Page 88 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

“And who is that man?” I challenge, lifting my chin, refusing to back down even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. “Is he the one who helps me fight off sabotage? Or the one who could still crush my company if it suits his bottom line?”

Instead of answering directly, he turns and walks over to a sleek console table nearthe entryway. He picks up a slim leather portfolio I hadn’t noticed before. He walks back and holds it out to me.

“What’s this?” I ask warily.

“Read it,” he says simply.

Hesitantly, I take the portfolio. It feels heavy, important. I open it. Inside are documents. Legal documents. A revised proposal for Project Nightingale. I scan the first few pages, my eyes widening as I take in the changes.

The equity split… it’s shifted. More favorable to Hammond & Co. Significantly more favorable. The clauses about operational control… they give my father’s CEO role more defined, albeit still limited, authority, but crucially, they strengthenmyposition as operational lead, granting me greater autonomy in day-to-day decisions and restructuring. There’s more emphasis on preserving the Hammond brand identity, more commitment to employee retention during the transition.

This isn’t just a minor tweak. This is a major concession. A relinquishing of significant control he didn’t have to give up. Especially not after Hammond Tower. This proposal… it’s built on trust. Trust in me. Trust in the partnership.

It prioritizes the long-term health of Hammond & Co., not just the quickest path to profit for Blackwell Innovations.

It’s… everything I originally argued for. Everything I didn’t dare hope he’d actually agree to. The previous agreement we had, that was a compromise on my part. And I accepted it, grudgingly, because I had no other choice.

But this new agreement, it’s a compromise onhisside.

He’s basically giving me everything I originally wanted.

I look up at him, stunned. “Christopher… why?”

He meets my gaze, his expression unreadable but intense. “Because I told you. My commitment isn’t contingent. I believe in the potential of this partnership. I believe in Hammond’s legacy, modernized. And,” he pauses, his eyes searching mine, “I believe in you, Lucy.”

Oh.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush.

He believes in me.

Not just my business plan. Not just my potential utility.

Me.

The woman hiding behind the Hammond name, struggling with inadequacy, fighting to save her family’s legacy.

He sees me.

And he’s backing that belief with millions of dollars and a significant chunk of his infamous control.

This isn’t strategy. This isn’t a calculated move. This is… feeling.

His feeling.

For me.

And in that moment, looking into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability flickering beneath the surface of his usual iron control, the admission I made to Ava, the certainty that settled in my heart before the gala, solidifies into undeniable truth.

Oh my god.

I love him.

Really, truly, love him.

The thought doesn’t feel stupidor reckless anymore. It feels… inevitable. Terrifyingly, wonderfully inevitable. I don’t say it out loud. I can’t. The words are too big, too fragile, too new. But I know he sees it. He sees the shift in my eyes, the sudden stillness, the dawning realization that crashes over me like a wave.

A slow, possessive smile touches his lips. It’s not the cold smirk of the Executioner. It’s something else.