Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 16

Chapter 16 Blood On The Studio Floor

Bile rose in my throat. The insult burned deeper than the slap Celeste delivered to my face. The slap was born of jealousy. This was born of pure, calculated indifference. He reduced my love, my vows, and my entire existence to a line item in his crisis management

budget.

“Comfort,” I whispered. The word tasted like poison. I pushed myself off the wall and walked toward the desk. “He wants to ensure

my comfort.”

“Those are his exact words, Miss Hayes.”

I stopped in front of the desk. I looked at the black card resting over my name.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Mateo kept his posture rigid. “Mr. Johnston is attending the post-gala executive dinner. He is unavailable for the remainder of the

night.

He went to dinner.

I was dragged out of the ballroom, bleeding and humiliated. I was stripped of my job, my reputation, and my dignity. The entire city was tearing my name to shreds on the internet. And Tristan went to dinner with the Whitmores. He drank fine wine and shook hands with the men who laughed at me, while he sent his head of security to drop off a severance package in my run-down

apartment.

I reached out and picked up the black card. The metal was cold. It felt heavy with all the things it represented.

“Tell Tristan I do not want his money,” I said. I dropped the card back onto the desk. It landed with a sharp clatter against the wood. ‘I do not want his penthouse. I do not want his assistant. You can take all of this back to the executive dinner and throw it in his

face.”

“The assets are non-negotiable, Miss Hayes, Mateo replied. His voice held no room for argument. “Mr. Johnston anticipated your refusal. He instructed me to leave the items regardless of your response.”

“Take them,” I demanded. My chest heaved. The cold numbness shattered, replaced by a white-hot fury. “I am not a problem he can solve with a check. I am not a scandal he can hide in a luxury closet. I am his wife.”

Mateo looked at the broken silver chain. “The public does not know that, And for the stability of the company, the public must not know. You understand the stakes.”

“I understand he is a coward.”

Mateo’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Johnston is doing what is necessary to protect his legacy. If you walk out of this building on your own, the press will find you. They will camp outside your door. They will dig into your family history. They will make your life a living hell. The Azure Tower is your only safe harbor.”

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Chapter 16 Blood On The Studio Floor

“It is a prison,” I shot back. “A prison built with Whitmore money.”

“It is survival. Mateo reached out and closed the leather folder. He left it sitting next to my duffel bag. “The vehicle will wait in the

alley for one hour. I strongly suggest you use it. For your own sake.”

He turned around. He did not offer a goodbye. He walked to the door, his polished shoes clicking against the linoleum in a steady, unbothered rhythm. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the dim hallway.

The door clicked shut behind him. The lock engaged.

I was alone again.

I stared at the leather folder. The silver key taunted me. It offered safety, warmth, and an escape from the cameras. All I had to d was surrender. All I had to do was accept my role as the hidden, shameful secret. I could live in a glass tower and buy whatever I wanted, as long as I never claimed the man who owned it.

I grabbed the heavy metal credit card. I threw it across the room.

It smacked against the peeling wallpaper and clattered to the floor. I grabbed the silver key and threw it against the refrigerator. I grabbed the crisp white business card and ripped it into pieces, letting the paper snow down onto the carpet.

I grabbed the edge of the desk. My knuckles turned white. I squeezed the wood, fighting the urge to shatter the laptop, tear the marriage certificate to shreds, and break every piece of furniture in the room. The fury consumed me. He thought I was for sale. He thought he could break my heart and buy my silence in the same night.

“I hate you,” I whispered to the empty room. “I hate you.”

I let go of the desk. I turned toward the canvas duffel bag. I needed to finish packing. I had to leave before the hour was up. I had to get to the train station before the sun rose and the reporters traced my address.

I took a step toward the closet to grab my coat.

A sudden, sharp cramp ripped through my lower abdomen.

The pain hit with the force of a physical blow. It was not a dull ache. It was a vicious, tearing sensation that stole the breath from my lungs. I gasped, my hands flying to my stomach.

I stumbled forward. My knees buckled.

I crashed to the floor, my hands slapping against the rough carpet. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. The room spun around me. The dim overhead light blurred into a streak of harsh white.

I curled into myself, pulling my knees to my chest. The pain spiked again, sharper this time, radiating from my center down through my thighs. It felt like a knife dragging through my insides.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I ground my teeth together to stop the scream building in my throat.

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Chapter 16 Blood On The Studio Floor

Just stress, I told myself.

But a deep terror bloomed in my chest. This was wrong. This was entirely wrong.

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