Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 111

Chapter 111 Secrets Of The Hostage Contract

The morning light cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my executive suite. The glare hit the glass surface of my desk. I sat in my leather chair. My eyes burned from a lack of sleep.

Six different daily newspapers covered the desktop. They all featured the same photograph. Celeste Whitmore and Tristan Johnston standing on a red carpet. The headlines screamed in bold, black ink. They announced a spring wedding. They promised the social event of the decade.

Celeste bought the front pages. She threw a blanket of fake romance over a burning house. She wanted to trap Tristan in the court of public opinion.

I pushed the newspapers away. The rustle of cheap paper filled the quiet room.

I needed to break the illusion. I needed to understand the foundation of their alliance. Tristan was a man who ripped his own intelligence division apart to find the truth about my son. He stood in a damp, freezing garage and begged me for answers. He hated the heiress. Yet, he still wore the invisible chains. He still allowed the wedding preparations to continue.

A sharp knock on the glass door pulled my attention away from the headlines.

Diego Morales walked into the office. My head of acquisitions looked worse than I did. His shirt was wrinkled. He carried a thick, heavy stack of printed documents. He dropped the stack onto the center of the glass desk. The impact sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.

“We cracked the secondary legal servers,” Diego stated. His voice sounded hoarse. “It took the data team all night. We had to trace the financial routing numbers through three different offshore holding companies.”

I leaned forward. The fatigue in my bones vanished. “Did you find the link between Thomas Whitmore and Harriet Montgomery?”

‘I found the leash,” Diego corrected.

He pulled the top folder from the stack. He opened it and turned it toward me.

“Look at the dates, Minerva, Diego instructed.

I scanned the top sheet. It was an internal financial audit for the Johnston Group. The date stamp read four years ago. The numbers on the page were staggering, printed in stark red ink.

“Four years ago, Harriet authorized a massive, aggressive expansion into the Asian technology markets, Diego explained. He tapped the red numbers with his index finger. “The expansion failed. A sudden regulatory shift crashed the market. The Johnston Group lost billions in a single week. The banks panicked. They initiated a multi-billion dollar margin call.”

I read the summary. The reality of the numbers painted a terrifying picture.

“They were insolvent,” I said. The shock settled in my chest.

Johnston conglomerate to his daughter’s finger. If Tristan breaks the engagement, Thomas has the legal authority to call in the debt. The Johnston Group would collapse within forty-eight hours.”

I turned to the final page of the contract. The signature page.

Harriet Montgomery signed on the first line. Thomas Whitmore signed on the second.

On the third line, written in bold, familiar strokes, was the signature of the Chief Executive Officer.

Tristan Johnston.

I stared at the black ink. I looked at the date scribbled next to his name.

It was dated three and a half years ago. Five days before he left me.

I remembered the night he ended our secret marriage. The autumn rain beat against the windows of our hidden apartment. He walked through the door. He did not take off his coat. He did not look me in the eye.

He told me our relationship was a mistake. He told me he needed to focus on his legacy, and I did not fit into his world.