Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69 Wearing Black To Their Funeral

“I know the truth, Eduardo said. “But the Valdez Elegance board of directors is panicking. They read the article. They fear Tristan Johnston will initiate a hostile takeover of our logistics network to bury the scandal. They want to sever ties with Aegis by midnight to protect the primary freight contracts.”

“Tell the board I will initiate a breach of contract lawsuit if they attempt to sever our infrastructure,” I ordered. “They signed a binding ten-year distribution agreement. I will drag them through the commercial courts for a decade. Tell them to hold the line.”

“I will manage the board, Eduardo promised. “But you must manage the media. We traced the ownership of the news outlet. A Whitmore holding company acquired the publication three weeks ago.”

Celeste bought the printing press. She bought the platform to print the lie.

*She timed the release for tonight,” I said. The strategy clicked into place. “The summit hosts the primary networking gala in one hour. She wants me to hide in my hotel suite. She wants the investors to interpret my absence as a confession of guilt.”

“A public appearance presents a massive risk,” Eduardo warned. “The press pool breached the hotel perimeter. They are waiting for

you.”

“Good,” I replied. “Let them wait.”

I ended the call.

I needed ammunition. The capital elite waged war with rumors and leaked articles. I intended to wage war with raw data.

I logged into the secure banking portal for Valdez Elegance. I bypassed the standard dashboards and accessed the deep archive, 1

located the specific digital ledger for the Aegis seed round.

I downloaded the bank transfer receipt detailing my life savings. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I downloaded the

matching deposit from Eduardo Valdez’s personal account. I pulled the timestamped contracts with Dominic Kensington and Leonardo Alvarez. I pulled the lease agreements for the independent transport vans.

I compiled every piece of financial documentation proving the origin of my company.

I saved the dossier to an encrypted flash drive. I slipped the drive into my pocket.

I dressed. I pulled my dark hair back into a severe, sleek knot. I applied the Aegis foundation, erasing the exhaustion from my skin.

I checked my watch. The networking gala commenced twenty minutes ago.

I picked up my phone. I sent a single text message to Marcus and Leo, who waited in the hallway outside my suite.

We are going down to the ballroom.

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Chapter 69 Wearing Black To Their Funeral

I opened the heavy wooden door. The two security contractors stood at attention. They registered the black dress. They registered the cold, lethal focus in my eyes. They did not ask questions. They fell into step beside me.

We took the elevator down to the convention floor.

The doors opened. The noise of the massive gala drifted down the corridor. A string quartet played a classical arrangement over the low hum of a thousand conversations. The elite investors, the socialites, the corporate titans-they gathered to celebrate their

wealth and dissect the scandal of the evening.

We reached the entrance of the grand ballroom.

I did not pause. I did not take a deep breath. I walked straight through the gilded double doors.

I walked onto the ballroom floor.

The whispers began, but they lacked the casual curiosity from the previous night. These whispers held venom. The article painted

me as a fraud. The crowd treated me like a disease.

Men in expensive suits turned their backs as I approached. Women in designer gowns shielded their faces behind crystal champagne flutes. They cleared a wide path, refusing to let my shadow touch their shoes.

I kept my spine rigid. I kept my chin parallel to the floor. I let them stare.

I scanned the room. I searched the crowd for the architect of the smear.

I found her.

Celeste Whitmore stood near the center of the ballroom. She held court with a circle of legacy heiresses and junior executives. She

wore a stunning emerald gown. Tristan Johnston was not beside her. He was absent.

Celeste noticed the silence in the room. She turned her head.

She saw me walking through the hostile crowd. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, shocked by my presence. She expected

me to flee the hotel. She expected me to break.

The shock vanished. A vicious smile stretched across her face. She raised her champagne flute in my direction, a mocking toast to

my destruction.

I did not look away. I held her gaze. I walked directly toward the center of the room.

Before I could reach Celeste, a sudden flash of bright light blinded me.

A group of journalists broke through the security perimeter near the eastern doors. They surged onto the ballroom floor. Camera

shutters fired in rapid succession, capturing my face, the black dress, the hostile crowd.

A reporter with a digital recorder shoved his way past a group of investors. He stopped three feet in front of me. Marcus stepped

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Chapter 69 Wearing Black To Their Funeral

forward, his hand raised to block the man, but the reporter shouted his question over the noise.

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