Betrayed By The Billionaire

28

Within minutes of her post, several of her closest friends were blowing up her phone, frantic for details. Is this real? Who is he?

Chloe didn't answer. She set the phone aside and began packing. Her life at the Bishop estate was effectively over; by 7:00 AM, she would be a resident of the Grayson mansion.

The Bishop (Arthur's) Residence

Across town, panic had set in. Arthur Bishop was pacing his study, his face a mask of cold fury.

He hadn't expected Chloe to actually snare Xavier Grayson. When Leo reported that she hadn't been kicked out of the gala immediately, Arthur had ordered his son to intercept her the moment she left. But Chloe had slipped away early, and the plan failed.

Now, the bad news was cascading. First, Lily had been rescued. Then, the shareholders who had promised to sell him their stakes suddenly went silent. But the killing blow was the report from the Civil Affairs Bureau: Chloe and Xavier had been seen together.

Nadia and her mother were livid, accusing Arthur of being too soft and giving Chloe the chance to find a backer.

"I'll handle her tonight," Leo growled, his eyes gleaming with a mindless, cruel light. "I'll have her ruined and put the video online. Let's see if the 'Great Xavier Grayson' still wants to marry a woman who’s been dragged through the mud."

Leo was a predator of a different breed—vicious, short-sighted, and without a shred of conscience. "I’ll have Marcus find some thugs to do it. We ship them overseas the second it’s done. Who’s going to trace it back to us?"

Usually, Arthur was a cautious man, but the walls were closing in. He knew that the moment Xavier stepped into the Bishop Group boardroom, Arthur would be the first head to roll. He had to act. Passive defense was no longer an option; he had to strike first.

The Bishop Estate

The attack came fast. Chloe was still folding clothes when the sound of shattering glass and heavy boots echoed from downstairs. Twenty men, feigning "drunken aggression," smashed through the front gates and stormed the villa.

Chloe ran to her balcony. Below, a mob armed with iron pipes was tearing through the foyer.

She had sent half of the estate’s security to the hospital to guard her father, leaving only a dozen men at home. They were being overwhelmed. The "drunk" attackers were systematic, ignoring the electric batons of the guards and swinging their pipes with lethal intent.

Chloe didn't panic. She called the police first, then ordered the maids to bolt the internal doors and hide.

Next, she dialed Xavier. It rang three times before he hung up on her.

Her jaw tightened. She tried Nanny White, then ran to her closet and pulled out a customized high-powered air rifle—a "toy" she used for competitive target practice.

When she returned to the balcony, the tide of the battle had shifted. A man in a baseball cap had appeared out of the shadows, joining the fray. He moved like a ghost, dropping three of the thugs in a matter of seconds with bone-breaking kicks.

His skill was staggering. But because he was so effective, he quickly became the primary target. Six men circled him, pipes raised.

Chloe remembered her days training with Liam—the way they used to coordinate during high-stakes maneuvers. She shouldered the air rifle. It wasn't lethal, but at this range, the specialized pellets were agonizing and could easily blind or incapacitate.

Vince, the agent Xavier had sent to monitor Chloe, was cursing under his breath. He hadn't expected a full-scale assault. He was a professional, but he couldn't take on twenty armed men alone. He was just trying to buy time for the reinforcements to arrive.

Suddenly, he found himself cornered. A massive thug swung an iron pipe toward Vince’s skull. Vince braced for the impact, knowing he couldn't dodge in time.

Thwack!

A small, yellow pellet struck the thug directly in the eye.

The man let out a guttural scream, dropping his pipe as he clutched his face. A perfect hit.

Vince didn't waste the opening. He took the man down with a sweeping kick and glanced up at the balcony. There stood Chloe Bishop, the "delicate socialite," looking down the sights of a rifle with the cold, steady gaze of an assassin.