Betrayed By The Billionaire

35

Chloe had no idea why the little guy was so drawn to her—it was more than just liking; it was a desperate dependency.

Could I look like his biological mother? she wondered.

After placing him on the bed, his small hand still gripped her sleeve with an iron will. She had no choice but to lie down beside him, gently patting his back. "Sleep, Liam Jr. I’ll stay right here with you."

Liam Jr. stared at the gentle face before him, his eyelids fluttering. After a few moments, his heavy lids finally closed. He shifted his small body, burrowing deeper into Chloe’s embrace. She continued her soothing strokes until the sound of even, rhythmic breathing filled the room.

Once she was certain he was deep in sleep, she carefully lifted the hem of his shirt...

Chloe didn't have words for the horror she felt. That tiny body was a roadmap of agony. Scars—some jagged, some circular—crisscrossed his chest and abdomen. Even the areas hidden by his shorts were marred by old wounds. There were long welts that looked like they came from a whip, round indentations consistent with cigarette burns, and even thin, white lines from a blade.

Was this child systematically tortured?

Even though she wasn't his mother, her eyes burned with hot, indignant tears. If a stranger felt this much pain, how could his own parents bear it? She immediately thought of Xavier. Could he be the monster behind this?

But she remembered Nanny White’s words: the boy had only been brought back from the States six months ago. These scars were older; the skin had already begun to fade and smooth over with time. There were no fresh wounds. Furthermore, the boy allowed Xavier to hold him and bathe him. If Xavier were the abuser, the boy would never let him get that close.

If not Xavier, then who? Was it his mother? Was that why Xavier looked at every woman as if they were a plague?

Chloe couldn't find the answers. She could only pull the small boy closer, her heart aching with a fierce, newfound protectiveness. Exhausted by the emotional whiplash of the last forty-eight hours, she finally drifted into a deep, dreamless void.

A short while later, Xavier stepped into the nursery. He found them both sound asleep on the oversized bed. The woman and the child were curled into each other, Chloe’s dark, silken hair fanned out across the white pillow, framing her delicate features. He watched them for a long, silent moment before retreating as quietly as he had entered.

Back in his master suite, Nanny White followed him in with a thick dossier. "Master Xavier, here is the updated background check you requested on the Madam."

Xavier took the file, his eyes scanning the pages with clinical efficiency. He flipped through her education and social history until he hit a specific section: Interests & Certifications.

Chloe Bishop wasn't just a socialite; she was a co-owner of a private shooting range and a high-ranking member of the National Archery and Firearms Association. She had entered multiple competitive shooting tournaments over the years, consistently placing in the top three.

"The Madam has quite a talent for it," Nanny White noted. "She’s been the regional champion for two years running. Some of the instructors said she has the nerves of a professional marksman."

Xavier let out a cold, unimpressed snort. "It’s a hobby for a bored heiress. It’s easy to hit a paper target. Put a real, breathing life in front of her, and her hands would shake at the first drop of blood."

Still, he didn't close the file immediately. She was certainly proving to be more than just another "flower vase" from a prestigious family.