Married to the Billionaire Who Betrayed Me novel Chapter 253

Chapter 253 We Saved Our Little Boy

The tension in my chest snaps. The heavy weight crushes me. I drop my face into my hands. A broken sob tears from my throat.

“They aborted, Ricardo confirms. Relief floods his tone. “The strike team left the perimeter. Diego and Elias are safe.”

“Keep the accounts empty,” I tell Ricardo. My voice shakes. will contact you when we land.”

I close the laptop. I push it onto the empty seat beside me.

I stand up. My legs tremble. The adrenaline leaves my veins. The sheer terror of the last hour catches up to me. We almost lost him. We almost lost our son.

Tristan drops his weapon on the metal floor. He closes the distance between us. He grabs my waist. He pulls me into his chest.

I wrap my arms around his neck. I bury my face in his shoulder. I cry. I shed the armor. I shed the Chairman persona. I let the fear pour out.

Tristan holds me tight. His massive arms cage me. His heart hammers against my ribs. He buries his face in my hair. He shakes. The warlord trembled. He faced down cartels and hitmen without a flinch. The thought of losing his boy broke him.

“We got him, Tristan whispers. His voice cracks. “He is safe. You saved him.”

“We saved him,” I correct.

I lift my head. I look into his gray eyes. The shadows of the cabin hide his exhaustion, but they highlight the fierce, primal need in his stare. We survived.

We need the physical proof.

He crushes his mouth against mine.

The kiss holds no gentle edges. It is raw. It is desperate. A collision of relief and lingering terror. I open my lips. I take his heat. I tangle my fingers in his dark hair. I pull his head down. I want to consume him. I want to erase the last hour from my mind.

He walks me backward. My spine hits the cold metal wall of the cabin. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I do not care. I arch into his touch.

He shoves his hands under my dark sweater. His rough palms scrape against my bare skin. He grips my waist. He lifts me off the floor. I wrap my legs around his hips.

He unfastens my jeans. He tears them down. I work his belt loose. The restricted space of the aisle fuels the urgency. We do not pause. We do not exchange words. The connection speaks for us.

He enters me with a hard, blunt thrust.

I throw my head back. I bite my lower lip to silence my gasp. The friction sends a blinding jolt through my core. He fills the cold void. He anchors me to reality.

He sets a punishing pace. He pushes me against the steel wall. Skin meets skin. The harsh rhythm matches the roar of the jet engines. He stares down into

He grips the edges of the podium. He glares into the camera lens. He speaks straight to me.

“I will not allow a fugitive to dictate the law,” Sterling continues. “I call a special session of the Senate Judiciary Committee tomorrow morning. We will present the evidence of the Whitmore conspiracy on live television. We will formally indict Minerva Hayes in absentia. We will seize the Johnston empire for the state.”

I close the video. The screen goes black.

Sterling lost his covert power. He lost his dark money. He dragged the fight into the light. He wants a public execution.

Tristan stands behind me. He reads the screen.

“He wants to indict you in an empty chair,” Tristan says. “He wants to control the narrative.”

‘He set the bait,’ I say.

I turn around. I look at my husband. The Chairman takes command. The final battle lines are drawn.

‘Sterling expects me to hide,’ I declare. “He expects me to run. He thinks he holds the power of the Senate room.

“What is the play?” Tristan asks.

“We do not hide,’ I answer. The cold steel returns to my veins. “We accept the invitation. We walk into the Senate.”