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Page 39 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SEAN

I woke slowly; my first conscious thought a simple, profound sense of rightness.

Beth was asleep beside me, her fiery hair a chaotic halo on the pillow, her body a warm, trusting weight against my side.

I shifted slightly, wrapping my arm more securely around her waist, pulling her closer until her back was flush against my chest. Her scent, that intoxicating mix of her perfume and the unique, warm smell of her skin, filled my senses.

This. This was what I’d flown back for. This quiet moment of intimacy, this feeling of profound peace that settled deep in my bones.

It wasn’t just the sex, though Christ, that had been incredible.

A raw, desperate collision that felt less like a hookup and more like a homecoming.

It was this. The aftermath. The stillness.

The simple, uncomplicated fact of her being here, safe in my arms. I pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, a wave of protectiveness so fierce it almost stole my breath.

I felt like I could slay dragons for this woman .

My phone, charging on the nightstand, buzzed with an incoming text, a jarring intrusion into our quiet bubble.

I sighed, carefully untangling myself from Beth so as not to wake her.

It was probably Danny with some logistical question about the rescheduled gigs.

I grabbed the phone, my thumb swiping to open the message.

It was from Danny, but it wasn’t a question. It was just a link to a gossip website, with a single line of text from him: You need to see this. Now!

A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. I clicked the link. The page loaded, and the headline, written in bold, screaming letters, stated:

NOT EVEN NYC IS SAFE FROM THE HUMAN WRECKING BALL, ELISABETH MACLEOD

My blood ran cold. Below the vicious headline was a photo.

It was from the gala balcony last night, shot from a distance, slightly grainy.

Beth, looking stunning in her emerald gown, was locked in an intimate embrace with a man, and it wasn’t me.

His arms were around her, one hand on her ass, the other possessive on her lower back, and his face buried in her neck.

Her expression was hidden. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was close.

Definitely intimate. The man was Garrett.

My vision tunneled. The air in the room suddenly felt thin, hard to breathe.

I scrolled down, my hands shaking, my mind refusing to process what I was seeing.

The article was a masterpiece of character assassination, penned by some anonymous source.

It didn’t just report; it judged. It painted Beth as a manipulative social climber, using her “torrid affair” with me to gain notoriety while simultaneously seducing a prominent employee at the very foundation where she was supposed to be atoning for her past sins. It was a targeted, vicious attack .

My mind reeled, trying to make sense of it. The timeline was a blur. The gala. Beth on the balcony. She’d said she was shaken, that she’d thought she’d seen someone. She asked if it was me. I remember now. She worried I’d seen her making out with Garrett.

A white-hot rage, primal and blinding, roared through me.

It wasn’t just anger; it was a deep, soul-crushing sense of betrayal.

I had risked my career for this woman. I had flown across the country early, torn my schedule to shreds, all based on a gut feeling that she was in trouble, that she needed me.

I had confessed my past trauma to Danny, laid my soul bare to justify my “insane” quest. And all the while, she was on a balcony, wrapped in the arms of that slick, corporate prick?

The Olivia story, my father’s advice, my own damn principles—it all felt like a bitter joke now. I had been a fool. A lovesick, naive idiot who had mistaken a world-class manipulator for a damsel in distress.

The quiet, steady rhythm of Beth’s breathing from the bed was suddenly an intolerable sound. The peace of the morning had shattered, leaving behind razor-sharp shards of jealousy and fury. I stood up, the phone clenched in my fist, my knuckles white.

“Beth.”

My voice was a low growl, unrecognizable even to my own ears.

She stirred, murmuring something in her sleep.

“Beth, wake up.”

She rolled over, her eyes fluttering open, a soft, sleepy smile on her lips as she saw me. “Sean? What’s wrong?” Her smile faded as she took in my expression, her brow furrowing with concern .

I didn’t say a word. I just turned the phone around and showed her the screen.

I watched as her eyes scanned the headline, then the photo. I saw the color drain from her face, her expression morphing from sleepy confusion to pure, unadulterated horror.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, sitting up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Sean, this isn’t… it’s not what it looks like. I swear.”

“Isn’t it?” The words were clipped, sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like what it is. It looks like you, on that balcony, with him. The guy you swore was just a professional colleague.”

“He is! He—he was comforting me!” she protested, her voice rising with panic. “Kyra had just ripped me to shreds, and he was being… supportive.”

“Supportive?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Is that what you call it when a man has his hands all over you? I saw him that first day at the cafe, Beth. I saw the way he looked at you. Don’t play me for a fucking fool.”

“I’m not playing you! You weren’t there, you don’t know?—”

“No, I wasn’t there, was I?” I shot back, the rage making my voice tremble.

“I was in Philadelphia, a trip I cut short so I could get back here to you. While I was doing that, you were getting ‘comforted’ on a balcony by the one man I told you I didn’t trust. Was this before or after you told him I was out of town?

Because I’m pretty sure you told him that part. ”

Tears welled in her eyes, but I was too consumed by my own sense of betrayal to care. “That’s not fair! You’re twisting this!”

“Am I?” I paced the room like a caged animal. “Or did I just finally wake up? I put my entire career on the line. And for what? So you could play games with some other guy the second my back was turned?”

“It wasn’t a game!” she cried, her voice cracking. “He cornered me! He was being a creep!”

“So you let him hug you?” I rounded on her, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re telling me that your response to a man being a ‘creep’ is to fall into his arms?”

That was it. The final blow. I saw the fight drain out of her, replaced by a look of such profound hurt that it should have stopped me in my tracks.

Her beautiful face, which had been so full of soft, sleepy love just moments ago, was now a mask of heartbreak and disbelief.

She didn’t say another word. She just swung her legs out of bed, her movements stiff and jerky, and began gathering her clothes from the floor, her back turned to me.

“Beth, wait,” I started, a flicker of regret cutting through the anger.

She turned, her emerald gown clutched in her hand like a shield. Her face was pale, her eyes devoid of tears now, just filled with a cold, shattered emptiness.

“No,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “You’re right.

There’s nothing to talk about.” She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw not a damsel in distress, but a woman who had been through this exact kind of battle before.

“I came to New York to get away from people who thought they could control me, who didn’t trust me, who threw my past in my face every chance they got.

” A single, perfect tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek.

“I guess I just flew from one gilded cage to another.”

She didn’t slam the door. She closed it quietly behind her, the soft click echoing in the suddenly cavernous hotel suite.

I stood there, my heart hammering, the silence pressing in on me, the scent of her still lingering in the air.

The rage was gone, replaced by a cold, sickening dread. What the hell had I just done?

An hour later, I was sitting across from Danny in a sterile, too-bright diner near the hotel, a cup of untouched coffee growing cold in front of me. I’d called him right after Beth left, my voice a rough approximation of my own, and told him I needed to see him.

He’d taken one look at my face when he arrived and simply said, “Spill it.”

I recounted the morning’s events in a flat, emotionless monotone. The link to the article. The photo. The fight. Beth walking out. Danny just listened, his usual sarcastic energy completely absent, his expression unreadable.

“So,” he said finally, after I’d finished. “You accused her of cheating, based on one grainy photo and an article written by God-knows-who, and then you were surprised when she walked out?”

“She was in his arms, Danny,” I growled, the anger still simmering just below the surface. “Garrett. You said it yourself, that guy’s a snake.”

“But you didn’t give her a chance to explain?” he pressed, his gaze sharp. “You, the professional great communicator? The man who teaches Fortune 500 CEOs about active listening and empathy? Your first move was to go straight to accusation?”

His words hit hard, because they were true. “So, I was angry,” I muttered, staring into my coffee cup. “Big deal.”

“You were jealous,” he corrected. “And you acted like a possessive prick. You know, for a guy who gives speeches about trust, you didn’t show a hell of a lot of it to her this morning.” He shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “I thought you said she was different, Sean.”

“She is different,” I insisted.

“Then why did you treat her like every other woman you’ve ever been paranoid about?” he shot back. “Why did you immediately assume the worst?”

I had no answer for that. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.