Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 29

Chapter 29 I Refuse Your Charity

“Take the money, Minerva. The coastal wind doesn’t care about your dignity, but it will snap your bones in half before the week

ends.”

“I don’t take charity,” I said. My voice was a thin, jagged thing, but it held.

“It’s an advance, Eduardo countered, his gravel-rough voice filling the cramped booth. “A sick employee provides zero value to my

firm. You are shivering in a heated room. Buy a coat.”

I looked at the money, then at the man who had just offered me a job without asking for my last name.

I reached out and placed my fingertips on the bills, sliding them back across the table toward him.

“Keep your money,” I said, meeting his piercing gaze. “I accept the work. Pay me for the hours I complete. Not a cent more.”

“Pride is a luxury for the rich, Minerva, Eduardo growled.

“I need an opportunity, not a handout, I corrected. I grabbed the embossed business card for Valdez Distribution Strategies and stood up, the vinyl seat squeaking under my weight. “I will see you at eight tomorrow morning.”

I didn’t wait for him to argue. I turned my back and walked out into the cold. The freezing rain hit my face the moment I pushed the heavy glass door open, and for the first time in weeks, I welcomed the chill. It cleared the fog of humiliation from my head. It proved I belonged to no one.

I reached Room 402 and stripped off my wet clothes, wrapping myself in a heavy wool blanket on the bare mattress. I set the alarm on my prepaid phone for six in the morning and let exhaustion pull me into the dark.

Valdez Distribution Strategies did not occupy a glass high-rise. The firm operated out of a massive, weathered concrete warehouse near the industrial docks, surrounded by chain-link fences topped with rusted barbed wire. Transport trucks idled in the loading bays, spewing thick gray exhaust into the morning air.

I found the door marked Office and stepped inside. Eduardo stood near the back of the room, watching me through the glass partition of his private office. He stepped out and motioned for me to approach. As I navigated the maze of cluttered desks, the laughter at the filing cabinet died. I felt their eyes tracking my movement, lingering on my worn clothes and the angry red scar cutting across my cheek. I kept my chin high.

“You showed up,” Eduardo noted, crossing his arms over his tweed coat.

“I told you I would,” I replied.

He gestured to a small metal desk shoved in the corner of the bullpen.

Three months of regional transport records,” Eduardo explained, pointing at the towering stacks. “The accountants claim the numbers balance. My gut says we are bleeding cash. The fuel expenses run high. The inventory logs show gaps. The supervisors

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Chapter 29 I Refuse Your Charity

blame the drivers. The drivers blame the supervisors.

You want me to find the leak,” I said. “I want you to tear the numbers apart and show me the rot.” He dropped a thick ledger from

the top of the pile in front of my single rolling chair. ‘You have a computer. You have the raw data. Do not speak to the floor

managers. Do not ask the accountants for help. Trust no one in this room. Just follow the money.”

“Understood.

I pulled the chair out and sat down. The seat cushion was flat and uncomfortable, and the monitor looked ten years old. It was perfect. Eduardo watched me for a moment, waiting for a complaint or a question, but I gave him nothing. I reached for the first

stack of crumpled invoices and began sorting.

The work consumed me. It functioned as a shield against the memories haunting my mind. I forgot the Grand Hawthorne Hotel. forgot Celeste Whitmore. I forgot the crushing weight of Christopher Winslow’s cruel laughter. I focused entirely on the numbers.

Numbers told no lies. Numbers held no hidden motives.

By noon, I had established a system. I bypassed the outdated accounting software and built a custom spreadsheet using raw data from the manifests. I tracked every truck leaving the loading bay and cross-referenced the weight of the outbound cargo with the

fuel expenditures.

The bullpen around me buzzed with idle chatter, but I did not move from my chair. I ate half a saltine cracker to keep the nausea at bay and drank tap water from a paper cup. I typed until my fingers cramped.

The pattern emerged around three in the afternoon.

I stared at the glowing screen as a cold thrill of victory spiked in my chest. Eduardo was right. The firm was bleeding cash, but it wasn’t the drivers. A specific set of delivery routes stretching into the northern suburbs showed consistent anomalies. The trucks logged maximum weight, yet receiving warehouses reported half-capacity deliveries. The remaining cargo vanished. A ghost company, registered under a vague LLC, billed Valdez Distribution for the missing freight, claiming spoilage fees.

The floor managers were signing off on fake damage reports. They were siphoning the inventory and selling it on the side. It was a primitive, sloppy scheme that a mid-level Johnston Group auditor would catch in an hour. But here, buried under disorganized

paperwork, it had worked for months.

I highlighted the irregular routes in red and printed the proof. I stood up, my lower back screaming in protest, and walked toward Eduardo’s glass office. The vertical blinds were closed, but the heavy wooden door sat cracked open.

I raised my hand to knock, but Eduardo’s voice drifted through the gap. He was on the telephone, and his tone was low and

cautious.

‘Yes, I sent you the security still from the hotel lobby,” Eduardo said.

1 froze.

Run the image through the facial recognition database,” Eduardo commanded. “Her name is Minerva. Late twenties. She carries a

scar on her left cheekbone. No last name provided.”

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Chapter 29 | Refuse Your Charity

The air in the hallway turned to lead. He was investigating me.

She operates with the precision of a corporate auditor,” Eduardo continued. “Someone broke her. Someone powerful enough to strip her resources and send her running. I want to know what kind of predator drove her to my doorstep.”

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