Chapter 141 Chapter 141

Chapter 141 Chapter 141


Drake’s POV 

Everything felt slightly off.

Not wrong.

Just… incomplete.

Since waking up, the doctors had been asking me simple questions. My name. My age. My position. My wife’s name. My son’s name. Dates. Locations. Events from years ago.

I answered them all.

I remembered building the company from the ground up. I remembered my early struggles. I remembered Margaret standing beside me in public, polished and composed. I remembered Jack as a boy, stubborn and intense.

But there were gaps.

Recent months felt foggy. Like flipping through a book where entire chapters had been torn out.

They told me there had been a scandal.

They told me I had been in a severe accident.

They told me the company had nearly collapsed.

Yet when I asked for details, Margaret filled them in carefully.

“There was instability,” she said. “But we handled it.”

Handled it.

That word bothered me.

Because I had always been the one who handled things.

When that woman walked into my room yesterday, something shifted.

Chloe.

She said her name like it mattered.

There had been desperation in her eyes. Not greed. Not calculation. Something rawer.

And when she said she was carrying my child, I felt something tighten in my chest.

Not recognition.

But unease.

I had studied her face while she spoke. I searched for familiarity and found none. Yet my body reacted strangely. My pulse quickened. My mind felt pressured, like it was trying to reach something just out of grasp.

Margaret dismissed her quickly.

Too quickly.

Jack’s reaction had been tense as well. That bothered me. After Chloe left, I asked Margaret again.

“Who is she?”

“She’s someone who inserted herself into company matters during your absence,” Margaret said smoothly. “She’s been… ambitious.”

Ambitious. That word didn’t fit the woman I had just seen crying in my hospital room. There was nothing calculated about her expression.

She had looked wounded.

I closed my eyes and tried to push harder into my memory.

There were flashes.

A boardroom.

Raised voices. A hospital corridor. A name echoing.

Chloe.

My head began to ache when I tried to force it.

The doctor warned me not to strain.

But something inside me refused to let it go.

Why would a woman fabricate pregnancy claims against me so boldly? Why would she come here knowing Margaret and Jack were present?

There had been certainty in her voice.

Not manipulation.

Certainty. And when she said I had called her name before losing consciousness, something flickered in my mind. A blurred image. A car. Bright headlights. Panic. A name on my lips.

I could not grasp it fully.

Later that evening, after Margaret stepped out to take a call and Jack went to get coffee, I stared at the ceiling and replayed the moment Chloe said she could show me proof about Jack.

Proof of what?

Margaret had interrupted her quickly.

Too quickly.

My stomach tightened slightly.

I remembered my early years with Margaret. We were strategic partners more than lovers. The marriage had been solid, at least publicly. Functional.

But the past few years before the accident felt distant.

Disconnected.

Had something shifted?

Why did I feel like I was standing in a room where everyone knew something I didn’t?

When the nurse came in to check my vitals, I asked casually, “Has that woman been here often?”

The nurse hesitated.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “Every day.”

Every day. My jaw tightened. “She was here throughout your coma,” the nurse added gently. “She spoke to you constantly.”

I stared at her. Margaret had not mentioned that. Jack had not mentioned that.

Why would they omit something like that? When I closed my eyes again, I tried to picture Chloe’s face. The way her hand rested over her stomach. The tremble in her voice. The hurt when I said I didn’t know her.

Something inside me stirred.

Not a memory.

Not yet.

But something unresolved.

And for the first time since waking up, I felt something other than confusion.

I felt suspicion.

Because if she truly meant nothing—

Why did it feel like I had lost something important?

The next morning, I insisted on discharge.

The doctors argued that I needed more rest, more observation, more caution. I listened, then ignored them. I felt strong enough. Clear enough. Sitting in that hospital bed made me restless.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted my office.

I wanted control.

By afternoon, I was back in my house. The familiar walls should have felt comforting, but something about the atmosphere felt altered. Subtle. Tense.

Margaret hovered around me, attentive and soft-spoken in a way that felt slightly exaggerated.

“You shouldn’t rush,” she murmured as I removed my jacket. “The company can manage.”

“Who’s managing it?” I asked.

There was a pause.

“Chloe,” she said carefully.

The name again.

Something in me tightened.

“She’s been acting as interim CEO,” Margaret added. “The board thought it was… necessary.”

Necessary.

The word irritated me.

Without wasting another second, I headed straight to the company.

The moment I walked through the entrance, I felt eyes on me. Employees straightened. Conversations stopped. Whispers traveled ahead of me like wind.

My office floor looked different. Slight adjustments. Subtle changes.

When I reached my office door and pushed it open, I stopped.

She was sitting in my chair.

At my desk.

Reviewing documents as if she belonged there.

Her stomach was visibly rounded beneath her fitted blouse. Six months, at least.

She looked up when the door opened.

Our eyes met.

There it was again. That look in her eyes. A mixture of relief and dread.

I felt irritation surge through me.

“What are you doing in my office?” I asked coldly.

She stood up immediately.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” she said softly.

“This is my company,” I replied sharply. “I don’t need permission.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something personal, but she held it back.

“The board asked me to step in while you were unconscious,” she said calmly. “I was protecting the company.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I snapped.

She flinched, barely.

“I didn’t do it for thanks,” she answered.

I walked around the desk, glancing at the documents she had been reviewing. Financial reports. Contracts. Expansion agreements.

My name was still printed across the headers. But her signature was on recent approvals.

“You signed executive contracts?” I demanded.