Betrayed By The Billionaire

43

Chloe remained silent, letting the unspoken reality hang in the air.

Mrs. Bishop, being a woman of experience, quickly pieced it together. Her voice softened with understanding. "If Xavier isn't fond of the idea, then we won't push it. There’s no need to provoke him, especially since your relationship is... delicate as it is. It’s better this way."

She added a note of motherly hope, "If he truly cares for you, he’ll find a way to make it up to you later without us asking. Don't worry, I’ll handle the Old Madam and decline the arrangements from our side."

Chloe felt a massive weight lift from her chest.

"Chloe," Mrs. Bishop added as a final thought, "if things ever become truly unbearable, just come home. Don't ever let yourself be mistreated."

Those words brought a shimmer of tears to Chloe's lashes. A stray breeze caught her hair as she offered a bittersweet, relieved smile—one that looked like a pear blossom in early spring. "Thanks, Mom."

For the sake of her parents and her newborn sister, she would endure the Grayson mansion. But as for "growing old together" with Xavier? She didn't dare dream of it. The man was so averse to women she half-wondered if he was actually gay.

In the master suite, Xavier watched the screen as the woman’s smile faded. He pulled out the earpiece and tossed it onto the desk.

Chloe, you certainly have a good mother, he thought, his expression unreadable.

In the afternoon, Xavier left the villa for business. Chloe spent the time with Liam Jr., watching him work on intricate wooden interlocking puzzles. He was remarkably gifted; despite his age, he could assemble complex architectural models with ease.

However, the silence was stifling. Chloe felt that a child his age needed fresh air and sunlight, not a perpetual confinement in a quiet room.

"Liam Jr., the flowers outside look beautiful today," Chloe said, pointing toward the window. Beyond the glass, a lake shimmered, bordered by vibrant summer blooms in full peak. "Want to go take a look?"

The boy looked at her, paused for a few seconds, and then slowly shook his head.

"Do you not like flowers?" Chloe probed gently. "Or do you dislike the sun?"

He thought about it, then shook his head again.

"So you do like them. Then why stay inside?"

Liam Jr. stared at her for a few seconds before lowering his head back to his wooden puzzle, retracting into his shell and muting the outside world.

Chloe wasn't discouraged. "There are so many things out there, you know? Better than puzzles. There are birds that talk, monkeys that climb trees, elephants with long trunks, and sharks bigger than this house. If you never go out, you'll never see them."

The boy remained focused on his wood, seemingly living in a private universe where external signals were filtered out.

"If you don't want to go out, how about I go pick some flowers and bring them back for you?" Chloe suggested.

Finally, she got a reaction—but it wasn't the one she wanted.

CRASH.

With a sudden, violent sweep of his hand, Liam Jr. smashed the model he had been painstakingly building. Pieces of wood flew everywhere, skittering across the floor.

Chloe gasped, genuinely startled by the sudden outburst. She racked her brain—what had she said wrong?

The boy’s breathing became ragged, his chest heaving. His eyes, usually shy, were now wild and fierce, like a cornered cub ready to bite.

"Liam Jr., do you not want me to leave?" Chloe realized, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Then I won't go. Don't be angry."

She spoke soothingly, carefully watching his micro-expressions. The boy’s small fists were clenched white as he struggled to suppress a tidal wave of rage.

"Don't be angry anymore. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here with you, okay? Nowhere else."

Chloe kept her tone low and soft, not daring to touch him. She knew his emotional state was like a pressurized vessel; one wrong move could cause an absolute explosion.

Slowly, the fire in his eyes began to dim. His face was flushed crimson from the effort of containing his emotions, and within seconds, beads of sweat had broken out across his forehead.