Betrayed By The Billionaire

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Xavier’s words were a clinical execution of Bella’s dignity. He hadn't just dismissed her; he had expressed a level of visceral loathing that left the room breathless.

Bella’s face shifted from pale to a sickly green, her lips trembling, but she didn't dare utter another syllable. Felix hurriedly guided her to an obscure corner of the suite, far from Xavier’s line of sight.

Desperate to smooth things over, Felix doubled back and poured himself a fresh glass. He looked at Xavier with a mix of loyalty and anxiety. "Xavier, Bella... she’s just not great with words. I’ll drink this one for her, as an apology."

Felix genuinely cared for Bella, and he knew that for her to ever have a prayer of entering the Grayson family circle, Xavier’s approval was the only currency that mattered.

Xavier clearly detested Bella’s performative fragility, but he held no grudge against Felix. As his cousin downed the wine, Xavier reached out his long, elegant fingers toward his own glass.

But instead of the cold, hard touch of crystal, his hand met something smooth, warm, and delicate.

He turned his head to find Chloe Bishop watching him, her clear eyes bright and steady.

"I'll drink it for you."

Before he could react, Chloe swept the glass from the table and downed the vintage red in a single, unhesitating draft.

Xavier watched her, his expression lazy and bone-chillingly detached. He gestured toward the full bottle of red wine sitting on the ice bucket. "Since you’re so fond of drinking," he said, his voice a low, melodic threat, "finish the whole bottle."

Felix winced. "Xavier, come on..."

One look from Xavier silenced him. The words died in Felix’s throat.

Chloe, however, let out a light, airy laugh that seemed entirely devoid of bitterness. "I'll do it."

She stood up, gripped the bottle, and began to drink. Her posture remained elegant—shoulders back, chin tilted—even as she tilted the bottle back with a boldness that stunned the room.

Every eye was on her. Most reflected a cruel, shimmering delight. Feifei and Serena exchanged a look, their smirks widening. The "First Socialite" of the city, reduced to a parlor trick for a man who doesn't even want her. What a fall.

Chloe didn't stop until the bottle was empty, not wasting a single drop. She set the hollow glass down in front of Xavier and flashed him a radiant, blooming smile. "Excellent vintage. Thank you, hubby."

Her voice was soft and honeyed, like a cool spring morning.

Xavier’s brow twitched. Drunk already? The other women watched her with profound disdain. To them, seeing the famously icy and untouchable Chloe Bishop acting so desperately "pleasing" was a pathetic display.

Just then, Victor, who was sitting beside Giselle Zhao, spoke up. His voice was laced with an easy, predatory amusement. "Miss Bishop certainly has a remarkable capacity. Xavier, it’s been a while. Let me toast to you."

Only then did Chloe realize Victor was there, tucked into the shadows next to Giselle. The two of them were sitting closer than she and Xavier—their shoulders almost touching.

As a fresh glass of red was poured for Xavier, Chloe snatched it up again. She turned to Xavier with a sultry, captivating tilt of her head. "I'll drink this one too."

She raised the glass toward Victor. "Mr. Vance, to you."

She drained it in one go.

Victor’s lips curled into a mocking smirk. "A woman with such a high tolerance... one glass is hardly a toast. It should be at least three." He glanced at Xavier. "You don't mind, do you, Xavier?"

Xavier gave a negligent shrug, as if the health of the woman beside him was a matter of total indifference.

Feifei and Serena nearly burst out laughing. Seeing the "Princess of the Bishop Family" treated like a common bar hostess was the highlight of their year. Even Bella felt her pride returning; compared to Chloe’s "shamelessness," her own snub felt like a minor bruise.

Chloe’s red lips curved upward. "What's the fun in me drinking alone? I’ve heard rumors that your capacity is legendary, Mr. Vance. Surely you wouldn't bully a 'weak' woman like me? If I drink three, shouldn't a man of your stature drink six?"

Victor’s smile turned sharp and wicked. "Sharp-tongued as ever. Don't you know, Miss Bishop, that men prefer women who are as soft and yielding as water? This fire of yours... it’s not a good look."

Chloe is deliberately "lowering" herself to stay in the room, but the alcohol is starting to hit. Victor and the others are shark-like, sensing blood in the water. Will Xavier continue to let his wife be the evening's entertainment, or will Chloe's "fire" eventually force the Demon to intervene?

How many more glasses can Chloe take before she loses that "elegant" composure?