Chapter Seventy Nine

Chapter Seventy Nine
Meanwhile, in Paris

Paris was descending into darkness as the streetlights along Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré slowly flickered on, forming golden lines along the pavement. On the top floor of a Haussmann-style building, Damien Lecrec stood facing the window, watching the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. His hand rested on the cold marble desk where dozens of haute couture designs lay neatly spread out.

The board meeting that morning still lingered in his mind—tense, full of schemes, cutting deep into his nerves. But one thing shook him more than anything: he had won. Despite his own sister, Vivien Lecrec, trying to strip him of his CEO title at Lecrec Mode, Damien held firm.

Vivien had brought forged evidence, stirred up financial issues, and even tried to sway foreign investors. But all of it fell short against Damien’s sharp strategy and the loyalty of senior designers who had stood by him for years.

“How could you be so cruel to your own sister?” one of the board members had asked.

And Damien had replied coldly, “She was the one who drew the knife first.”

Caitlin entered the office with a light step the next morning. She wore a crisp white blouse and a simple black skirt, her dark brown hair falling naturally over her shoulders. Though many employees looked at her with a mix of reverence and whispers, she paid them no mind.

Her pregnancy was becoming increasingly difficult to hide. Her belly had started to show, and rumors were spreading. Some wondered who the father was. Few knew the truth: Damien Lecrec himself.

She knocked on Damien’s office door. When his assistant let her in, she stepped inside and calmly met his gaze. Damien had just ended a phone call, his expression tired but relieved.

“How was the meeting yesterday?” Caitlin asked softly.

Damien looked at her, then gave a faint smile. “Vivien failed. But she won’t stay quiet. I know her.”

Caitlin sat in the chair across from his desk. Her hand reflexively rested on her growing belly. “I heard some outside parties tried to buy your shares. Was that Vivien’s doing too?”

“Yes,” Damien replied. He pulled out a few documents from his drawer. “They’re all quiet now. But I’m not naive. They’re just stepping back to find a new opening.”

He stood, walked around the desk, and placed a hand gently on Caitlin’s shoulder from behind. His touch carried both protection and tension.

“You need to be careful. In the office, outside it. Don’t go anywhere alone,” he said quietly.

Caitlin looked forward, swallowing the emotions stirring inside. “Damien, I work here not because I want your protection. But because I know I’m capable.”

“I know,” Damien replied. “And that’s why I’ve never asked you to leave.”

The day passed quickly. After finishing her report on the fall collection, Caitlin prepared to head home. Damien was still tied up in a meeting with the distribution team. Not wanting to interrupt, she decided to leave first.

Damien’s driver, Thierry, was already waiting outside. The black Audi was parked by the curb. Thierry stepped out and opened the door for her with practiced politeness. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle.”

“Bonsoir,” Caitlin replied, slipping into the back seat.

The car began to wind through the damp streets of Paris, soft classical music playing through the speakers. Caitlin leaned back, gently caressing her belly. On nights like these, she could almost believe life was normal.

But five minutes later, everything changed.

At a quiet intersection near Rue de l’Arcade, a black SUV sped toward them from the opposite direction. Without warning, it swerved sharply—crashing directly into the right side of Caitlin’s car.

A loud crash shattered the night.

Glass exploded.

Brakes screamed.

Caitlin’s body slammed sideways. Thierry stepped hard on the brakes, but it was no use—their car spun and slammed into the roadside barrier with a sickening jolt.

Silence.

Then distant car horns, and footsteps rushing toward the wreckage.

At the hospital, Damien stood rigid outside the emergency room, eyes bloodshot. His fists clenched in his pockets.

“She was still conscious when we found her,” reported Thierry, his face bloodied, but refusing treatment. “But that car… it hit us on purpose. I’m sure of it.”

Damien turned to him sharply. “Did you see the driver?”

“No. They ran. The license plate… it was fake.”

Moments later, a doctor emerged.

“She suffered a blow to her right side, but there’s no internal bleeding. The baby is fine too. We’ll keep her under observation for 24 hours, but overall, her condition is stable.”

Damien nodded slowly, exhaling a heavy breath.

When he was finally allowed in, he found Caitlin lying under white sheets, her eyes closed. As she opened them and saw him, she gave a faint smile.

“You... came…”

Damien took her hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears slid slowly down Caitlin’s cheeks. “I was scared, Damien.”

“I was too. But we’ll get through this.”

An hour later, Damien sat in the hospital’s private meeting room, reviewing a security report from his team. Simon—his head of personal security—handed him CCTV footage from the intersection.

“We couldn’t catch the driver’s face. But we did find something…”

He paused the footage and zoomed in on one particular frame.

Hanging from the SUV’s dashboard was a small charm—a red pendant with the initial ‘V’.

Damien froze.

Simon spoke softly. “We’re still investigating. But Damien... everything so far points to one name.”

Vivien Lecrec.

Damien stared at the screen. There was no hesitation in his eyes now—only calm, quiet fury.