Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty
Damien stood on the balcony of the private hospital, his black jacket unbuttoned, the Paris night wind ruffling his tousled hair. In his hand, he held a copy of the investigation report from his security team. A dry, technical report—yet one name kept surfacing, burning through the paper like acid: Vivien Lecrec.
Behind the glass of the balcony, he could see Caitlin sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed. A blanket covered her body, and an IV line was still attached to her hand. But that life—and the tiny one growing inside her—was still hanging on. And that was the only thing keeping Damien from losing control.
“She tried to kill them,” Damien murmured coldly. “My own sister.”
Simon, standing not far from him, responded only with a grim nod. “We’re tracking the vehicle. There’s a garage outside Paris we suspect was used to modify the license plates and falsify documentation.”
“Use all your contacts,” Damien ordered. “Anyone working for Vivien—I want their names, addresses, even their breakfast habits.”
Simon didn’t waste time. “We’ve already sent a team to Vivien’s property in Cannes. If she’s planning to flee the country, we’ll know.”
Damien looked up at the city sky. Cold. Grey. Full of childhood memories that now felt like lies. He and Vivien once shared breakfast tables, toys, even stood up for each other during their parents' fights. But time had driven them to opposite sides.
And now the line was clear: this was war.
The next morning, Caitlin awoke to soft sunlight slipping through the hospital window. Damien sat in the chair beside her bed, having stayed up all night.
“You’re still here,” Caitlin whispered, her voice weak.
“Did you think I’d leave?” Damien answered with a faint smile.
Caitlin reached out and touched his hand. “The doctor said... the baby is okay.”
Damien lowered his head and kissed her hand. “It’s a miracle.”
Seconds passed in silence. But that closeness couldn’t hide the storm in Damien’s eyes.
“Damien...” Caitlin looked at him deeply. “You know this wasn’t an accident, don’t you?”
Damien didn’t answer right away.
“I saw the car. I know they... hit us on purpose.”
“Yes,” Damien finally admitted. “And I know who sent them.”
Caitlin tensed. “Vivien?”
“There’s no official proof,” Damien replied, “but all signs point to her. And if it’s true, I won’t give her a second chance.”
That afternoon, Damien returned to Lecrec Mode’s headquarters for the first time since the crash. The staff greeted him with a mix of tension and respect. Rumors about Caitlin had spread quickly, but no one dared to ask directly. They all knew: Damien was in his most dangerous mode.
In the conference room, he called a closed executive meeting—composed of the CFO, corporate lawyer, head of creative, and two neutral family members.
“We need to talk about Vivien,” Damien said sharply. “She’s crossed a line. She’s now a threat to the lives of our staff.”
“Damien,” replied Léon Armand, the elderly company lawyer, “without physical proof of her involvement in the crash, we can’t take legal action.”
“I don’t need legal action,” Damien replied coldly. “I need financial isolation. All of Vivien’s access to the family trust will be frozen as of today. All shares she holds will be temporarily seized pending investigation.”
“That will start a war,” whispered the CFO.
“The war has already begun.”
Meanwhile, in her hidden villa in the hills of the French Riviera, Vivien took a call from one of her lawyers.
“They froze your assets,” the voice on the line said urgently. “Damien moved faster than we predicted.”
Vivien clutched her wine glass, her fingers trembling. “That bastard really thinks he’s king now.”
“And Caitlin survived.”
Vivien was silent for several seconds. Her face darkened. “That’s... disappointing.”
“Vivien, this has gone too far. If they find any proof you were involved in the crash—”
“I covered my tracks. No one can trace the driver back to me.”
Still, her eyes drifted to a black suitcase in the corner. Inside, another file was already prepared—about Caitlin, her dark family history, and the means to destroy her public credibility.
Vivien smiled faintly. If she couldn’t eliminate Caitlin physically, she would strike her in another way: her reputation.
Back in Paris, that night, Damien sat beside Caitlin’s bed, now moved to a private recovery room. The soft lamp glow created a calm atmosphere, though his thoughts remained in turmoil.
“Have you ever thought about giving up?” Caitlin asked suddenly, staring at the ceiling.
Damien closed his eyes for a moment. “I did. But not since I found out you were carrying my child.”
Caitlin gave a faint smile. “Then don’t let this child be born into hate.”
Damien gripped her hand tightly. “He’ll be born into a world we’ve cleaned up. I promise.”
Outside the hospital, under a streetlight, a man in a courier uniform stood quietly. In his hand: a sealed envelope stamped in red.
PRIVATE – FOR DAMIEN LECREC
He left it with hospital security, then disappeared into the shadows of the night.
Inside the envelope were photos of Caitlin—old photos, taken illegally, from a past she thought was long buried.
A short letter accompanied them:
“Are you sure you know who the woman you’re protecting really is, Damien?”