Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92 Insults at the High Table

I stepped onto the thick, patterned rug. The drawing room was vast. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far wall, a real fire

crackling in the hearth. Heavy velvet drapes framed the tall windows.

A dozen people occupied the space. They held expensive drinks. They wore dark, conservative evening wear.

Every single head turned to look at me.

I scanned the room.

Frederick Langley stood near the fireplace. He swirled a dark amber liquid in a short glass. He gave me a slow, malicious smile. He took the photograph of Elias. He dropped the match on my life.

Celeste Whitmore sat on a tufted leather sofa. She wore a pale blue silk dress. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves. She gripped a champagne flute with white knuckles. She tried to project smug confidence, but I saw the slight tremor in her hands. She remembered the women’s lounge. She remembered the exact weight of my hand against her cheek.

Harriet Montgomery sat in a high-backed armchair positioned near the center of the room. She wore a dark gray dress that blended with the stone walls of the estate. Her silver hair remained flawless. She sat with perfect, rigid posture.

She looked at me with eyes like chips of flint.

Tristan stepped into the room behind me. He stopped a few feet away, standing in my shadow. The family noted his arrival. They noted his pale face. They noted the distance I forced between us.

“Miss Hayes, Harriet spoke. Her voice carried across the silent room. It was smooth, cold, and laced with absolute authority. “I see

you found the address.”

“I always find my way, Mrs. Montgomery,” I replied. I kept my chin level.

A woman sitting near Celeste let out a soft, derisive scoff. She was older, wearing a heavy diamond necklace. An aunt, likely.

“You certainly found your way into the headlines, the aunt remarked. She looked me up and down, her lip curling in disgust. ‘We prefer discretion in this family. Striking people in public restrooms is a tactic for common street brawlers.”

Celeste stiffened on the sofa. She took a quick sip of her champagne, hiding her face behind the crystal rim.

“I enforce my boundaries, I answered the aunt. I did not break my calm facade. If a person crosses a line, they face a consequence.

I find it much more efficient than hiding behind press releases and fake smiles.”

The aunt flushed a dull red. She snapped her mouth shut.

Harriet raised a single, manicured hand. The minor skirmish ended. The matriarch commanded the floor.

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Chapter 92 Insults at the High Table

“You wear a loud color for a guest,” Harriet observed. She inspected my crimson suit. ‘It begs for attention. People who lack pedigree

usually rely on visual noise to compensate for their background.”

‘I rely on profit margins and supply chains,” I corrected her. “The color is simply a preference. I find it bold.”

“Boldness is a fragile asset,” Frederick Langley chimed in. He stepped away from the fireplace. He looked at Tristan, then back at me. “It shatters when the pressure increases. You operate a small cosmetics firm, Miss Hayes. You lease a warehouse in the industrial

district. You mingle with dockworkers and laborers. You must feel incredibly out of place standing on this rug.”

The insults began. The coordinated attack commenced. They intended to remind me of my class. They intended to strip away my

CEO title and reduce me to the girl from the slums.

“I feel perfectly fine, Frederick,” I said. “The air is a bit stale, but the architecture is interesting.”

A few uncles exchanged hard, offended looks. A woman by the window whispered something to her husband.

“Your background is a matter of public record,” Harriet continued, ignoring my jab. She leaned slightly forward in her high-backed

chair. “You clawed your way into a consulting firm. You attached yourself to my grandson. You utilized his resources, and when he

severed the connection, you stole his business model to launch your own brand. You are a parasite disguised as a founder.”

Tristan stepped forward. His jaw locked tight. ‘Grandmother, that is enough.”

“Be silent, Tristan,” Harriet snapped. The command cracked like a whip. She did not even look at him. She kept her flint eyes fixed

on me. “You failed to manage this liability. I am managing it now.”

Tristan’s hands clenched into fists, but he stopped walking.

Harriet turned her attention back to me.

“You sit at our table tonight for one reason, Minerva, Harriet stated. She dropped the false politeness. She went straight for the

throat. “Frederick provided evidence of a child. A boy hidden in the industrial district. We do not tolerate our bloodline living in the

dirt.

The room grew colder. Celeste stared at her lap, refusing to look up.

“I do not answer to your board,” I said. The anger flared hot in my chest, burning away the chill. My family is my own.”

“You have no family, Harriet dismissed. Her tone dripped with pure, unfiltered cruelty. “You are a woman with no name. You offer a

child nothing but scandal and instability. You lack the grace, the education, and the moral standing to raise a Johnston heir.”

The insult hit my core. She attacked my motherhood. She called me dirty. She called me unworthy.

I took a step toward the matriarch.

“You know nothing about raising a child,” I said. My voice dropped to a lethal, ragged whisper. “You raise stock portfolios. You raise

cowards who hide behind NDAS.”

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