I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father
Chapter 251: Clandestine Meeting

Chapter 251: Clandestine Meeting

The alley reeked of mildew and rot, damp from the recent rain. Brandon pulled his hoodie tighter over his head, the brim of his cap shadowing his face as he walked briskly between the tall, graffiti-covered walls. A flickering streetlight buzzed overhead, casting a dull yellow light that pooled on the slick asphalt like molten gold.

At the far end, beneath a rusted fire escape, a man leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, cigarette glowing between his fingers as if waiting for something. Brandon recognized him instantly—the paparazzo. The man straightened as Brandon approached, a smirk curling beneath his unshaven face.

But Brandon didn’t slow down. He closed the distance with quick strides, then surged forward, slamming the man back against the wall with a solid thud and held him in place.

"You son of a—!" Brandon snarled, fist clenching in the front of the man’s jacket. "You hurt her! You and your damn cameras and your chaos—she got hurt and it was all because of you!"

The paparazzo grunted from the impact but didn’t look scared. He shoved Brandon off him with a grunt of effort, stepping aside and brushing off his coat like the encounter had only mildly inconvenienced him.

"Are you insane?" he spat, voice low and venomous. "You are very lucky I don’t smash that pretty face of yours. Let’s not forget who asked for this little stunt."

Brandon’s jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. The adrenaline still surged through him, but beneath it was something more jagged—guilt. Raw and hot and clawing at his insides.

"I didn’t ask you to hurt her," he muttered. "I didn’t think you’d go that far, you were only supposed to scare her a little."

The man snorted, flicking the cigarette into a nearby puddle with an irritated snap. "What the hell did you think was gonna happen when a swarm of photographers corners a girl like she is prey? You wanted it to look real, didn’t you? Wanted her overwhelmed, emotional, surrounded, well that was what you got."

Brandon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He hated the way the truth sat in the air like smoke, choking him.

"So she was harassed," the paparazzo went on, voice sharper now. "You wanted it to be real, you opened the door on her side and it was convincing. I didn’t hurt her. Nobody did. The crowd, the noise—that’s what did it. And that’s on you, golden boy."

Brandon turned away, dragging both hands through his hair, gripping the roots tight as he paced a few steps. The worst part wasn’t that the man was lying—it was that he was not.

He had only wanted Lyse to be shaken enough to accept his protection again, to realize she still needed him. He had not meant for her to actually get hurt. But intentions did not count for much in the real world, especially not when such an aggressive had been involved.

"I will not be paying you," Brandon said at last, turning back to him with a tight voice. "You crossed a line and that was not a part of our agreement."

The man’s smile vanished instantly.

"That was not a request, Brandon," he said. "You owe me. You agreed to pay after the hit. And we delivered, there are pictures of the frightened Mrs Van Doren in your arms."

Brandon shook his head. "It went too far. It wasn’t supposed to—"

"Don’t even finish that sentence unless you want a copy of our texts on every gossip blog by morning," the man snapped, stepping forward now, eyes narrowing. "Lyse doesn’t know about your little scheme, does she?"

Brandon froze.

The paparazzo’s voice dropped into something oily and dangerous. "Imagine how well that will go over. You think she’s angry now? Wait till she finds out you set her up. That her pain was just part of your master plan to win her back. She will never look at you again. Think of that."

The paparazzo smiled, a smug smile that sent a chill down Brandon’s spine. "Or i could tell her husband, I bet Levi Van Doren would like to know what I have to say."

For a second, all Brandon could hear was his heartbeat thudding behind his ears. A chill settled in his gut.

"You’re bluffing," he said, but it came out weak.

"Am I?" The man smirked. "Are you willing to test it?"

A long silence followed. Brandon’s fists clenched at his sides. Finally, he pulled out his phone and stared at it like it physically pained him. With a few quick swipes, he opened his banking app, entered the details, and sent the balance.

The man’s phone buzzed. He looked down, then held it up with a lazy grin.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Brandon’s glare could’ve scorched brick. "We are done."

"You keep telling yourself that," the paparazzo muttered as he turned, "you know where to find me when you need me." He said as he walked deeper into the alley’s shadow.

Brandon stood there for a moment longer, breath coming in shallow bursts. The rain began again, soft and cold, soaking into the fabric of his hoodie. He finally turned and walked away, jaw tight, stomach churning.

He failed see the curtains quickly close from across the street. Could not hear the soft intake of breath from the same room.

But someone else did.

"What are you doing at the window?" A sleepy voice called out?

"I.. I saw something." The person at the window said as they peeked out the curtains once more.

He stared as the figure disappeared into the distance and barely believed what he had seen. He had instantly recognized one of the men, he was still wondering what Brandon was doing out here in the middle of the night.

"Come back to bed baby," the voice called out again from the bed.

He turned away from the window and the sight of the woman on the bed, her milky skin exposed to him chasing away all thoughts of Brandon’s clandestine meeting from his head.