Chapter 138 Chapter 138

Chapter 138 Chapter 138
Chloe’s POV 

Margaret’s jealousy was not just about wealth. It was about displacement. She had lost influence in the company. She had lost public sympathy after the DNA revelation. And now she was watching me build something stronger than what she once controlled.

That kind of resentment does not fade quietly.

My phone buzzed.

A news alert flashed across the screen.

“Humphrey Corporation reports record rebound in Q3 profits.”

I almost laughed at the timing.

The company was no longer in crisis mode. Analysts were calling it one of the most dramatic corporate recoveries in recent history. Share prices had climbed steadily over the last weeks. Investors who had once distanced themselves were now requesting private meetings.

Success had made me visible again.

And visibility attracts enemies.

I turned back to my computer and resumed reviewing the expansion proposal for the European division. If Margaret thought intimidation would slow me down, she had underestimated me.

An hour later, I left the office and headed straight to the hospital.

Drake’s condition had not changed.

I entered his room quietly and sat beside him, as I always did.

“She came to see me,” I said softly.

The machines responded with their usual steady rhythm.

“She’s furious.”

I studied his face, searching for even the slightest twitch.

“The company is doing better than ever,” I continued. “You would hate how much I’m enjoying proving them wrong.”

A faint smile touched my lips.

“But I think she’s planning something,” I admitted. “She’s not the type to accept defeat.”

I leaned forward slightly.

“If you’re going to wake up, you should do it soon. I’m getting tired of fighting everyone alone.”

The baby shifted again beneath my palm.

“I’m holding it together,” I whispered. “For you. For this child. For myself.”

I stayed there longer than usual that evening.

When I finally stood to leave, I glanced at him one more time.

Margaret had come with jealousy.

Jack had come with obsession.

Sylvia had come with bitterness.

But none of them understood something crucial.

I was no longer reacting to chaos.

I was shaping it.

And if Margaret thought today’s confrontation was the end of it, she was wrong.

Because something in her eyes had told me clearly.

She was preparing her next move.

And I would be ready.

Six months into my pregnancy, my body carried visible proof of everything that had changed.

My stomach curved proudly beneath tailored dresses and executive suits. Meetings were now scheduled around medical checkups. My heels had been replaced with lower ones, and my doctor insisted on regular rest breaks that I rarely took seriously.

The company, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing.

Quarterly profits exceeded even my revised expectations. International expansions were underway. The Russian partnership continued to strengthen. New investors entered quietly, confident in the new leadership structure.

My net worth climbed steadily with performance bonuses, equity growth, and executive shares that had multiplied in value since the rebound. Financial reports that once terrified me now reflected stability and power.

On paper, I was thriving.

But Margaret had not disappeared.

She did not attack openly anymore. Instead, she moved quietly behind the scenes. She spoke to old contacts in media, attempting to revive narratives about scandal and impropriety. Anonymous articles occasionally surfaced questioning my “ethics” or “rapid financial rise.” Legal inquiries were filed against minor administrative decisions, clearly meant to exhaust me.

None of it worked.

Every claim dissolved under scrutiny. The board no longer entertained her accusations. Shareholders ignored her warnings. Even some of her former allies had distanced themselves, unwilling to align with someone losing influence.

Her frustration became visible at public functions. She attended fewer events. When she did appear, the warmth once directed toward her had cooled.

Still, I did not underestimate her.

Jealousy can make people patient.

One evening, after a long strategy session that ran past sunset, I remained alone in my office reviewing projected market forecasts for the next quarter. My assistant had already left. The executive floor was quiet.

The city lights reflected through the glass walls behind me.

I leaned back in my chair, pressing a hand gently against my stomach as the baby shifted.

“You’re going to inherit quite a mess,” I murmured softly.

Despite the strength I showed publicly, there were moments when exhaustion crept into my bones. Not from the workload alone, but from the constant vigilance. The need to stay two steps ahead. The need to anticipate attacks.

I closed the file and rubbed my temples.

Margaret had tried to challenge my authority at the last shareholder gathering, but the vote had not gone in her favor. She had attempted to question my “emotional stability” due to pregnancy, only to be quietly dismissed by the same directors who once doubted me.

Her efforts were becoming more desperate.

My phone buzzed suddenly on the desk.

I glanced at the screen, expecting another email from the finance department.

Instead, it was a call.

From the hospital.

My heart skipped.

For a split second, fear gripped me. Six months pregnant. Stress had not helped. Every hospital call felt like a potential disaster.

I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Miss Chloe?” The voice was familiar. One of Drake’s attending physicians.

“Yes,” I said, standing up instinctively.

There was a pause on the other end, but not the kind that carried tragedy.

“Mr. Humphrey has regained consciousness.”

The words didn’t register at first.

“I’m sorry?” I whispered.

“He’s awake,” the doctor repeated clearly. “He responded to stimuli and opened his eyes. He is stable.”

The office seemed to tilt slightly around me.

Awake.

Drake was awake.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

All the months of hospital visits. All the conversations spoken to an unresponsive body. All the waiting.

My free hand instinctively gripped the edge of the desk.

“Is he—” My voice trembled. “Is he fully conscious?”

“He’s weak,” the doctor said calmly. “But he is aware.”

Aware.

I pressed my hand against my stomach as emotion surged through me unexpectedly.

“Thank you,” I managed to say. “I’m coming right now.”

I ended the call and stood there for several seconds, frozen in place.

Six months pregnant.

A company restored from collapse.

Margaret’s schemes failing.

And now—

Drake was awake.

Everything was about to change.