Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 107

Chapter 107 Haunting Ghosts Of Her Pain

The digital clock on my glass desk read two in the morning. I sat in the executive office of the Aegis headquarters. The building was dark and quiet. I stayed late to review the European distribution contracts. I needed to keep my mind occupied. I needed to focus on logistics and profit margins.

If I stopped working, the image of Tristan standing in the underground garage would creep into my thoughts. His broken voice His desperate eyes. He did the math. He knew the timeline. He was hunting for the truth.

A sharp knock on the glass door broke the silence.

Diego Morales walked into the room. My head of acquisitions carried a thick stack of printed reports. He wore a rumpled gray

sweater. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking exhausted.

“He is not stopping,” Diego announced. He dropped the heavy stack of papers onto the table.

I closed my laptop. My chest tightened. “Tell me the extent of the damage.”

“Tristan Johnston deployed three independent intelligence firms this afternoon,” Diego explained. He pointed to the top document.

“He handed them a blank check. They are tearing Port Sterling apart. They are searching for a specific paper trail.

“Medical records,” I guessed.

“Intake forms. Hospital bills. Birth certificates,” Diego confirmed. “They focused on the charity wards in the industrial district. They are throwing millions of dollars at the hospital administrators. They want the archives from three years ago.”

I leaned back in my leather chair. I paid Eduardo Valdez a significant amount of money to hide Elias’s birth certificate behind a wall

of shell corporations and fake names. I buried my medical history deep in the system.

“The records are encrypted,” I reminded Diego.

“Money talks, Minerva,” Diego warned. The harsh reality settled over the room. “Tristan is offering massive bounties. His men are

interviewing nurses. They are showing your photograph to clinic staff on the night shifts. It is a matter of time before a desperate

worker remembers a pregnant woman from three years ago. The Johnston wealth can open any door in this city.”

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. A dull headache pounded in my temples. Tristan was a man obsessed. He realized

the timeline fit. Now, he wanted the documented proof. He wanted a piece of paper that gave him the right to demand access to my

son.

“Keep our firewalls active,” I ordered. “Monitor his intelligence teams. Tell Eduardo to move the safe house again tomorrow morning.

I want Elias moved further away from the city.”

Diego nodded and left the executive suite.

I packed my leather bag. I took the private elevator down to the ground floor. Marcus waited in the lobby. We walked through the

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Chapter 107 Haunting Ghosts Of Her Pain

sliding glass doors and stepped out into the freezing night air. Autumn was fading. The sharp, bitter chill of winter cut through the fabric of my wool coat.

A black car sat parked across the street. The engine was silent. The headlights were dark.

A tall figure leaned against the driver’s side door.

Tristan.

Marcus stepped in front of me, his hand resting near his hip. “I can clear him out, Miss Hayes.”

“No,” I said. “Start the engine. Wait for me.”

I stepped off the curb. I crossed the quiet, empty street. My leather heels clicked against the cold asphalt.

Tristan looked up. The pale glow of a nearby streetlight illuminated his face. He looked terrible. He wore a dark, heavy sweater and

denim jeans. He lacked an overcoat. The freezing wind whipped through his dark hair, but he did not seem to feel the cold. Dark,

bruised circles hung under his eyes. His jaw was rough with uneven stubble.

He looked like a man who had not slept in days. The invincible, polished billionaire was gone. A hollow, broken shell stood in his

place.

“You are waiting outside my building at two in the morning,” I stated. I stopped a few feet away. I kept my distance.

‘I cannot close my eyes,” Tristan said. His voice was a harsh, ragged scrape. “Every time I try to sleep, I see it.”

“See what?” I asked. I offered no sympathy.

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