Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 145

Chapter 145 Blood on the Concrete

My emotional armor, the ice I had carefully built over the last three years, didn’t just crack. It shattered.

Seeing him like this-broken, bleeding, and dying for a child he barely knew-erased the CEO. It erased the secret marriage and the

boardroom wars. It left only the man who had just taken a bullet meant for me.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” I said, my voice thick with tears.

“No… Whitmores… they watch the hospitals, he panted. He gripped my hand, his fingers slick with blood. “Take me to the… Aegis

infirmary. Private.

I drove like a madwoman through the rain-licked streets. Every time he moaned, my heart stuttered. I looked at my hands. They were covered in his blood. The same man who had let me starve in Port Sterling was now emptying his veins into the seat of his car

to ensure I didn’t have to feel that pain again.

We reached the Aegis headquarters. I screamed for the security guards. They pulled him from the car, his body limp and heavy.

“Is he okay, Mama?” Elias asked as we followed the gurney down the hallway.

I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t speak. I watched them wheel Tristan into the private surgical suite. The red light above the door

flickered on.

I sat on a plastic chair in the hallway. My silk blazer was ruined, stained with the reality of his sacrifice. I looked at my hands. The blood was starting to dry, turning a dark, rusty brown.

For three years, I hated him. I wanted to see him suffer. I wanted to see him lose everything.

But not like this.

The silence of the hallway was a physical weight. I thought about the gifts he had sent. I thought about the way he had knelt in my

office. I thought about the man who had just stood in front of a gun for me.

The boardroom victory felt like ash. The shares felt like paper. I realized, with a terrifying clarity, that all the power in the world

didn’t matter if the man who held my history was gone.

The door to the surgical suite opened. A doctor stepped out, his gown covered in red. He looked at me, his expression grave.

“Miss Hayes,” he said.

I stood up, my legs feeling like lead. “Is he alive?”

The doctor didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at his clipboard, then back at my face.

“The bullet grazed a major artery,” the doctor explained. “He lost a significant amount of blood before he arrived. We’ve stabilized

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DG

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11:03 Mon,

Chapter 145 Blood on the Concrete

him for now, but the next few hours are critical.

I sank back into the chair. My vision blurred. I looked at Elias, who had fallen asleep on the chair next to me, his small hand still

clutching the carved wooden horse Tristan had given him.

“Can I see him?” I whispered.

‘He’s unconscious,” the doctor said. ‘But you can stay:”

I walked into the room. The sound of the heart monitor was a steady, rhythmic beep. Tristan looked small in the hospital bed,

surrounded by tubes and wires. His face was gray.

I sat beside him. I reached out and took his hand. It was still cold.

“You’re a fool, Tristan Johnston,” I whispered to the quiet room. “You don’t get to leave yet. You still haven’t earned it.”

I leaned my head against the edge of the bed and wept. Not for the company. Not for the shares. I wept for the man who had finally shown me the truth, just as he was slipping away.

The monitor suddenly gave a sharp, prolonged beep. The rhythm broke.

I looked up. The line on the screen was flat.

“Doctor!” I screamed.

The room exploded into motion. Nurses pushed me back. The doctor grabbed the paddles. I stood in the corner, my hands pressed against my mouth, watching the man I loved and hated die in front of me.

The shock hit his chest. His body lurched.

“Again!” the doctor shouted.

I looked at the floor. A single, silver envelope had fallen out of Tristan’s pocket during the struggle. I picked it up.

It wasn’t a threat.

I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a new marriage certificate. One dated for today. He had already signed it. He had left

everything-his remaining personal wealth, his properties, his life-to me and Elias.

He hadn’t been trying to win a war. He had been preparing for his own end.

The paddles hit his chest again.

The beep returned.

Steady. Slow. Fragile.

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