Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 108

Chapter 108 The Heiress Panics And Strikes

I did not flinch. I stared at him. The winter wind bit at my face, but it felt warm compared to the absolute ice in my veins.

“It is a public clinic in the slums, Tristan,” I said. My voice was a flat line. “What did you expect? Private suites and silk sheets?”

“I expected you to be safe!” he choked out. A tear spilled over his lower lash line. He did not bother to wipe it away. It tracked down

his rough cheek, catching the yellow light of the streetlamp. “I expected you to live a quiet, comfortable life. I left you a massive

severance package. I thought you used the money. I thought you were fine.”

“You thought what was convenient for your conscience,” I corrected him. I stripped away his excuses with cold precision. “You

assumed I would take your hush money and disappear. You never bothered to check.”

He let out a broken sound. He leaned his head back against the roof of his car.

“I keep thinking about you in that place,” Tristan confessed. He looked at the dark, starless sky. “I keep picturing you sitting on a

hard plastic chair. Terrified. In pain. With no one to hold your hand.”

He lowered his head. He looked at me with pure, unfiltered self-hatred.

“Did you cry for me, Minerva?” Tristan asked. The question hung in the freezing air, fragile and desperate. “When the contractions

started, did you watch the door? Did you wait for me to walk through it?”

The memory hit me. It bypassed my armor and struck the deepest, most vulnerable part of my chest.

I remembered the sterile smell of bleach and old blood. I remembered the screaming woman in the bed next to me. I remembered

the terrifying, absolute certainty that I might die in that crowded room, and the Johnston empire would never even notice my absence. I labored for fourteen hours. A tired nurse gave me a cup of crushed ice. I had no family. I had no husband. I had nothing

but the sheer, desperate will to keep my baby alive.

‘I did not cry for you,” I lied. I held my chin high. “I realized you were a coward. Crying for a coward is a waste of water.”

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders shook. The guilt was eating him alive. The possibility that I suffered through a dangerous, terrifying pregnancy alone was destroying his mind. The reality of his choices finally caught up to him.

‘I attended a charity gala the night of the autumn equinox,” Tristan whispered. His voice was fragile, on the verge of total collapse.

*Celeste wore a diamond necklace. We drank vintage champagne. We smiled for the press cameras. I made a speech about corporate

responsibility.”

He opened his eyes. The tears fell freely now.

“Were you giving birth while I drank champagne?” he asked.

I held his gaze. I let the silence stretch. I let the horrific, twisted contrast of our lives sink into his bones. He stood in a ballroom

while I bled on a plastic mattress.

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10:58 lon, Jul

Chapter 108 The Heiress Panics And Strikes

Go home, Tristan,’ I ordered. I offered him zero absolution “Take a sleeping pill. Marry your heiress. Leave my life alone

“I cannot marry her, he swore. A dark, stubborn fire ignited behind the tears. I cannot pretend anymore. I cannot sit in that

boardroom and act like nothing is wrong. If that boy is my son, I will tear my entire life apart to fix this

“You cannot fix the past,” I said. “You made your bed in the capital. Go sleep in it.”

I turned around. I walked back across the cold asphalt: I did not look back. I reached my car and slid into the back seat. Marcus shut

the door, sealing me inside the heated interior.

Leo pulled away from the curb. I looked out the rear window. Tristan remained standing in the middle of the dark street. He stated

after the taillights. He looked like a ghost wandering through a graveyard.

The man could not sleep. The billionaire was bleeding out in the cold.

I leaned my head against the leather seat. I closed my eyes, fighting the exhaustion pulling at my muscles.

My encrypted phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out. Diego’s name flashed on the screen. I answered the call.

“Miss Hayes, Diego said. His voice sounded urgent, carrying a sharp edge of panic. “I am sorry to call you so late. I just intercepted

a massive wire transfer from the Whitmore Foundation.”

I sat up straight. “Celeste is making moves?”

“She paid a massive premium to the major media syndicates ten minutes ago, Diego reported. “She bought the front page of every morning paper in the capital. She bought ad space on the digital billboards in the financial district.”

“What is she publishing? I demanded.

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