Snatched a Billionaire to Be My Husband — Episode 13
Byron reached the hospital in eight minutes. Two security specialists arrived with him and immediately began coordinating with hospital administration, examining camera footage and restricting access to Evelyn’s floor. He did not waste time offering comfort Cora could not use. Watching him take command should have reminded her why her father feared the Hansen name, yet tonight his power felt like the first solid wall between Evelyn and danger.
“The man entered with a stolen contractor badge,” Byron said after viewing the footage. “The cameras lost him in the service garage.” Cora noticed the controlled anger beneath his report. “Can your people keep my mother safe?”
“Yes, but a hospital is public and difficult to secure indefinitely.” He suggested transferring Evelyn to a private rehabilitation center owned by a company outside the Hansen portfolio. Cora searched for the hidden price. “Who pays?”
“The existing treatment fund covers it.” Byron anticipated her objection. “The fund can be placed in escrow, beyond Malcolm’s control. You can repay it after we determine whether it belongs to the Lanes.” He had structured the solution around every boundary she had named.
Cora agreed to the transfer, and the next hour passed in signatures, medical consultations, and guarded corridors. Evelyn remained too exhausted to understand the full danger. Cora told her only that the new center offered better security and rehabilitation.
When the ambulance departed under escort, Cora finally allowed herself to breathe. Byron stood beside her in the parking structure, close enough to catch her if exhaustion won but careful not to touch. The restraint felt more intimate than an embrace. She wanted to lean into him, which was precisely why she locked her knees and remained standing on her own.
“Thank you,” she said. “That does not mean I trust you.” Byron inclined his head. “Gratitude and trust are separate accounts. I won’t confuse them.” A reluctant smile touched her mouth before she could stop it.
His phone rang. Byron listened briefly, then told his investigator to send the file. “They identified the maintenance uniform,” he explained after ending the call. “It was purchased this morning with a corporate card issued to Easton.”
Cora recoiled. “Easton wouldn’t try to kill my mother.” She believed him selfish and cruel, but murder existed across a boundary she could not imagine him crossing. Byron did not accuse his nephew. “Cards can be stolen, copied, or deliberately planted.”
“You think Malcolm framed him.” Byron’s silence confirmed only that he considered it possible. Cora remembered Easton’s warning messages and his frantic concern about what she had told Byron. Even innocence could look guilty when surrounded by enough convenient facts. Malcolm had spent decades building companies; arranging a trail toward his careless son would hardly test his abilities.
Easton arrived before they left the garage, moving past a security guard who tried to stop him. “What did you drag me into?” he demanded. “My company card has been frozen, and Dad is acting like I betrayed the family.”
Cora held up her phone. “Someone used your card to send a man toward my mother’s room with a syringe.” The anger vanished from Easton’s face. “I didn’t do that.” His fear looked genuine, but she had trusted his expressions before.
“Where was the card?” Byron asked. Easton said it had been in his wallet until that morning. Mia had borrowed the wallet to pay for breakfast because her purse was upstairs. He realized what he had admitted and immediately shook his head. “Mia wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Cora thought of Mia’s raised hand and her pleasure in Evelyn’s illness. Violence did not prove murder, but cruelty made the possibility harder to dismiss. “Call her,” Byron ordered. “Ask where she is without telling her why.” Easton resisted until Byron reminded him that delaying could place Evelyn in danger again.
Easton dialed on speaker. Mia answered after several rings, claiming she was at a salon in Beverly Hills. Byron silently sent the location to his team. Within minutes, they confirmed that the salon had no appointment under her name.
“Where are you really?” Easton asked. Mia’s tone sharpened. “Why are you interrogating me? Is Cora there?” The jealousy in her voice carried more urgency than fear. Then a man’s voice spoke faintly in the background.
Cora could not make out the words, but Byron did. “That’s Malcolm,” he said. Easton went rigid. Mia ended the call before he could question her, and her phone immediately stopped transmitting its location. The betrayal seemed to strip away the last of Easton’s arrogance, leaving behind a frightened son who had never considered that his father might use him too.
“My father and Mia?” Easton looked sick. “Why would they be together?” Byron answered with another question. “When did your relationship with her begin?” Easton hesitated long enough to expose the lie before he confessed.
“Dad introduced us three weeks ago,” he said. “The day after Mr. Lane died. He told me marrying Mia would stabilize our position with the board.” Cora felt the pattern tighten around them. Her broken engagement had not been merely Easton’s cowardice; Malcolm had prepared its replacement.
Byron’s investigator sent a photograph taken outside a downtown hotel. Mia was entering beside Malcolm, carrying a slim black book embossed with the Lane family crest. Cora recognized it from her father’s study—and understood that the original ledger had already been found.
