Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142 Gifts Left at Gates

I walked into the small parlor where the boxes sat on a low table. I didn’t need to open them to know what was inside. The return labels bore the name of an exclusive toy store in the city center. I picked up a silver-wrapped box and tore the corner. A handcrafted wooden train set sat inside. I set it back down.

“Marcus,” I called out.

Marcus appeared from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked at the pile of gifts.

“Take them to the storage room,” I instructed. “Do not open them. Do not let Elias see them.”

“He’s persistent,” Marcus noted, his voice neutral.

“He’s trying to buy a relationship he didn’t build,” I replied. I felt a sharp, bitter edge in my throat. “Gifts are easy. Being a father is

hard. He thinks if he floods this house with expensive wood and silk, I will forget the years he wasn’t there.*

“He stays at the gate every night, Minerva,” Marcus said. “He doesn’t try to come in. He just sits in the car until sunrise.”

I walked into the playroom. Elias was sitting on the rug, busy with a set of plastic cups. He was stacking them with a level of focus

that made me smile despite the weight of the morning.

“Mama! Look!” He pointed to a tower of three cups.

“That’s amazing, baby,” I said, kneeling beside him. I kissed the top of his head. He smelled like baby soap and the faint, sweet scent

of the milk he had for breakfast.

A knock sounded on the front door. It wasn’t the frantic strike of a threat. It was slow. Hesitant.

Marcus checked the monitor. “It’s him. He’s on foot.”

I stood up, smoothing my skirt. “Stay with Elias.”

I walked to the front door and opened it. The humid air rushed in, smelling of wet grass. Tristan stood on the porch. He wasn’t

wearing a suit. He wore a simple dark sweater and jeans. He looked human. He looked tired.

He held a small, poorly wrapped parcel in his hands. It wasn’t from the exclusive store. The paper was plain brown, tied with a bit of

kitchen twine.

“I’m not taking more gifts, Tristan,” I said. I stayed behind the screen door.

“It’s not an expensive toy,” he said. His voice was low, carrying a tremor he couldn’t hide. I found it in a shop near the industrial

district. It reminded me of the one my father gave me before he passed. It’s a simple carved horse.”

“He doesn’t need a horse. He has everything he needs.”

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Chapter 142 Gifts Left at Gates

Tristan looked down at the parcel. His knuckles were white. “I know I can’t buy my way in. I’m not trying to. I just want him to have

something from me that isn’t a contract or a share.

“You want to be a part of his life,” I stated. I pushed the screen door open an inch. ‘But you don’t understand the damage you did.

You think the ‘public wife’ title fixed the foundation. It didn’t. Every time I look at a gift from you, I remember the nights I had to

choose between a toy and a loaf of bread.”

Tristan winced. He took a half-step back. “I will keep sending them. Even if you throw them away. Even if you burn them. I will keep

showing up.

“Why?”

“Because he is my son, Tristan said. He looked up, his gray eyes wet with a raw, agonizing sincerity. “And because I love the woman

who raised him. I failed you, Minerva. I am living in that failure every second of every day. But I won’t fail him anymore.” /

I stared at him. The man who had been a god in the boardroom was now begging for a crumb of a three-year-old’s attention. I

wanted to stay angry. I wanted to keep the ice around my heart solid. But seeing him like this-stripped of his titles, standing in the

mud-hurt in a way I hadn’t expected.

“He’s in the parlor,” I said. The words felt like they were being dragged out of me. “You can look through the window. But you do not

go inside. You do not speak to him.”

Tristan’s face transformed. It wasn’t a smile, but a look of such intense, desperate gratitude that I had to look away.

He walked to the side of the porch, where the large window looked into the playroom. He stood there, his breath fogging the glass.

I stood in the doorway, watching his back. He stayed there for a long time. He didn’t move. He just watched Elias play.

Inside, Elias reached for a stray block. He looked up toward the window. He didn’t see a father. He didn’t see a billionaire. He just

saw a man standing in the gray light.

“Mama? Elias called out, his voice small.

I walked into the room. “Yes, baby?”

Elias pointed toward the glass. “Who is the serious man?”

The question hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Tristan through the glass. He was frozen, his hand pressed against the window.

He was waiting for my answer. He was waiting to see if I would erase him or if I would give him a name.

I looked at my son. His innocent, curious face was waiting. He had no concept of betrayal. He had no concept of boardroom wars. He

only knew the world I had built for him.

I looked back at Tristan. The pain in his eyes was unbearable. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be the father. But I couldn’t

give him that. Not after everything.

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Chapter 142 Gifts Left at Gates

“He’s just a man who knew your grandmother,” I said. The lie tasted like ash.

Tristan’s hand dropped from the glass. He didn’t look angry. He looked destroyed. He gave a small, jerky nod and turned away from

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