Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12 Viral Headline Destroys My Life

Tristan frowned. “What?”

“Go back inside,” I challenged. I pointed toward the heavy steel doors of the service exit. “Walk onto that stage. Take the microphone. Tell the room that you made a mistake. Tell them the engagement is a lie. Tell them Minerva Hayes is your legal wife.”

The alley went dead quiet. The only sound was the hiss of the rain hitting the hot hood of the town car.

Tristan looked at the steel doors. He looked at the street. He looked everywhere but at me.

“You know I cannot do that,” he said.

The finality in his words severed the last remaining tie between us. The tether snapped. The man I loved was dead. He died on that stage, and this stranger standing before me was just a coward wearing his face.

“Then we have nothing left to say.”

I turned around. I started walking toward the mouth of the alley, heading for the busy city street beyond.

“Mina, stop.

Tristan grabbed my arm. His grip was firm, identical to the way he used to pull me into an embrace. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through my skin. I stopped. My back remained turned to him.

“You cannot walk out into the city like this,” Tristan said. His voice lost its corporate edge. A note of genuine desperation leaked through. “You are freezing. You are bleeding. Let the driver take you to the penthouse. We will talk in the morning. When heads are

clear.

I looked down at his large hand wrapped around my bare arm. The gold cufflinks glinted in the dim light.

He still thought he owned me. He still thought he could lock me in a tower and feed me scraps of his affection whenever his schedule allowed. He thought my love was a limitless resource he could drain to fuel his empire.

I reached up. I gripped his wrist.

“Let go of me.”

I peeled his fingers off my arm. I pushed his hand away.

I turned my head. I met his eyes one final time. The cold numbness spread through my chest, freezing the tears, freezing the heartbreak, leaving behind a profound, terrifying clarity.

“Do not come to the penthouse,” I said. ‘Do not call me. You made your choice in that ballroom, Tristan. Live with it.”

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Chapter 12 Viral Headline Destroys My Life

Tristan stood frozen in the rain. The command in my voice stunned him. He was a man accustomed to absolute obedience. People

did not walk away from Tristan Johnston. They begged. They bargained. They stayed.

I did not stay.

I turned my back and walked away.

I left him standing next to the idling town car. I did not look back. I stepped out of the alley and merged into the bustling flow of

the city sidewalk.

The foreign metropolis did not care about my ruined dress or my bleeding face. Pedestrians bumped into my shoulders, rushing past with umbrellas and lowered heads. The neon signs from the storefronts bled red and blue across the wet pavement. Taxis splashed dirty water onto the curb. It was chaotic. It was loud. It was perfect.

I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting the shivers wracking my spine. I needed to get to my apartment. Not the penthouse he bought me. The small studio I kept under my own name on the edge of the financial district. I needed to pack my things.

I reached into the small clutch clutched in my hand. I pulled out my phone to check the time and hail a ride.

The screen illuminated my face.

I stopped walking. A commuter shoved past me, muttering an insult, but I did not hear him. I stared at the glowing glass in my

hand.

My lock screen was buried under a mountain of notifications.

News alerts. Social media tags. Messages from unknown numbers.

I tapped the top notification. It opened a premier financial gossip blog.

The headline spanned the top of the screen in bold, black letters.

THE BILLIONAIRE’s hidden affair: Social CLIMBER DESTROYS JOHNSTON ENGAGEMENT GALA.

Below the headline was a high-resolution photograph.

It was a perfect shot. The lighting was flawless. It captured the exact moment Celeste’s hand struck my face. It showed my head snapping back. It showed the red mark blooming on my skin.

But worse than the slap was the background.

Behind me, Tristan stood watching. The camera caught his face. He looked completely apathetic. He looked like a man watching a stranger take out the trash.

I scrolled down.

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Chapter 12 Viral Headline Destroys My Life

The article detailed my name. My age. My mid-level job at the consulting firm. It painted me as a desperate, unhinged woman who

stalked Tristan Johnston and tried to sabotage his legitimate engagement to the Whitmore heiress. It claimed security had to drag

me screaming from the premises.

The comment section was a war zone. Thousands of comments poured in by the second. They called me a homewrecker A parasite.

A whore.

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