Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98 Rejecting the Hero’s Late Apology

The stone walls of the foyer trapped the silence. It felt heavy and thick. Tristan stood in front of me, shielding me from the rest of his family. His chan resend with even breaths. He just threw his entire legacy away. He threatened the board. He claimed me as His wife in front of the woman wearing his engagement ring

He looked down at me. His gray eyes searched my face. He waited for the walls to drop. He waited for me to fall into his arms, werping with gratitude. He thought he played the hero.

I looked at the hand that grabbed my wrist. A faint red mark bloomed on my skin.

I stopped them. Tristan said. His voice was a harsh whisper, meant only for me. “I drew the line, Minerva. It is over.”

I looked past his shoulder. Harriet Montgomery stood frozen. The matriarch of the Johnston empire looked small and fragile for the first time in her life. The color drained from her face, leaving her skin an unhealthy gray. Frederick stared at his nephew, his mouth hanging open in shock. Celeste leaned against a stone pillar, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The perfect illusion of their dynasty lay shattered on the floor.

Tristan took a step closer. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of my crimson blazer.

I chose you,” he pleaded. The invincible CEO begged for validation.

I stepped back. His hand fell to his side.

“You always speak after the damage is done,” I said. My voice carried no anger. It carried nothing but cold, hollow truth.

Tristan flinches. The words struck him like a physical blow. “What?”

“You sat at that table,’ I reminded him. I kept my tone level, making sure every person in the room heard me. ‘You sat in your chair while they tore my background apart. You listened while Beatrice called me dirty. You stayed silent while Oliver mocked the company I built with my bare hands. You drank your water while they called me a stray.”

I was trying to calculate an exit, Tristan argued. His eyes pleaded with me to understand. ‘I wanted to handle the situation without tearing the family apart. I wanted a clean resolution.”

“You wanted to keep your crown,” I corrected him. “You wanted to find a way to keep your voting shares and keep your conscience clean. A real partner does not wait for a clean resolution, Tristan. A real partner flips the table the moment the first insult leaves

their mouth.”

He swallowed hard. The muscle in his jaw ticked. ‘I stopped Harriet. I stepped in.’

“You stepped in because I was about to commit a crime,’ I pointed out. “You stepped in to stop a physical assault, not to defend my honor. If I had sat there and taken their abuse, you would have stayed quiet through the entire dessert course.”

Tristan shook his head. That is not true.”

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10:55 Thu, Jul 9

Chapter 98 Rejecting the Hero’s Late Apology

“It is the only truth we share,’ I said.

I turned my gaze to Harriet. The older woman glared at me, her eyes burning with fresh hatred. I beat her. I walked into her

fortress, absorbed her attacks, and watched her own grandson turn against her.

“Keep your ten million dollars,” I told the matriarch. “Keep your lawyers. If you send one more threat toward my son, I will let Tristan burn your empire to ash. And I will stand next to him and watch it burn.”

I looked back at Tristan.

“Do not follow me,” I instructed.

I turned around. I walked toward the heavy front doors. The uniformed guard stood frozen, unsure of what to do. I reached out and grabbed the brass handle myself. I pulled the door open.

The freezing autumn wind rushed into the foyer, sweeping away the stale, heavy air of the estate. I stepped out into the night.

I walked down the stone steps. The black town car idled on the gravel driveway. Marcus stood by the rear door, his eyes scanning the dark tree line. He saw me approaching. He pulled the door open.

I slid into the back seat. Marcus closed the door, sealing me inside the quiet, heated interior. He climbed into the passenger seat.

“Drive, I told Leo.

The tires spun on the gravel. The car surged forward, leaving the Johnston estate behind.

The adrenaline began to crash. It drained from my muscles, leaving a hollow, aching exhaustion in its wake. My hands started to shake. I curled my fingers into tight fists and pressed them against my thighs. I survived the dinner. I secured my child. I won.

But the victory felt like swallowing ground glass.

I pulled my secure phone from my pocket. My fingers fumbled with the screen. I dialed Eduardo Valdez.

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