Betrayed By The Billionaire

71

Vince’s expression remained as static as a stone wall. "Madam, Master Xavier is waiting for you to deliver that lunch."

Chloe sighed. Sometimes, a bodyguard is more helpful when they aren't quite so diligent.

Stepping into the Bishop Group headquarters felt like walking through a ghost of her former life. The staff all recognized her—the "First Socialite" with the striking, high-fashion features. She was ushered to the executive floor without a security pass or a word from the secretaries. Standing before the massive mahogany doors of what used to be her father's office, she took a steadying breath and knocked.

When she pushed the door open, Xavier was a silhouette of intense focus behind the desk, framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows of River City. He spared her a fleeting glance before dropping his eyes back to the glowing monitor, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

Chloe stood there for a moment, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia crashing over her. Growing up, her father had always hoped to mold her into a business titan, a woman strong enough to command this very seat. But she knew she lacked the ruthless commercial instinct he possessed. She was destined to disappoint those expectations.

Later, her father had poured that ambition into Liam Martin, grooming him to be a king of the corporate world, hoping he would lead the Bishop Group onto the international stage. In that, her father had succeeded—perhaps too well. That success now belonged to the Martin family, creating a powerhouse competitor for the very empire that had raised him.

If Dad knew how this turned out, Chloe thought darkly, he would regret every lesson he ever taught that man.

She didn't want to disturb Xavier’s rhythm, so she moved silently to the side, waiting. Her gaze drifted to his profile. They say a man is never more attractive than when he is completely immersed in his work, and Xavier Grayson was the ultimate proof.

He radiated a quiet, terrifying brilliance. Even with the "Keep Out" aura he wore like armor, the sheer gravity of his power was like a narcotic—dangerous, yet impossible to look away from. Chloe found her eyes tracing the line of his jaw until they settled on his thin, well-defined lips. She couldn't help but remember that on the night he took everything else, he was the only man who had never deigned to kiss her...

Xavier’s hands suddenly stopped. He looked up, catching her chin-in-hand, her dark almond eyes staring directly at his... mouth.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, growing heavy and thick. Xavier’s eyes darkened, a predatory spark flickering in the depths of his pupils.

Chloe snapped back to reality, her face heating up. She looked away, faking a sudden interest in the lunch boxes as she began to unpack them. "Lunch is served, Xavier. You're in luck today—my mother made all of these. They're her signature dishes; most people never get a chance to taste them."

The savory aroma of home-cooked braised meats and fresh vegetables quickly filled the sterile, high-tech office.

Xavier stood, his long legs carrying him over to the small dining table. He surveyed the spread, but instead of sitting, he leveled a cold, displeased look at Chloe. "What were you doing while this was being made?"

Chloe blinked, confused by the sudden frost. "What?"

"Not a single one of these dishes was made by you," he stated flatly.

"My mother’s cooking is much better than mine," Chloe defended. Her mother had been so happy this morning that she insisted on taking over the kitchen; Chloe had only been able to help with the prep work. Besides, she wondered, how can he tell just by looking?

Xavier’s expression turned even icier. "Then tell me—who did you spend all those years learning to cook for?"

The question hit Chloe like a physical slap. The answer was instantaneous and painful: Liam Martin. Every signature dish she had mastered, every secret ingredient she had discovered, was tailored specifically to Liam’s palate. She had spent years perfecting the flavors he loved most, ensuring he would never grow tired of her table.