The CEO'S SECRET BRIDE のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 181 - チャプター 190

Annabelle sat alone in her office, the faint hum of the city barely reaching through the thick glass windows. The room was quiet except for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Her father’s words echoed in her mind—those closest to you may not be who they seem.She stared at her computer screen. Dozens of files were open, their names familiar yet distant. She had gone through them countless times in the past, but tonight, she was not just reviewing them. She was searching—really searching—for something that didn’t fit.Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as she opened the financial records from her father’s company—the same company that had been taken from him before his arrest. The numbers looked clean, polished, and ordinary. Yet something about the dates bothered her.“Why does this entry not match the audit date?” she murmured.She clicked on the document again, zooming in on the transfer made three years ago. The file showed a payment to a consulting firm she had

The morning sun filtered weakly through the tall windows of the Hensley estate. Annabelle stood before the grand iron gates, her hands cold despite the warm air. She had rehearsed what she would say a dozen times on the drive here, but now that she was standing in front of Victoria’s mansion, her courage wavered.The guard opened the gate after a short phone call. “Mrs. Hensley is expecting you,” he said politely, stepping aside.Expecting her? Annabelle frowned. Carson must have told her.She walked up the marble steps, each one echoing against the silence. When the maid opened the door, the familiar scent of roses and old money filled the air. The house was just as she remembered—immaculate, elegant, but cold.“Miss Annabelle,” the maid said softly. “Mrs. Hensley is in the sunroom.”Annabelle followed the path through the long hallway. Her heels clicked on the polished floor. Portraits lined the walls—paintings of Victoria, of Carson, of the late Mr. Hensley. They watched her silen

Annabelle’s heart pounded as she stood outside Carson’s office door. The folder in her hands felt heavier than it should, the edges digging into her palm. Her breath came unevenly, and the echo of her father’s voice played in her mind — “Those closest to you may not be who they seem.”She pushed the door open without knocking. Carson looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Anna?” he said, his tone cautious.Annabelle walked in quickly and dropped the folder in front of him. Papers spilled out — printed emails, transaction records, encrypted message transcripts. “Explain this,” she said, her voice sharp and trembling.Carson stared at the papers, his face unreadable. He didn’t reach for them. He didn’t even blink.“Victoria,” Annabelle said, her tone hardening. “Your mother was behind everything. The false accounts, the forged documents, the entire setup that ruined my father. I have proof now.”Carson leaned back slowly, his jaw tightening. “Where did you get t

Rain poured steadily against the tall glass windows of Fred’s office. The city outside looked blurred and gray, every streetlight a trembling reflection in the wet streets. Annabelle stood by the door, soaked from the rain, clutching a folder to her chest. Her hair clung to her face, and her eyes were red from crying, but her expression was cold now — too tired for more tears.Fred looked up from his desk, startled. “Annabelle? What happened to you? You look—”“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. Her voice was hoarse, trembling beneath the weight of exhaustion and fury. “Just don’t.”He frowned, slowly standing up. “What’s going on?”Annabelle stepped forward, slamming the folder onto his desk. Papers spilled out — copies of emails, financial transfers, legal documents, everything she had gathered in her investigation. “This,” she said, her voice cracking. “This is what’s going on.”Fred’s eyes moved over the pages. His brow furrowed. “Where did you get these?”“I dug,” she said. “Far e

The message came just after dawn. Annabelle sat on the edge of the narrow motel bed, her eyes fixed on the flickering laptop screen. The email had no subject, no sender’s name—only a blinking attachment labeled “For You.”She hesitated. Every instinct told her not to open it. It could be a trap, another attempt by Victoria’s men to trace her location. But something inside her whispered otherwise.Her finger hovered over the mouse. Then, with a deep breath, she clicked.The screen went black for two seconds. When it returned, words appeared in white text:Annabelle, it’s me. Please don’t close this. I can help you.Her heart stopped. Carson.She froze, staring at the name she had once trusted with her heart—and who had broken it without mercy.The message continued, line after line:I know you hate me. You should. But listen to me before you decide. Mother is planning something bigger. She wants you gone, and anyone who helped you will follow. I can’t stop her alone. I have proof, rea