Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 131 - Chapitre 140

The charity symposium was not something Celine would have attended if she had been given a real choice. It had been placed on her calendar weeks earlier, back when her authority at O’Neil Corp was unquestioned and her schedule was a declaration of control rather than a negotiation. Now, even declining invitations felt like another small surrender, another signal the world would interpret as weakness.So she went.The venue was an old restored hall overlooking the river, glass walls opening the space to late afternoon light. Banners bearing the names of donors and partner organizations lined the entrance. The event focused on urban renewal and sustainable infrastructure, topics that once would have genuinely excited her. Tonight, they felt distant, like echoes from a life she was slowly being edged out of.Celine arrived alone, refusing security beyond a discreet presence outside. She wore a tailored cream suit, understated but sharp, her hair pulled back cleanly. Appearances stil

Celine discovered the truth by accident, which somehow made it hurt more than a deliberate blow.It began as a routine internal briefing, one of the few remaining executive sessions she still attended despite her authority being steadily hollowed out. The boardroom felt colder these days, not in temperature but in spirit. Faces that once turned instinctively toward her now looked to Alex. Conversations paused when she entered, then resumed with careful politeness. Power had a sound when it shifted, and Celine had learned to hear it.The presentation moved smoothly through regional reports and compliance updates until a consultant from Zurich brought up a slide titled International Recognition of Executive Stewardship. The wording was subtle, deceptively neutral. Celine’s eyes sharpened immediately.Below the O’Neil Group insignia were two names, formally acknowledged by several international partners as the recognized stewards of the conglomerate.Alex O’Neil.Melissa O’Neil.Celin

If Alex’s takeover felt like a storm, loud and visible, then Melissa’s was the slow seep of water into stone—silent, patient, and ultimately more destructive.Celine did not see it at first. The days had already blurred into a careful routine of restraint, meetings she attended but did not lead, decisions she influenced only indirectly. She had learned to read the room, to notice what was no longer said as much as what was. Still, it was Emilia who first sensed that something else was moving beneath the surface.It began with a pattern.Emilia noticed that several long-standing shareholders, names that had once been fiercely loyal to Celine, were suddenly unavailable. Meetings postponed. Calls unanswered. Emails replied to with politeness but no warmth. At first, Emilia assumed it was fatigue. The company had been under scrutiny for months. Everyone was tired.Then she saw Melissa’s name appear in a calendar entry she was never meant to see.It was subtle. A legacy stakeholder dinne

The announcement hit the press before noon.Celine O’Neil’s resignation was released through a short, meticulously worded statement from O’Neil Corp’s communications office. No background music, no emotional framing, no photos attached. Just facts. After “careful consideration,” she had stepped down from her role as Chief Executive Officer, effective immediately. The company thanked her for her service and wished her well in future endeavors.Within minutes, the markets reacted. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to be noticed. A brief dip. A spike in trading volume. Analysts scrambling to sound informed on live television.Alex O’Neil appeared before the cameras that afternoon, calm and statesmanlike. He spoke of mutual respect, of difficult decisions made in the best interest of stability. He praised Celine’s intelligence, her vision, her contributions. He emphasized continuity.“This is not a fracture,” he said smoothly. “It’s an evolution.”Melissa followed later, addressing a p

Celine did not announce her return to work. There was no press release, no carefully worded headline about her “next chapter.” Instead, it began quietly, almost accidentally, with a phone call from Ella one afternoon.“There’s someone who keeps asking for you,” Ella said cautiously. “A founder. Early forties. Tech-adjacent manufacturing startup. He says he doesn’t want funding. He wants clarity.”Celine almost declined on instinct. Old habits still whispered that if she was not building something massive, visible, powerful, then she was wasting time. But something about the phrasing, 'doesn’t want funding,' caught her attention.“Tell him I’ll meet him,” she said after a pause. “Off record.”The meeting took place in a modest co-working space far removed from the glass towers she once ruled. The founder, Marcus Hale, was visibly nervous when she arrived. His suit was decent but worn at the elbows, his laptop outdated, his presentation unpolished. Yet when he spoke, there was an unmi