Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 249

Chapter 249 His Grandmother Ordered The Hit

I do not wait for him to shoot. Troll my window down. The wind steals my breath. I raise my handgun. I rest my arm on the door frame. I align the sights.

I pull the trigger.

The bullet strikes the front tire of the/SUV. The rubber explodes. The driver jerks the steering wheel The SUV veers sharp to the left. It crashes through the flimsy guardrail.

The vehicle disappears over the edge of the cliff. A long silence follows. A distant, muffled crash echoes from the valley below.

I roll the window up. I look at Tristan. His chest heaves. Rain drips from his dark hair. A herce, primal energy radiates from his body. We share the same

adrenaline high. The thrill of survival. We operate as a single lethal organism. We destroy our enemies in the boardroom. We destroy them on a mountain road.

The final SUV remains behind us. The driver keeps his distance. He learned the lesson.

“He waits for a straightaway, Tristan says. He checks the rearview mirror. “He wants to pass and brake-check the transport.”

“Do not let him pass,” I say.

Tristan steers the heavy transport into the center of the road. He straddles the dividing line. He cuts off every angle.

A sharp hairpin turn approaches. The yellow warning signs flash in the headlights.

Tristan does not hit the brakes. He keeps his foot pinned to the floor.

“Hold on,’ he commands.

I brace my hands against the dashboard.

At the last possible second, Tristan slams the brake pedal. He cranks the steering wheel hard to the right. The heavy transport goes into a massive skid. The rear tires break traction. The vehicle slides sideways across the wet asphalt.

We drift through the turn. The metal frame groans under the stress. We miss the guardrail by inches.

The driver of the pursuit SUV panics. He tries to match the maneuver. He lacks the skill. He lacks the weight.

The SUV hits the slick pavement. It hydroplanes. It spins out of control. It slams rear-first into the rock wall. The impact crushes the back half of the vehicle. The headlights flicker and die.

We exit the turn. We straighten out. The road behind us remains dark and empty. We broke the pursuit.

Tristan slows the transport. We descend the final stretch of the mountain. We reach the outskirts of Geneva. He pulls the damaged vehicle into an abandoned industrial lot near the waterfront. He kills the engine.

The silence in the cabin feels thick. The rain drums against the metal roof.

My hands shake. The adrenaline begins to fade. I lean back against the leather seat. I close my eyes. I pull a long, slow breath into my lungs.

Tristan unbuckles his seatbelt. He reaches across the console. He pulls me into his lap. I straddle his thighs. I wrap my arms around his neck. I bury my face in the crook of his shoulder.

He holds me tight. His large hands h my back in slow, grounding circles.

We possess the proof. We possess the weapon to destroy Sterling.

I scroll down the list. I want to see the other names. I want to see the European elites who funded the raid on my home. I want to build a target list for my revenge.

I scan the names. Swiss bankers. French politicians. American judges.

Then, my eyes catch a name near the bottom of the list. The origin column does not read Thomas Whitmore. It reads a different source. A recent transaction. Dated three weeks ago. The exact day Julian leaked my DNA to the press.

A massive wire transfer to Sterling’s private account. The payment to freeze the Johnston Group. The payment to brand me a fugitive.

I stare at the name. The blood turns to ice in my veins. The air leaves my lungs. The betrayals of my father pale in comparison to the name glowing on the screen.

Tristan watches my face. He sees the horror in my eyes.

Ming. Tastan-says. His voice holds a sharp edge of concern. “What is it? Who funded the raid?”

I point a trembling finger at the screen. I cannot speak the words.

Tristan looks at the monitor. He reads the name. He goes rigid. The titan turns to stone.

The name on the screen reads: Evelyn Johnston.

Tristan’s grandmother. The matriarch of his family. She paid Federal Prosecutor Sterling to destroy me. She orchestrated the downfall of her own grandson to rid her bloodline of the Whitmore disease.