Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 120

Chapter 120 Begging For Her On Knees

The stairwell echoed with the harsh strike of my heels against the concrete steps. I ran. I held Elias tight against my chest. He wrapped his small arms around my neck, hiding his face in the collar of my blazer. The sudden, frantic pace terrified him.

Marcus led the descent, taking two steps at a time. Eduardo covered our rear flank. Lucia stayed close to my side, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

We needed to reach the subterranean VIP garage. We needed to put the reinforced steel of the SUV,between my son and the

Johnston empire.

We hit the bottom landing. The heavy metal door stood ten feet away.

Eduardo pushed past me. He hit the crash bar. The door swung outward on heavy hinges, revealing the dim, fluorescent-lit concrete of the parking structure.

A figure stood in the center of our path.

Tristan.

He used the central maintenance elevators. He anticipated our route and cut off the escape.

He blocked the path to the black sedan. He breathed in gasps.

Marcus stepped forward. He reached under his jacket, resting his hand on the grip of his weapon. “Move back.”

Tristan did not look at Marcus. He did not register the threat. His eyes stayed locked on the small boy in my arms.

Elias turned his head. He looked at the tall stranger standing in the harsh light.

The air in the garage turned to ice.

“Take him to the car,” I whispered to Lucia.

I loosened my grip. I handed my son to the nanny.

“Lock the doors,” I instructed Eduardo. “Do not let anyone approach the glass.”

Lucia took Elias. She hurried past Tristan. Eduardo followed, keeping a protective stance. Tristan did not try to stop them. He let them pass. He turned his head, watching his son disappear behind the tinted windows of the armored vehicle.

The heavy doors of the SUV slammed shut.

Tristan and I stood alone in the dim vestibule.

Then, Tristan knees hit the concrete floor. The sound cracked like a whip in the empty space. He did not kneel in a grand, romántic gesture. His legs simply gave out.

He’rested his hands on the cold, dirty floor. He lowered his head. A brutal, ragged sob tore from his throat.

I stood three feet away. I watched him break.

‘He has my eyes,” Tristan choked out.

“Yes,” I said.

“You carried him alone. Tristan looked up. “I sat in boardrooms. I calculated debt. I negotiated with Thomas Whitmore. I thought I carried the weight of the world.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the flood. He failed.

“You carried the world, Minerva,” he wept. The billionaire cried in front of me, stripped of all his pride. “You lived in a slum. You went to a charity clinic. I left you in the dark. I thought my silence would keep you safe.”

“You missed everything, I agreed.

I felt the burn of tears in my own eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Tristan reached out. His fingers brushed the toe of my heel.

“Let me see him, Tristan begged. The proud, arrogant CEO was gone. A broken father pleaded on the concrete floor. “Please/ Minerva. Let me hold my son.”

I stepped back.

“No,” I said.

He recoiled. He looked like I drove a knife into his chest.

“I did not build a safe life for him so you could walk in and shatter it,” I told him. “You made your calculations, Tristan. You signed the Whitmore contract. You chose the legacy.” chose wrong!” he shouted. The sound echoed off the low ceiling, desperate and wild. “I will tear the contract up! I will let Thomas Whitmore burn the company down! I do not care about the money anymore!”

“It does not matter,” I replied. I kept my voice steady, even as my hands shook. “The choice is done. The years are gone. You cannot buy them back. A title on paper does not make a man a father.”

I turned around. I walked toward the black SUV.

“Minerva,” he called out.

I gripped the handle of the car door. I paused. The urge to turn back, to pull him off the floor and hold him, fought a bitter war against my instincts to protect my child. He was a victim, but he was also a threat. He was still chained to Harriet Montgomery and Thomas Whitmore.

I pulled the door open. I climbed into the back seat next to Elias.

“Drive, Marcus,” I instructed.