Page 30 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Xavier

Coffee scalds my tongue, its bitterness a faint echo of the fight waiting tonight. The board meeting’s going to be a pressure cooker. At least half the suits at Blackwell Enterprises are salivating to seal the Lockhart deal. And they want it done now. We’ve already fucked around with it too long.

My office’s glass walls frame Houston’s skyline, morning light slicing across the mahogany desk where Seraphina sits, her navy blouse clinging to her curves, gaze locked on her laptop.

Her meticulous report is a landmine. Lockhart’s financials are a mirage, with inflated assets and cash flow hemorrhaging through vendor deferrals.

After going through it one more time on Sunday, she sent me a copy for review.

When I signed off on it, I asked her to send a copy to Walt before our meeting at the Braes.

As a courtesy, I asked her to send it to Reynolds as well.

The last thing I need is the analyst getting blindsided at the meeting.

She’s efficient and unshakable, my anchor. I need her on my side, advocating for truth, even if it’s against the board’s greed.

When I met with Walt yesterday, I learned how big of a battle I have in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch movement, and I look up to see Seraphina walking my way, carrying two mugs of coffee.

At least we’ve backed off the extra-large cups we’d plowed through on Saturday, trying to stay sharp and alert.

She’s a fucking angel. And I’d burn down the world to protect her.

“Thanks.” I accept the steaming offering as she slides into the chair across the desk from me.

“How’d it go with your uncle yesterday?” Her scent wraps around me—vanilla and salvation. It’s warm and maddening at the same time, drawing me back to the last time I’d taken her to bed, her soft fingers tracing my muscles, hand finding my cock ready for her.

My grip tightens, the ceramic hot against my palm. Grounding.

“Your meeting?” she prompts, studying me.

Worse than I expected, and the wound is still fresh.

Walt’s whiskey glass glinted under the lighting in the private room at the Braes.

“Are you sure you can trust her judgment?”

My pulse hammered. Blood roaring in my ears, I assured him I trusted her implicitly.

“How the hell can you? After reading that report? She’s leading you around by the dick, son. Just like your mom did to your dad.”

I bit back my first response. How I held onto some semblance of control, I have no idea. Then I leaned forward. “Family or not, Walt. Watch your step.”

“Xavier?”

Her soft voice brings me back to the present.

“It was rough,” I admit.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

I snarl to cover the unease coiling in my gut. “He’s got his claws in this deal. Said you sent him your report, but he thinks you’re steering us wrong.”

Her lips part, a flicker of hurt shadowing her eyes. “How is that possible? Everything is in black-and-white, and numbers don’t lie.”

“I knew he wouldn’t want to hear it. But there are others who are more reasonable.”

She nods. “You’re…persuasive. You’ll convince them to do the right thing.”

This is going to be my biggest stretch yet as CEO. My father left big shoes to fill, and some of the legacy members don’t think I ever will.

“I have confidence in you.”

Her smile, small but fierce, twists my heart. I’m still lost in it when the door swings open, no knock, no warning.

Walt strides into the reception area, Reynolds trailing like a vulture, clutching a manila folder.

Turning her head to follow my gaze, Seraphina is up in a flash, crossing the floor to block their entrance to my office, her spine rigid as steel.

“I’m sorry.” She brings her chin up. “You can’t just barge in. Mr. Blackwell is preparing for the board meeting.”

Walt passes his gaze over my desk, the cups of coffee, and the way our chairs are arranged. “That’s exactly what it looked like.”

The asshole is seeing what he wants.

Walt narrows his gaze at her. “Who do you think you are, Ms. Hollis? Trying to keep his family away from him? Is that part of your plan?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Reynolds adjusts his glasses. “We’re here on an urgent matter.”

My gut twists, a warning flare.

“Step aside, Ms. Hollis.” Walt’s tone is flat, but no less threatening for not having an inflection.

Jesus. “It’s okay, Seraphina.”

For a moment, trying to protect me, she hesitates, fingers lingering on the doorframe, jaw tight. Then she does take a single step back, her heels clicking sharp against the floor.

“Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Blackwell.” Without offering a beverage to either man, she nods and heads toward the door.

Walt’s voice is ice. “You should probably stay, Ms. Hollis. This regards you.”

Stopping, she frowns, looking at Walt then at me.

What the fuck is going on here?

Reynolds crosses to my desk and slides the folder across the mahogany until it’s in front of me. “We don’t know what she’s been telling you. But we’ve reviewed the analysis at length, and the Lockhart numbers are solid. The deal’s viable.”

The air thickens, the office’s sterile hum deafening.

“Xavier…?” She’s still, her hands fastened together in front of her.

I flip open the folder, scanning the figures—polished, optimistic, nothing like the damning report she showed me. My pulse spikes, a slow thud in my ears. I flip to the last page, with her signature affixed.

This isn’t the report I reviewed yesterday.

Scowling, I look at her for an explanation, but Walt’s words from the Braes claw at me. “ You sure you can trust her?”

“Can I see that?” she asks.

I flip the damning thing closed and send the file sliding across the desktop toward her. She manages to catch it just as it goes flying off the edge.

“There’s more.” Walt’s tone is ice, and he drops a second folder on my desk, as if it’s a hand grenade. “Evidence of her real intentions.”

Inside are printouts of emails.

The top one is dated over a week earlier.

From: Alyssa Monroe

To: Seraphina Hollis

Ms. Hollis,

I hope this message finds you well.

I’m reaching out on behalf of Marchand & Co.

, who have asked us to identify high-level talent with a background in financial analytics and crisis management.

Your name was recommended by one of our research analysts, and after reviewing your profile and recent work, I believe you’d be an excellent fit for an upcoming strategic role.

While I can’t disclose full details at this stage, the position involves oversight of sensitive financial transitions—perfect for someone with your Blackwell Enterprises experience.

If you’re open to a preliminary, confidential conversation, I’d love to set up a brief call to go over the opportunity.

Let me know what works for your schedule.

Warm regards,

Alyssa Monroe

Senior Talent Advisor, ExecuTalentSearch Group

A response, from my loyal assistant, follows.

Ms. Monroe,

Thank you for thinking of me for the opportunity with Marchand & Co. I’m flattered by the consideration.

I’m happy to talk about setting up a date and time to talk.

Warmly,

Seraphina Hollis

I wad the papers into a ball and hurl them at the wall.

Frowning, she hurries to retrieve them and open them. I’m not watching her reaction, though. I’m focused on the next fucking damning item.

More emails. From her work address this time, to goddamn Lane Marchand.

Subject: Follow-up

Lane,

Thanks for the coffee yesterday. I’m interested in pursuing conversations.

Vision red, I flip to the next page. Another email.

Subject: Board Meeting

Hi, Lane,

Per our conversation, I advised Blackwell against the merger. As per your suggestion, double-counted income raised red flags.

Sincerely, S

I look over at her. Her body is trembling, and her face is white. “No,” she whispers. “No.”

I stare at the pages.

Each word is a blade, carving through memories—her laughter in my penthouse, her body warm against mine, her voice swearing she’s mine.

The report she sent Walt and Reynolds, now staring back at me, claims Lockhart’s golden, while hers to me says it’s poison. Lies?

I ball my hand into a fist.

“Xavier… Please… You have to listen to me.”

“He’s listened to you more than he should.” Walt shoots her a cold glare.

Three years ago, she betrayed me. I fired her, let the world tear her apart.

And I took her back.

Now she’s sent one report to them, another to me, and colluded with Marchand? My empire, my heart, both are teetering on the edge of her betrayal.

“Seraphina.” The word is a knife edge, bleeding through the silence. “Want to explain yourself?”

Her face drains of color, cheeks pale as ash, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Her lips tremble, parting as if to speak, but no sound comes at first. “Xavier, I—” Her voice cracks, and the sound twists the knife in my gut.

“A recruiter for our biggest fucking competitor in this deal reached out and you didn’t think to mention it?”

She goes even paler. “It’s not… No.”

“You didn’t receive the email that you’re holding?”

“Yes. I mean…” She trails off miserably. “Yes. But the answer? I didn’t send that.”

Walt and Reynolds look at each other and nod.

More than anything, I want to believe her, want to grab her, bury my face in her hair, drown in her vanilla scent. But the emails are undeniable, and the report bears her signature.

“I didn’t do any of this.” Her voice is barely a whisper, breaking on each syllable.

She steps toward me, then stops, her body trembling as if she’s fighting to hold herself upright.

“The report I sent was the same one I gave you. Someone changed it. Xavier, you know me.” Her eyes lock on mine, cornflower blue swimming with tears, pleading, but the evidence screams louder, Walt’s warning a drumbeat in my skull. “You have to believe me.”

Walt folds his arms, his scoff cutting the air. “Evidence speaks for itself.”

Reynolds adjusts his tie. “She’s been playing you, sir. Getting revenge on you for what you did to her back in the day.”

“No!” Her breath hitches, a choked sob she swallows hard. Her face is a portrait of devastation—pale, shattered, lips quivering as she fights for words.

“I sent the truth.” Each word is a plea. “The Lockhart deal is a disaster for Blackwell. For you. Please, Xavier. You have to believe me. I would never betray you.” For a moment, her hand hovers in the air, as if she wants to reach for me.

Then she drops it, her shoulders slumping like I’ve struck her. A tear escapes, catching the light, and my chest fractures, guilt warring with rage.

I want to roar, to shake her. Marchand is circling, the board meeting looms like a bomb, and she’s the fuse.

A sob breaks free from her throat, raw and jagged, slicing through me. “I can’t—” Her voice chokes off, and one of her heels catches as she turns, bolting for the door, her silhouette blurring through the glass.

My office door clicks shut, like a bullet ricochet. In her wake is the sweet scent of innocence.

Through the glass, I watch her grab her purse from the bottom drawer, and she hurries out of the reception area.

Suddenly the office is a tomb, silence suffocating.

Walt clears his throat, his voice grating. “I’m glad you came to your senses. Saved you from looking like a fool in front of the board. We’ll get the deal done tonight.”

Reynolds moves to collect his folder, but I slap my hand down on top of it and shake my head.

They leave, their footsteps fading, but the printouts remain, the words a silent accusation.

My coffee’s cold, the mug heavy in my hand, the skyline mocking me through the glass. I trusted her, let her into my bed, my heart, my empire. Memories flood—her fierce gaze unraveling Lockhart’s lies, her soft sighs in the dark, her promise to fight for me.

But the report she sent them, the emails, the texts—they scream betrayal. Her pale face, her trembling lips, her broken voice flash in my mind, a plea I can’t unhear.

I turn my back.

I trusted her, let her in where no one else could reach.

The city skyline mocks me through the glass, indifferent as I stand alone, my heart a ruin, betrayal a cold, lethal weapon.

How the fuck did I let her destroy me?