Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 34

Chapter 34 She Stole My Hard Work

I threw the magazine into the trash can. I turned my back on the billionaire.

I returned to my rusted desk. I focused on the crumpled delivery logs. I input the data, but I did more than type numbers. I analyzed

the failures.

Valdez Elegance shipped high-end cosmetics, fragile skincare serums, and delicate boutique fabrics. These luxury items required strict temperature controls. Sienna Navarro utilized standard freight trucks. She possessed zero understanding of cargo

preservation.

I studied the regional maps. Sienna routed the heavy transport trucks through the dense city center during peak traffic hours to save mileage. The strategy was a disaster. The trucks idled in endless gridlock. The uninsulated cargo bays baked in the afternoon sun. The premium lipsticks melted. The chemical compounds in the expensive serums separated and ruined the product.

The boutiques rejected the deliveries upon arrival. Valdez Elegance lost thousands of dollars every week on spoilage refunds and breached contract penalties. Sienna blamed the traffic. She blamed the drivers. She failed to see the matrix of the problem.

I possessed the training of an elite strategist. I dismantled the issue.

I cross-referenced the delivery schedules with the regional temperature drops. I scoured the local business directories. I found a small fleet of refrigerated vans facing bankruptcy on the south side of the city. I calculated a short-term lease agreement. The cost of leasing the temperature-controlled vans amounted to a fraction of the current spoilage refunds.

I restructured the entire delivery grid. I pulled the routes out of the congested city center. I mapped a perimeter loop using the coastal highways. The mileage increased, but the transit time dropped by forty percent.

It was a masterpiece of operational efficiency.

I typed the proposal on my outdated computer. I detailed the math. I highlighted the projected profit margins. I printed the pages and placed them inside a plain manila folder. This strategy would save the subsidiary and prove my value to Eduardo Valdez.

I stood up. My lower back screamed in protest. I stretched the tight muscles and walked across the concrete floor toward the management office.

Sienna Navarro sat behind a glass-walled partition. Her door sat open.

I stepped inside. I placed the manila folder onto the center of her desk.

Sienna paused her typing. She looked at the folder, then raised her eyes to glare at me.

“What is this, Minerva?” she demanded.

A solution,” I replied. “The company loses capital on spoilage refunds. Standard freight trucks cannot transport temperature- sensitive cosmetics through midday gridlock. I designed a new routing map utilizing a leased fleet of refrigerated vans. The transit

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Chapter 34 She Stole My Hard Work

times decrease, and the product arrives intact.

Sienna scoffed. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You design routing maps now? I hired you to type numbers into

a spreadsheet.”

“The numbers indicate a systemic failure,” I pressed. “If you review the proposal, you will see the projected margins. We can salvage the boutique contracts before the end of the quarter.

Sienna reached out and grabbed the folder. She did not open it. She dropped it onto a pile of trash mail on the comer of her desk.

“I manage the logistics of this warehouse, Sienna stated, her voice dripping with venom. “I do not take operational advice from a disgraced data entry clerk hiding from a corporate scandal. Get back to your desk. If you step out of line again, I will fire you.”

I held her gaze. I did not argue. Arguing with a petty tyrant wasted energy.

I turned around and walked out of the office.

I returned to my concrete pillar. I spent the rest of the afternoon filing the rejected invoices. The warehouse grew cold as the sun dipped below the horizon. The floor workers clocked out. The massive loading bay doors rolled shut.

I stayed late to finish organizing the backlog. The silence of the empty warehouse settled around me.

At seven in the evening, I gathered the final stack of processed logs. I walked toward the management office to place them in the

outgoing tray.

The overhead lights in the office remained illuminated. Sienna sat at her desk. She held her cell phone pressed to her ear.

I approached the open door. I stopped just outside the frame.

My manila folder sat open in front of her. The printed pages of my routing map and financial calculations were spread across her

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