Chapter 144 Chapter 144

Chapter 144 Chapter 144
Chloe’s POV 

“I know,” she said before I could speak. “I’m already looking into it.”

“They used my credentials again,” I whispered.

“They mirrored your authentication,” she replied. “This wasn’t amateur. It’s internal.”

Internal.

Of course it was.

Margaret.

Jack.

Or someone loyal to them.

“They timed it for tonight,” I said.

“Yes,” Mia answered. “Public arrest maximizes damage.”

I closed my eyes.

“Can they hold me?”

“They can detain you while investigating,” she said carefully. “But I’ll work to get you released on bail.”

“I didn’t do it,” I repeated.

“I know.”

Hours later, I was placed in a holding room temporarily.

The fluorescent light overhead was harsh. The air was cold.

I sat down slowly on the bench and leaned back against the wall.

Six months pregnant.

Award winner.

Acting CEO.

And now—

Suspect.

Again.

My mind drifted back to the look on Margaret’s face.

That slight smile.

She had wanted this.

To humiliate me publicly.

To strip away everything I had rebuilt.

And she had succeeded.

For now.

But something felt different this time.

Last time, I was fighting alone.

This time. Drake had seen it happen.

He had watched the arrest. He had seen the timing.

He had seen the contradiction.

Would that matter?

Or would his memory loss make it easier for him to believe I was guilty?

I pressed my palm over my stomach again.

“I’m not giving up,” I whispered.

They could arrest me. They could humiliate me.

They could drag my name through headlines again.

But they would not break me.

Not when I had come this far. Not when I had survived worse. Somewhere, in a brightly lit ballroom, Margaret was probably celebrating quietly.

But wars are not won in a single move.

And this—

This was not the end.

Not even close.



The cell did not feel real at first.

It felt like something temporary. Something that would correct itself if I just waited long enough.

Morning light filtered faintly through the small window high above the wall. My body ached from sleeping upright. My stomach felt heavy beneath the thin blanket they had given me.

Six months pregnant.

In a holding cell.

The humiliation of the arrest replayed in my mind over and over. The cameras. The whispers. The way the award had slipped from my hand and cracked against the floor.

I pressed my palm to my belly slowly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Footsteps approached.

Keys rattled. I didn’t look up at first.

“Miss Chloe,” the officer said. “You have a visitor.”

My jaw tightened.

I already knew who it was.

He stepped into view a few seconds later.

Drake.

Dressed sharply, composed as ever, though there was something different in his expression today. Less anger. More scrutiny.

The officer unlocked the barrier separating the small visitation area and allowed him to sit across from me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

He looked at me carefully.

Tired.

Frustrated.

Searching.

“You’ve caused quite a scene,” he said finally. That did it.

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

“A scene?” I repeated. “Is that what you call it?”

He frowned slightly.

“A transaction was authorized under your credentials,” he said. “Explain that.”

The calm tone irritated me more than accusation would have.

“I didn’t authorize anything,” I snapped. “You think I’d sabotage the company after rebuilding it?”

“I’m asking you a question.”

“And I’m telling you the truth,” I shot back.

He studied me, as if trying to read beyond my words.

“This is not the first time your name has appeared in missing funds,” he said.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“You were in a coma the first time,” I said. “You don’t remember what they tried to do to me.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

My patience snapped.

“You don’t even remember loving me,” I said sharply. “Why should I expect you to remember anything else?”

His expression shifted at that.

“I’m trying to understand what’s happening,” he said, his tone tightening.

“What’s happening?” I stood up abruptly, the movement making my back ache. “What’s happening is that I was publicly arrested while pregnant with your child!”

He looked down briefly at my stomach.

“You keep saying that,” he replied carefully.

I felt something inside me break.

“You don’t believe me,” I whispered.

“I don’t remember you,” he said flatly.

The words felt colder in daylight.

I clenched my fists.

“You know what?” I said, my voice rising. “Go back to your perfect little world. Go back to your wife. Go back to your bastard son.”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Bastard.

The air between us went still.

Drake’s jaw tightened instantly.

“What did you just say?” he asked quietly.

I was too angry to soften it.

“You heard me,” I snapped. “Go back to Jack. Your bastard son.”

Something flickered across his face.

A flash.

Confusion.

A sudden tightening of his temples like something had struck him from inside.

He blinked hard.

For a second, his gaze unfocused.

And I saw it.

A flicker of recognition.

A memory trying to surface.

His hand rose slowly to his forehead.

“What…” he murmured under his breath.

I watched him carefully now, my anger pausing just enough to notice the shift.

“Say that again,” he demanded, his voice lower.

“You heard me,” I repeated, though more cautiously this time. “Jack is not your son.”

His breathing changed.

I saw it clearly.

A fractured image passing behind his eyes.

A phone screen. An email. Documents.

DNA results.

My name flashing across his memory. He stood up abruptly.

The officer outside glanced over, alert.

Drake looked at me again, but this time there was something different in his expression.

Not certainty.

Not clarity.

But disturbance.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, but the question lacked conviction.

“You don’t remember?” I said softly now. “I sent you proof.”

His eyes darkened.

Proof.

The word hit him.