Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82 He Knows About The Child

I walked out of my office. I navigated the sleek, modern corridors of the Aegis headquarters. I reached the glass elevators and

descended to the primary reception area.

Celeste Whitmore stood in the center of the lobby.

She did not look like the flawless hostess from the charity gala. She looked ruined. She wore a wrinkled designer trench coat. Her blonde hair sat in a messy knot. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes. Her hands shook..

Dozens of Aegis employees stopped their work. They stared at the legacy heiress unspooling in their building.

I stepped out of the elevator. I walked toward her. I maintained my cold, professional posture.

“You are trespassing on private property, Celeste,” I stated. My voice carried across the marble floor.

She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto my face. A chaotic, desperate fury burned in her gaze. She closed the distance between

1. She stopped two feet away, her chest heaving.

“What did you do to him? Celeste demanded. Her voice cracked. It lacked the arrogant sneer. It sounded like a plea.

“I have not spoken to your fiancé,” I replied.

“You are lying!” Celeste shrieked. She pointed a trembling finger at my chest. “He killed the security footage! My father arranged the broadcast. We had the network contracts signed. Tristan threatened to sever the European expansion if we released the tape. He is

destroying my family to protect a whore!”

I looked at the broken woman standing in front of me. I felt a hollow pity.

“He is not protecting me, I observed. “He is protecting his own guilt. He realizes his corporate strategy destroyed the woman he actually wanted. You tied your entire existence to a man who looks right through you. He sleeps in his corporate suite. He refuses your calls. You are a line item on his balance sheet, Celeste.”

The truth hit her. She flinched. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over her lower lashes and ruining her makeup. The high-society

illusion shattered on my lobby floor.

“You ruined my life, Celeste whispered. The fight drained from her posture.

“You ruined your own life,’ I corrected. “You chose the ring over your dignity. You chose the status over genuine affection. Now you

are paying the price. Leave my building.”

I signaled to the security guards standing near the entrance. They moved forward.

Celeste did not fight them. She looked at me with hatred. She turned around and walked out through the revolving glass doors. She

stepped into the harsh afternoon sunlight.

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Chapter 82 He Knows About The Child

I returned to my office. The confrontation drained my energy. I cleared my schedule for the rest of the week I needed to return to

Port Sterling. I needed the quiet of the coastal wind. I needed Elias.

Friday afternoon arrived.

I stood in a private, gated park near my house in the industrial district. Eduardo Valdez secured the green space for his employees.

It featured tall oak trees and a high wrought-iron perimeter fence.

The autumn sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass.

Elias crawled across a thick wool blanket. He babbled, his small hands reaching for a bright red leaf. He wore a thick knit sweater.

The brisk air turned his cheeks a healthy pink. Lucia sat on a wooden bench a few feet away, reading a book.

I watched my son. The tension in my neck muscles began to release. The corporate wars in the capital felt distant. The boardroom

bloodbaths and the media scandals held zero power inside this park.

I knelt on the blanket. I picked up the red leaf and handed it to Elias. He grabbed it, his gray eyes wide with focus. He possessed the

exact shape of Tristan’s eyes. The resemblance grew stronger every day.

A chill crawled up my spine.

I stood up. I turned my head. I scanned the surrounding of the park. The wrought-iron fence offered a clear view of the street.

A black luxury sedan idled near the curb. The rear passenger window rolled down.

An older man sat in the backseat.

He wore a tailored gray suit. His silver hair sat perfectly styled. He possessed the same sharp, patrician features that defined the

Johnston bloodline. I recognized his face from dozens of corporate dossiers and financial magazines.

Frederick Langley. A senior board member of the Johnston Group. Tristan’s uncle. The man who orchestrated the family trust funds.

Frederick held a sleek, high-powered camera. The long lens rested on the edge of the open car window.

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