Betrayed By The Billionaire

217

He was only four years old. What kind of hell had he walked through to carry such darkness in his tiny hands?

"Aaaagh!"

A raw, guttural roar ripped from Liam Jr.’s throat. It was a dry, rasping sound, like the gears of a rusted machine forcing themselves to turn for the first time in years. It wasn't the cry of a child; it was the sound of a soul shattering.

Chloe Bishop surged forward, throwing her arms around his small, vibrating frame. "Liam! Look at me! It’s okay, it’s over. It’s all in the past now. No one is ever going to hurt you again... I promise you."

But the boy was gone, lost in a dissociative flashback. He thrashed in her arms with a strength born of pure terror, grabbing the canvas and the easel and hurling them to the floor with a violent crash. He began to stomp on the painting, his face turning a terrifying, congested red. The veins in his neck stood out as he transformed into a cornered, wild animal, his small fingernails digging deep into Chloe’s forearms.

A sharp, stinging pain radiated through her skin, but Chloe didn't let go. She couldn't. "Liam, look at me! Remember what you promised? It’s Chloe. I’m right here!"

It was useless. In a blind frenzy, Liam Jr. grabbed Chloe’s hand and sank his teeth into her wrist with every ounce of his strength.

Chloe gasped, her eyes watering from the sudden, white-hot agony, but she tightened her hold rather than pulling away. She let him bite her, let the blood begin to trickle down her arm and onto the carpet, while she smoothed his hair with her other hand.

"It’s okay... it’s okay, Liam. Don't be afraid. Your father and I will always protect you. We will never let them touch you again..."

She continued to stroke his rigid back, her voice a low, rhythmic hum of safety. Slowly, the tension began to leak out of his body. His jaw slackened, and he released her wrist. When he saw the jagged, bloody crescent marks his teeth had left on her pale skin, his little face crumpled. The rage vanished, replaced by a devastating, silent grief as fat tears began to splash onto her arm.

Chloe felt a physical ache in her chest. "It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not hurt. It doesn’t hurt at all."

Hearing her lie for his sake only made him sob harder. He took her hand, hovering his lips over the wound as if trying to kiss the pain away, his breath warm against her torn skin. How could anyone—let alone his own flesh and blood—look at this precious, sensitive child and choose to break him?

The Cover-Up

The heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Xavier Grayson had heard the commotion.

The moment the sound reached the room, Liam Jr. reacted like a startled deer. He scrambled out of Chloe's lap, frantically grabbing the shredded remains of the "monster" painting from the floor. He bolted into the ensuite bathroom, Chloe trailing behind him in confusion.

With a frantic efficiency, the boy threw the scraps into the toilet and slammed the flush lever. He watched with a look of profound relief as the evidence of his trauma swirled away into nothingness.

Why? Chloe wondered, her heart sinking. Why is he so desperate to hide this from his father?

By the time they stepped back into the nursery, Xavier was standing in the center of the room. He surveyed the wreckage—spilled paints, broken brushes, and a smear of brilliant, visceral red on the floor. His presence turned the air to ice.

Liam Jr. immediately let go of Chloe’s hand and ran to Xavier, clinging to his leg and burying his face in the fabric of his trousers like a frightened puppy seeking its master.

Xavier placed a large, steady hand on the boy’s head, but his eyes were fixed on Chloe. They were sharp, cold, and accusing.

Chloe knit her brows, stepping forward to explain. "Liam was just drawing, and he—"

"Did I not mention to you," Xavier interrupted, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that cut through her words, "that Liam has a phobia of blood? Why would you give him red paint?"

Xavier’s fury was palpable, vibrating in the still air of the room. He looked at the red stains on the floor and then back at her, his judgment absolute.

Chloe felt the sting of the injustice. She bit her lip, reflexively hiding her bleeding wrist behind her back. She realized then that if Xavier saw the bite mark, he might view Liam as "unstable" or "broken," and she couldn't bear to let him see the boy that way.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, bowing her head. "It was my oversight. I wasn't thinking."

Xavier didn't offer a word of comfort or an inquiry into her well-being. He simply scooped the boy up into his arms and turned his back on her, walking out of the nursery without looking back.

The gap between Chloe and Xavier has never been wider. While she sacrificed her own flesh to soothe his son, Xavier only saw her "carelessness." But as Chloe stands alone in the wreckage of the nursery, she realizes the red on the floor isn't just paint—it's the blood from her own wound. Liam didn't have a phobia of the paint; he was triggered by the memory of the blood his parents had drawn from him.

Will Chloe continue to keep Liam's secrets to protect him, or will she realize that Xavier's "protection" is exactly what the boy is terrified of?