Chapter 142 Chapter 142

Chapter 142 Chapter 142
Drake’s POV 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “The company was losing clients. We needed immediate action.”

“You had no authority to make strategic decisions at this level,” I said harshly.

Her eyes hardened slightly.

“The board gave me authority.”

That stung.

I looked around the office again.

My office.

My space.

It felt invaded.

“Get out,” I said.

She blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me,” I said, my tone sharpening. “You’ve done enough.”

She stared at me as if I had just struck her.

“I kept this company from collapsing,” she said, her voice trembling now. “While you were fighting for your life.”

“And now I’m back,” I replied coldly. “So step aside.”

The silence between us was thick.

She swallowed, her hand instinctively resting over her stomach.

“You don’t remember anything,” she whispered.

“I remember enough,” I said flatly.

Her eyes filled slightly, but she blinked it away.

“I was never trying to take anything from you,” she said.

“It looks like you were sitting very comfortably in my position,” I replied.

That did it.

The hurt in her expression deepened.

“Is that really what you think of me?” she asked quietly.

“I think,” I said, my patience thinning, “that you overstepped.”

She stood there for another second, as if hoping something in me would soften.

It didn’t.

“Leave,” I repeated.

She picked up her bag slowly.

As she walked past me, there was something in her eyes I couldn’t quite name.

Not anger.

Not hatred.

Something more shattered than that.

She left without another word.

I sat down in my chair immediately, reclaiming it.

The office felt right again.

Or at least it should have.

I began reviewing the performance reports from the last three months.

Revenue up.

Client retention restored.

New international contracts secured.

Operational costs stabilized. I frowned.

These were not minor improvements.

These were aggressive, strategic corrections.

Whoever had handled this knew exactly what they were doing.

I flipped through more documents.

Her name appeared repeatedly.

Approved.

Negotiated.

Closed.

The numbers spoke for themselves.

She had done well.

Very well.

An assistant knocked lightly and entered.

“Sir, there’s an awards ceremony in two days,” he said. “You were originally scheduled to attend. Miss Chloe confirmed her presence.”

I leaned back in the chair.

Awards.

Public recognition.

And she had been the face of the company during my absence.

Margaret entered shortly after, her expression bright.

“You shouldn’t stress yourself,” she said sweetly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You just recovered.”

“I’m fine,” I replied.

She leaned closer, her tone softer.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered. “Everything felt unstable without you.”

Her affection felt deliberate.

Carefully placed.

I studied her face briefly.

She smiled warmly.

“You’ll attend the ceremony, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

She seemed pleased.

As she talked about arrangements and public statements, my mind drifted back to the reports.

To the woman I had just thrown out of my office.

To the look in her eyes.

And to the strange, uncomfortable feeling that perhaps I had dismissed something important.

But the memory wouldn’t come.

And until it did, I would lead the company the way I always had.

Without hesitation.



The night of the awards arrived with more spectacle than I expected.

The venue was already alive when we pulled up. Bright lights. Camera flashes. Long red carpet stretching toward the grand entrance like a stage waiting for performance.

Margaret stepped out of the car first, draped in a glittering gown that caught every flicker of light. Diamonds rested around her neck, subtle but intentional. She smiled with practiced grace as photographers began calling her name.

Jack followed, adjusting his tailored suit. Sylvia clung to his arm, dressed extravagantly, her expression carefully curated for the cameras. Together, they looked like a portrait of stability.

I stepped out last.

The air filled instantly with noise.

“Mr. Humphrey! How are you feeling?”

“Is it true you’ve resumed control of the company?”

“Who was really responsible for the financial crisis?”

Questions came fast. I answered selectively, offering controlled statements. Recovery. Strength. Stability. Future growth.

Margaret held onto my arm as if we had never faltered. She leaned closer than necessary, smiling wide for every lens.

We paused for photographs.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

Then the sound shifted.

It wasn’t loud at first. Just a subtle change in direction.

Some of the photographers began turning away.

A white Mercedes had just pulled up behind us.

Doors opened.

And suddenly, the energy of the carpet tilted.

Reporters moved like magnets toward the new arrival.

Margaret stiffened beside me.

I followed the direction of their lenses.

The car door opened fully.

Chloe stepped out.

She wore a light pink halter-neck gown that flowed elegantly down her body, hugging her curves before cascading softly to the ground. The color complemented her skin in a way that seemed almost luminous beneath the flashing lights.

Her hair fell in smooth waves over her shoulders. Her makeup was refined, understated but striking. Nothing loud. Nothing desperate.

Her pregnancy was unmistakable.

The curve of her belly was proud, visible, undeniable beneath the fitted fabric.

She stood tall.

Graceful.

Composed.

The cameras loved her.

“Miss Chloe! Over here!”

“Is it true you ran the company single-handedly?”

“Are you still acting CEO?”

She answered calmly, her voice steady and confident. There was no sign of weakness in her posture. No hint of the woman I had dismissed from my office.

She looked powerful.

Not like someone who had tried to steal anything. Not like someone uncertain.

For a moment, I couldn’t look away.

Something about the way she carried herself felt familiar.

A quiet authority.

A presence.

The way the crowd reacted to her was telling. Respectful. Curious. Almost admiring.

Margaret’s fingers tightened around my arm.

“She loves attention,” she muttered under her breath.

I barely heard her.

Chloe lifted her chin slightly as the flashes continued. When her gaze drifted toward us, our eyes met briefly across the carpet.

There was no pleading in her expression.

No softness.

Just something unreadable.

Strong.

And distant.

My chest tightened unexpectedly.

Jack shifted beside us, irritation visible on his face as more reporters turned away from him and Sylvia to focus on her.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Margaret forced a smile for the cameras, but I felt the tension radiating from her.

Chloe moved forward slowly, walking the red carpet with measured confidence. Every step deliberate. Every pause intentional.

The crowd parted for her.

And I stood there, watching.

I didn’t understand why my pulse had picked up.

I didn’t understand why the sight of her like that felt… significant.

All I knew was that I couldn’t take my eyes off her.