Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 233

Chapter 233 His Secret Stash Of Cash

I arched my back. A shattered gasp escaped my throat, I unbuckled his belt. I shoved the heavy denim down his hips. The restrictions of the car vanished. We needed the physical connection We needed to erase the stench of the federal prison from my skin.

He lifted my hips. He drove into me with a blunt, upward thrust.

I bit my lip to muffle a scream. The friction sent a blinding jolt through my core. He filled me. He anchored me to the earth. The world outside the bunker disappeared. Sterling ceased to exist. The frozen bank accounts meant nothing.

Tristan set a punishing pace. He gripped my hips. He pushed me against the steering wheel. Skin slapped against skin. The rhythm drowned my racing thoughts. He stared into my eyes. The storm in his gray gaze cleared, replaced by a fierce, undivided worship.

I chased the edge. The coil in my stomach tightened until it snapped. A wave of heat crashed over me. My body trembled. I buried my face in his neck, breathing his scent. A heartbeat later, he groaned. His chest heaved against mine. He held me tight, locking us together in the dark.

We stayed intertwined for a long time. Our breathing slowed.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. He lifted me back to the passenger seat. We adjusted our clothes in silence. The fire burned out, leaving a cold, clear focus in its-wake.

We exited the vehicle.

We walked into the main room of the bunker. Elias slept on the cot. Diego stood near the hallway, keeping watch.

Tristan walked to a metal storage locker in the corner. He broke the padlock with the butt of his pistol. He pulled out a heavy steel lockbox. He dropped it

onto the metal table. The impact echoed in the room.

“The Chairman is dead, Tristan declared. He popped the latches on the box. We cannot fight a federal prosecutor in a courtroom. We cannot hire lawyers. We shed the corporate armor. We become the monsters they claim we are.”/

He opened the lid.

Stacks of banded cash filled the box. Euros. Swiss Francs. Untraceable currency. Beside the money lay a collection of encrypted hard drives, satellite communication devices, and blank passport books.

‘I built this cache five years ago, Tristan explained. He ran his hand over the money. “Before we married. When I ran the easter syndicate. This is survival money. It exists outside the global banking grid. Sterling cannot freeze this.”

I stared at the untraceable wealth. We possessed no billions, but we possessed resources.

‘I will handle the logistics, Tristan continued. He shifted into a tactical commander. I will secure a ghost flight out of the country. I will procure weapons. I will keep us hidden. You focus on the target. Map Sterling’s network. Find the European elites.”

I nodded. I accepted the division of labor. Tristan ruled the physical underworld. I ruled the information war.

I sat at the metal table. I opened an encrypted laptop from the cache. The screen glowed white in the dim bunker.

I began the hunt.

digital crumb.

My heart hammered. Ricardo found a crack in Sterling’s armor.

I typed a reply. What did you find?

The response arrived a minute later. It contained a single encrypted file. I downloaded it to the laptop. I opened the document.

A series of banking manifests appeared. Foreign accounts. Stolen funds. At the bottom of the page, Ricardo included a typed note.

Sterling does not hold the master ledger. He gave it to his European proxy for safekeeping. The proxy requires an updated physical dave every six months. The handoff happens tomorrow night.

I leaned closer to the screen.

Where? I typed.

The final message appeared on my screen. The words sealed our fate. They dictated our next move. They changed the battlefield from a dirty bunker to a world of high-society espionage.

Geneva, Switzerland. An underground masquerade gala. The proxy carries the drive.