG |||

O

2/3

Chapter 105 Crashing the Fake Charity Gala

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify