Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 25

Chapter 25 Facing My Husband’s Executive

The alarm clock buzzed on the floor next to my bare mattress. I reached out and slammed my palm against the plastic button. The noise stopped. The sound of freezing rain lashing against the single window of Room 402 filled the silence.

I pushed myself upright. My stomach churned, a familiar and brutal morning routine. I stumbled to the shared bathroom down the hall, gripped the chipped porcelain sink, and splashed freezing water over my face. I traced the angry red line on my left cheekbone. The concealer offered little help today. The scab looked like a permanent brand.

I returned to my room and put on the same black slacks and white blouse from yesterday. The fabric felt stiff. I pulled my thick gray sweater over my shoulders. I pressed my hand flat against my lower abdomen. The dull ache was gone, replaced by a terrifying, hollow hunger. I possessed twenty dollars. I needed this job. I needed the paycheck to feed the life growing in the dark inside me

I left the rundown apartment building and walked into the biting coastal wind of Port Sterling.

Kensington Logistics occupied a towering structure of glass and steel near the commercial harbor. The building stood in stark contrast to the rust and cracked brick of my neighborhood. It looked like a piece of my old life, dropped into the center of this

harsh city.

I pushed through the revolving doors. The lobby smelled of expensive floor wax and fresh espresso. I approached the front desk.

“Minerva Hayes, I told the security guard. “I have a nine o’clock interview with Christopher Winslow.”

The guard checked his screen and handed me a visitor badge. “Floor twenty-two. Take the express elevator on your right.”

I clipped the badge to my sweater. The metal doors of the elevator slid shut. The machine surged upward. My ears popped. The sensation of ascending into corporate power sent a shiver down my spine. I took a deep breath. I smoothed the wrinkles from my slacks. I was a professional. I optimized distribution networks. I secured multi-million dollar vendor contracts. My work history held

value.

The doors opened. The twenty-second floor featured plush gray carpets and frosted glass walls. A receptionist directed me down a long corridor.

“Mr. Winslow is expecting you,” she said, pointing toward a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.

I walked down the corridor. My canvas shoes made zero noise on the thick carpet. I stopped in front of the oak door. I raised my hand and knocked twice.

“Enter.”

The voice was muffled but distinct. A cold spike of dread pierced my chest. I pushed the door open.

Christopher Winslow sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He wore a sharp charcoal suit and a silver tie. His blond hair was styled with expensive pomade. He held my printed resume in his hands.

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Chapter 25 Facing My Husband’s Executive

He did not look up when I entered. “Have a seat, Miss Hayes.”

I walked across the room and sat in the leather chair opposite his desk. I kept my posture rigid. I folded my hands in my lap.

Christopher placed the paper flat on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes.

His gaze locked onto my face. The bored, professional expression melted away. His eyes widened. He leaned forward, planting his

elbows on the polished wood.

“Well, Christopher said. A cruel smile twisted his mouth. “This is a surprise.”

I held his gaze. “Good morning, Mr. Winslow. Thank you for taking the time to review my qualifications.”

He let out a sharp laugh. He picked up my resume and waved it in the air. “I did not review this. HR flagged it because you listed the Johnston Group. They thought I would appreciate poaching a former colleague.”

He dropped the paper back onto the desk. He leaned back, lacing his fingers together over his stomach.

“I must say, Minerva,” he continued. “I expected you to be on a beach in Monaco right now. Spending your hush money. What are you doing in Port Sterling wearing cheap clothes?”

The air vanished from my lungs. The sting of humiliation flared in my chest, hot and suffocating. He knew. Of course he knew. He was a senior executive in Tristan’s orbit. He attended the gala. He stood in the crowd and watched Celeste Whitmore slice my cheek

open.

“I am here for the administrative coordinator position,” I stated. I kept my voice devoid of emotion. “My operational background aligns with your expansion goals.”

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