Snatched a Billionaire to Be My Husband — Episode 18
Easton’s accusation hung in the service hall while music pulsed beyond the walls. Cora looked from him to Byron, waiting for an immediate denial. Byron gave none. The jealousy that had warmed her moments earlier hardened into suspicion.
“Is it true?” she asked. Byron kept his attention on Easton. “You shouldn’t be here.” Easton laughed bitterly. “That’s what you said when I told you I was going to propose. You called me immature and told me Cora deserved a man who could stand on his own.”
“You were living on her generosity and lying about your debts,” Byron replied. “My objection was to your behavior.” Easton stepped closer. “You never objected to anyone I dated before her. You wanted Cora, and you hated that she chose me.”
Cora’s humiliation rose with every word. Byron had questioned whether her approach at the bar was revenge, yet he had concealed feelings that began while she belonged to his nephew. “How long?” she demanded. Neither man answered quickly enough.
“Since the Thanksgiving dinner two years ago,” Byron said at last. The memory returned with painful clarity: his quiet attention across the Hansen table, the way he listened while Easton interrupted her, and the conversation beside the fireplace that had felt unexpectedly easy. Cora had mistaken restraint for indifference.
Easton looked triumphant. “Tell her the rest.” Byron’s patience ended. “Leave, or security will remove you.” Easton turned to Cora instead. “He met privately with your father before our engagement. A month later, Mr. Lane told me to wait. Byron has been interfering from the beginning.”
“I advised your father to protect Cora’s assets before she married into our family,” Byron said. “That was financial counsel, not sabotage.” Easton sneered. “Keep telling yourself that.” Then he walked away, having left exactly the damage he intended.
Cora waited until the stairwell door closed. “You should have told me.” Byron did not insult her with an excuse. “Yes.” His simple admission made anger harder to sustain, but it did not restore the trust they had barely begun to build.
“Was our first night revenge for you too?” she asked. Pain flickered across his face. “No. It was the moment I stopped pretending I could watch you suffer from a distance.” His answer carried too much truth to dismiss and too much history to accept without fear.
Cora removed the emerald ring and placed it in his palm. “I need time to decide whether this engagement belongs to me or to a plan you started two years ago.” Byron closed his fingers around the ring. “Take whatever time you need. Your job remains yours, and so does every protection around Evelyn.”
He left Nocturne without trying to change her mind. For the next two weeks, he honored her request with maddening precision. He attended board hearings, sent security reports through his staff, and stayed away from the bar. His absence became a presence Cora felt in every room.
Work gave her somewhere to place the confusion. Carter promoted her to coordinate Nocturne’s upcoming charity gala, an event expected to draw the Hansen board, city officials, and enough press to reshape the narrative surrounding the Lane investigation. Cora built the evening around stroke-recovery funding, refusing to let Evelyn’s illness remain merely a source of shame.
The independent audit produced its first conclusions during those weeks. Malcolm had manipulated dormant accounts and redirected funds through shell companies, but investigators also found that someone purchased a large portion of Lane Capital’s debt shortly before the collapse. The buyer was a private trust controlled by Byron.
Cora carried the report to his penthouse after midnight. He opened the door in shirtsleeves, looking more tired than she had ever seen him. His gaze dropped immediately to her bare hand, but he made no comment. “Did you buy my father’s debt?” she asked.
“Yes.” Byron led her to his study and opened a locked file. The documents showed that he had acquired the debt to prevent Malcolm from forcing Lane Capital into liquidation. “Your father asked for time to find the missing funds. I gave it to him without telling Malcolm.”
“Why hide it from me?” Cora demanded. “Because the trust violated Hansen conflict rules, and because admitting why I helped would have exposed feelings you did not return.” Byron placed every document before her. “I wanted you safe. I did not expect you to become mine.”
She read until anger gave way to a painful understanding. Byron had not engineered her family’s fall; he had risked his position trying to slow it. His secrecy had denied her the truth, but his actions had preserved assets the audit might now return to Evelyn.
“You don’t get to decide what truth I can handle,” she said. Byron nodded. “I know.” Cora took the emerald ring from his desk. “And you don’t get to call me yours because an agreement says so.”
“I know that too.” She slid the ring back onto her finger. Hope broke through his exhaustion, raw enough to make him look younger. Cora crossed the distance and kissed him, choosing the moment without revenge, alcohol, or a camera to justify it.
When they separated, Byron rested his forehead against hers. Cora almost told him that the contract no longer felt like a cage. Then his phone lit with a message from the forensic accountant: the black ledger contained proof that Malcolm had ordered the Lane transfers—but the final page named an accomplice still inside Nocturne.
