MY WAY TO THE BILLIONAIRE'S HEART.

Chapter20

"Because underneath everything, he's still the kid who cried when his hamster died. Who sent his entire allowance to disaster relief funds. Who..." Cameron paused, choosing words carefully. "Who's so terrified of becoming his father that he overcompensates with control. But he's not evil, Maeve. Just scared."

"Scared people can be dangerous."

"True." Cameron took a sip of his coffee. "But they can also be saved. If someone's willing to try."

Maeve studied his face, earnest, hopeful, everything Carter pretended not to be. "Why do you defend him? After everything his family did to yours? Your father died working for Langston Appliances."

Pain flickered across Cameron's features. "Because Carter isn't Reginald. And because someone has to believe he can be better. Otherwise, what's the point? We all just become our worst impulses." He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. "I know this situation is impossible. I know he's asking too much. But if there's any part of you that thinks he's worth saving, don't give up yet."

The touch was gentle, platonic, but Maeve still felt the weight of it. Cameron believed in Carter. Linda, despite her warnings, still loved him. Even Douglas and the board, resistant as they were, followed his leadership.

Which meant either they were all fools, or there was something in Carter worth believing in.

"I need to use the restroom," Maeve said, pulling her hand back. "Order me a muffin?"

"Blueberry or chocolate chip?"

"Surprise me."

She slipped away before he could respond, heading not to the bathroom but toward the hospital entrance across the street. Cedars-Sinai loomed massive and white, a fortress of healing or harm depending on who you asked.

Room 4012 was in the ICU. Maeve had to lie to the nurse…"I'm her sister"—before being allowed through security doors that felt more like prison gates.

Miranda was awake, barely. Tubes ran from her arms, monitors beeped steadily, and her face was pale as the sheets. But her eyes sharpened when Maeve entered, recognition and relief flooding through the morphine haze.

"You came," Miranda whispered. "I wasn't sure you would."

Maeve moved closer, keeping her voice low. "What happened last night? After Carter's security took you?"

"They drove me to my hotel. Walked me to my room. Said they'd be watching to make sure I didn't 'hurt myself.'" Miranda's laugh was bitter, painful. "Two hours later, I woke up here. They're saying I took pills, but Maeve, I didn't. I swear I didn't. Someone came into my room. I remember a cloth over my face, a smell like chemicals, then nothing."

"Did you see who?"

"No. But I know who sent them." Her hand shot out, grabbed Maeve's with surprising strength. "He's done this before. To Jade. To Sophia Reeves before her. To Annika Patel before that. He finds women who need him, who are desperate enough to agree to his terms. He promises salvation. Then he destroys them piece by piece until there's nothing left but a shell. And if they try to leave, if they threaten to expose him..." She gestured weakly at the hospital room.

Maeve's stomach churned. "Why you? Why target women at all if it's just about control?"

"Because his father did it to his mother." Miranda's eyes went distant. "Carter's mother, Elizabeth, was from nothing. A waitress Reginald met and decided to marry because she was beautiful and malleable. He spent twenty years breaking her down, making her doubt herself, isolating her from everyone who loved her. She killed herself when Carter was seventeen. Drove off a cliff on Pacific Coast Highway. Everyone said it was an accident, but Carter knew. He told me about it once, in a rare moment of honesty. Said he watched his father destroy the only person who'd ever loved him, and he swore he'd never let anyone have that kind of power over him again."

"So he became his father instead."

"No. Worse. He became his father but convinced himself he was the victim. That the women he hurts somehow deserve it, or benefit from it, or are too weak to survive without him." Miranda's grip tightened. "Maeve, you seem strong. Stronger than I was. But he'll find your weakness. He'll exploit it. And by the time you realize what's happening, you'll be so tangled in his web that leaving will feel impossible."

"I can handle Carter."

"That's what I thought." Miranda's eyes filled with tears. "That's what they all thought. But Sophia is dead, Maeve. Officially a suicide, just like Elizabeth. And Annika disappeared entirely, her family hasn't heard from her in two years. We're not cautionary tales. We're casualties."

The machines beeped steadily, marking time, marking heartbeats that might not have many left.

"Why does he choose women who look alike?" Maeve asked. "Why the pattern?"

"Because we look like his mother. Same coloring, same build, same desperate eyes. He's trying to save her over and over, but he's using his father's methods. It's sick and sad and completely f*****g evil." Miranda released Maeve's hand, exhaustion overtaking her. "Promise me you'll leave. Break the contract, face the consequences, but get out while you still can."

"I can't. My family…"

"Will survive without Carter's money. But you won't survive becoming Mrs. Langston. No one does."

A nurse entered, saw Maeve, frowned. "Visiting hours are family only."

"I'm her sister," Maeve said automatically.

"Ms. Welch doesn't have a sister according to her medical records." The nurse's tone hardened. "I need you to leave. Now."

Maeve stood, but Miranda called out weakly: "Check the basement. At Carter's Malibu house. There's a room he thinks no one knows about. Everything you need to know is there."

"Ms. Welch, please don't strain yourself…"

"The code is 1-1-0-7. Elizabeth's death date. November seventh." Miranda's voice cracked. "Find the truth, Maeve. Before it's too late."

Security arrived then, polite but firm, escorting Maeve from the ICU. She didn't resist. Her mind was already racing ahead, cataloging information, forming plans.

Carter had a secret room in Malibu. With evidence, presumably. Proof of whatever he'd done to these women.

Or proof of nothing, just the delusions of sick women cobbled together into a conspiracy that made sense only to them.

Either way, Maeve needed to know.

She checked her phone. 8:47 AM. Thirteen minutess to get to Carter's office.

She ran.