Chapter 150: Chapter 150

Chloe’s POV

The day of Hilda’s burial was heavy with silence.

The sky was gray, not raining, not sunny. Just suspended in stillness, like the world itself was unsure how to respond.

I stood beside the casket in a simple black dress that fell loosely over my body. My stomach was still tender from childbirth. My steps were slower. My movements careful. Jessica remained in the hospital under observation, and leaving her even for a few hours felt like tearing something open inside me.

But I had to be there.

For Hilda.

People gathered quietly. Neighbors from our old apartment. A few former colleagues. Some hospital staff who had grown fond of her. Even a few executives from the company stood at a respectful distance.

The police were present too.

They did not cuff me.

They did not restrict me.

They simply observed.

My charges were still pending. My name was not fully cleared yet. But the public arrest and the recent revelations had shifted the narrative. There were investigations underway now that no one could ignore.

I stepped closer to the casket slowly.

Hilda looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Her face was softer than I remembered. As if death had erased the pain she endured.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking despite my effort to remain composed. “I couldn’t protect you.”

Drake stood behind me, silent.

He did not speak.

He did not touch me.

He simply stood there.

For once, he understood that this moment was mine.

Tears slid down my cheeks as I traced the edge of the wood gently.

“You deserved better,” I whispered. “You deserved a full life.”

The grief did not erupt like it had in the hospital. It settled deeper this time. Heavy. Permanent.

When it was time to lower the casket into the ground, my legs nearly gave out. Drake stepped closer then, his hand steadying my elbow.

I did not push him away.

Not today.

The soil fell.

The sound of it hitting the wood echoed inside my chest.

And just like that, the last piece of my old life was buried.

Two weeks later, everything changed.

It began with a leak.

Internal audit results were released to the authorities. Mia’s evidence, combined with financial tracking and recovered digital trails, painted a picture too detailed to dismiss.

Margaret had been diverting funds for years.

Layered accounts.

Shell companies.

Transfers routed through Jack.

The final transaction that placed me back in prison had been authorized through a mirrored access code created within the executive server, something only someone with top-level clearance could manipulate.

Margaret had clearance.

Jack had proximity.

The evidence was undeniable.

When the arrest warrant was issued, it was swift.

Margaret was taken into custody at her own home.

The media did not show mercy.

Cameras lined the driveway as officers escorted her out. She did not look composed this time. She looked furious.

Defeated.

Jack was arrested the same day.

The charges were heavier for him.

Financial fraud.

Conspiracy.

And when the investigation into Hilda’s death reopened under scrutiny, witness statements emerged.

The nurse who had confessed earlier testified officially.

The doctor who had disconnected the machines admitted to accepting payment.

Jack’s name surfaced again.

He was not just corrupt.

He was a criminal.

The courtroom photographs that followed showed him no longer arrogant, no longer composed. Just a man facing the collapse of everything he once believed untouchable.

Sylvia disappeared.

She fled before authorities could question her involvement in the financial transfers. There were rumors she had left the country. No confirmed location. No arrest.

But she was no longer relevant.

The empire she tried to manipulate had moved beyond her reach.

When the charges against me were formally dismissed, it did not feel triumphant.

It felt overdue.

The official statement cleared my name entirely. The company publicly reinstated me as acting CEO under full authority until Drake resumed operations officially.

The board apologized.

Shareholders expressed support.

The headlines shifted from scandal to redemption.

But none of it brought Hilda back.

That evening, I stood beside Jessica’s incubator again.

She was stronger now. Her breathing more stable. Her tiny fingers flexed with more certainty.

Drake stood beside me.

“It’s done,” he said quietly.

“For now,” I replied.

Margaret was in jail.

Jack was imprisoned.

The lies were exposed.

But justice did not erase scars.

I looked at my daughter.

“She will grow up knowing the truth,” I said softly.

“She will grow up protected,” Drake answered.

I turned to him slowly.

“This doesn’t fix everything,” I said.

“I know,” he replied.

Trust rebuilds slowly.

Forgiveness rebuilds slower.

But this time, he did not rush me.

He did not demand anything.

He simply stood beside me as we watched our daughter fight for her life with quiet strength.

Hilda was gone.

Margaret was behind bars.

Jack was imprisoned.

Sylvia had vanished.

And I was still standing.

Not untouched.

Not unbroken.

But standing.

And this time, no one was going to take that from me again.

Two months later, Jessica was finally discharged.

The day we brought her home felt unreal. I held her carefully against my chest, breathing in her scent as though I was afraid she might disappear if I loosened my grip. She was stronger now. Her cries were louder, her fingers wrapped around mine with surprising strength, and her eyes followed movement with quiet curiosity.

Motherhood consumed me in ways I had not prepared for. The nights were long. The feedings were constant. The exhaustion settled deep into my bones. But every time Jessica stirred in her crib, every time she blinked up at me, I knew I would endure it all again without hesitation.

Drake had been present in a way I did not expect.

He showed up every morning. He handled paperwork at the company during the day and returned home in the evening. He carried Jessica when my arms grew tired. He learned how to warm her milk properly. He stayed up during the nights when her cries grew sharp and restless.

He did not complain.

He did not push.

He tried.

He placed his hand gently on my waist.

I did not pull away immediately.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my neck. His lips brushed lightly against my shoulder.

“Chloe,” he murmured.

I turned slowly to face him.

There was something familiar in his eyes. Something intense. The same hunger. The same connection we once shared before everything shattered.

He moved as though he was about to kiss me.

I raised my hand and pressed it against his chest, stopping him.

He froze.

“I can’t,” I said quietly.

His jaw tightened slightly, but he did not force the moment.

“I’ve been patient,” he replied softly. “I’ve given you space.”

“And I appreciate that,” I said. “But this isn’t about space.”

He studied my face carefully.

“I need something from you,” I continued.

His expression shifted. “Name it.”

I held his gaze without wavering.

“I will not kiss you,” I said calmly. “I will not share your bed. I will not touch you the way I used to until Margaret is no longer your wife.”

He inhaled slowly.

“She’s in prison,” he said.

“That’s not enough,” I answered. “I want divorce papers filed. I want it finalized. I want her sentenced properly for what she did. Not reduced. Not softened. Life imprisonment.”

His eyes darkened.

“She will be sentenced,” he said.

“I need certainty,” I replied. “I will not be the other woman again. I will not share you. I will not exist in shadows.”