Chapter 136 Chapter 136

Chapter 136 Chapter 136
Chloe’s POV 

One month later, the panic that had once gripped the company started to loosen. Clients who had withdrawn began requesting follow-up calls. Investors who had threatened to pull out entirely asked for updated projections instead of issuing ultimatums. The internal atmosphere grew steadier. Employees walked with less tension in their shoulders.

We sealed two major contracts within the same week. Both had been at risk of termination before I stepped in. When the paperwork was finalized and the signatures dried, I felt something I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time.

Relief.

The breakthrough came with the Russian consortium.

They had been one of Drake’s strongest international partners, but after the scandal, they had gone silent. Their silence had worried the board more than any public withdrawal would have.

When their representatives arrived, the boardroom felt heavy again. Tall men in dark suits, sharp eyes, minimal smiles. Their presence carried authority without needing to announce it.

The meeting began in English, formal and controlled. They asked pointed questions about restructuring, internal investigations, and financial recovery.

I answered them carefully.

Then one of them switched to Russian mid-sentence, testing me.

The room went quiet.

I hesitated for only a second before responding in Russian.

It wasn’t perfect. My accent was noticeable. But my sentences were clear and grammatically precise. Years ago, I had taken the language seriously out of personal interest, never imagining it would one day matter like this.

The Russian executive’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

He continued in his language, this time faster.

I followed.

Explaining strategy in a foreign language required focus, but I did not stumble. I detailed our risk mitigation plan and clarified the company’s liquidity restructuring with confidence.

By the end of the exchange, the tension in the room had shifted.

One of the Russian executives leaned back and said something quietly to the others before turning back to me in English.

“Impressive,” he said simply.

They did not withdraw.

They expanded.

The renewed agreement they signed with us was larger than the original contract. The board members present looked stunned.

After the meeting concluded, one of the Russian partners approached me privately. He spoke calmly, praising my composure under pressure and my directness in negotiations.

Then, unexpectedly, he instructed his assistant to transfer a substantial “personal appreciation” payment to me.

I froze.

“That’s not necessary,” I said immediately. “I was representing the company.”

He waved it off dismissively. “It is a gesture of respect.”

I refused again, insisting that professional duties did not require personal rewards.

But he was persistent, almost amused by my resistance.

“In our culture,” he said, “we reward strength.”

The board members were watching quietly from a distance.

Accepting it felt wrong.

Declining it repeatedly risked insulting him.

After a moment of internal debate, I accepted it formally, with the intention of redirecting it later.

The transfer amount made my breath catch when I saw it.

It was more than some executives made in a year.

The news of the successful Russian deal spread quickly within the company. Employees who had once whispered about the scandal now spoke about recovery.

By the end of that month, the company’s financial graph was no longer in freefall. It wasn’t soaring yet, but it was steady.

The board’s attitude toward me changed completely. Where there had once been doubt, there was now reliance. They asked for my input instead of questioning my authority.

I did not allow it to inflate me.

Every evening, after long hours of rebuilding contracts and restoring partnerships, I still visited the hospital.

Drake remained in a coma.

Hilda remained in a coma.

The contrast was surreal.

By day, I was negotiating multimillion-dollar agreements in boardrooms filled with powerful men.

By night, I sat beside hospital beds listening to machines breathe for the people I loved.

But one thing was clear.

The company was stabilizing.

And for the first time since everything had exploded, the future did not look entirely like ruin.

It looked possible.



The hospital smelled the same every evening.

Sterile. Quiet. Heavy.

After leaving the office, still dressed in my work clothes, I went straight there. The heels I wore to boardrooms now echoed through corridors lined with pale walls and dim lights.

Drake’s room was dimly lit when I entered. The machines hummed steadily, their rhythm almost becoming familiar over time. He lay exactly the same way as the day of the accident. Unmoving. Eyes closed. Chest rising and falling with assisted precision.

I pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down.

For a moment, I just looked at him.

“You’re missing everything,” I said softly.

My voice sounded small in the quiet room.

“The company didn’t collapse,” I continued. “They thought it would. They thought we were done.”

I leaned forward slightly.

“I sealed the Russian contract today. They expanded the deal. You should have seen the board’s faces.”

I let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh.

“They respect me now. They don’t question me the way they used to.”

His hand rested motionless beside him. I reached out and held it gently.

“The finances are stabilizing,” I went on. “The profit margins are climbing again. The shareholders stopped threatening to pull out. You would be proud.”

My throat tightened slightly.

“I’m only holding it together for you,” I whispered. “You’re supposed to wake up and take it back.”

I placed his hand carefully against my stomach.

“Our baby is growing,” I said quietly. “Three months now. I’m trying not to overwork, but you know me.”

A faint smile touched my lips before fading.

“I need you to wake up,” I admitted. “Not for the company. For me. For this child.”

The machines continued their steady rhythm, indifferent to my plea.

“I don’t know how long I can keep pretending I’m not scared,” I confessed softly. “You don’t get to sleep through this forever.”

I stayed there for another few minutes, speaking about small things. Office gossip. Minor victories. The way the employees had begun working harder.

Then I stood up slowly.

“Come back,” I said before leaving.

The hallway felt cooler as I stepped out. I walked toward the reception area, lost in my thoughts, until I heard my name spoken sharply behind me.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.