All Chapters of I’m Back, Mr. CEO : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

304 Chapters

Chapter 31: The Goodbye He’ll Never Remember

I had one hour.One hour to pack my things from the Moore mansion before Adrian returned with Ethan from their afternoon at the park. One hour to erase myself from the house that had never been a home.Clara drove me there in silence. What was there to say? I’d lost everything. Signed it all away. My son would grow up calling another woman mama while I became a stranger who visited twice a week under supervision.The mansion loomed ahead, grand and cold. How many times had I walked through those doors thinking I belonged here? Thinking I was building a life?All lies.Mrs. Harmon opened the door, her expression carefully neutral. “Mrs. Moore. I heard about the court decision. I’m so sorry.”Was she? Or was she relieved that her reports had helped take my son from me?“I’m just here to get my things.”“Of course. I’ll give you privacy.”She disappeared, and I stood in the foyer alone. The house was quiet. Empty. Like it had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for me to finally leave.

Chapter 32: The Escape

But I was already walking away. Out the door. Into Clara’s car. Leaving my son behind in that house with those people.Clara drove in silence until we were blocks away. Then she pulled over and I fell apart completely.“He didn’t know me,” I sobbed. “My own son didn’t know me.”“He’s too young to understand—”“He called her mama. He reached for her. He pulled away from me.” I couldn’t breathe through the crying. “I’m losing him. I’ve already lost him.”“No. You haven’t. He’s just confused right now. Give it time—”“I don’t have time! Every day I’m gone is another day Vivian gets to poison him against me. Another day he forgets. Another day I become nothing.”Clara pulled me into a hug. Let me cry on her shoulder until there were no tears left.“What am I going to do?” I whispered when I could finally speak.“We’re going to go back to my apartment. You’re going to rest. And tomorrow, we’re going to figure out what comes next.”“What comes next is supervised visits where my son doesn’t

Chapter 33: The Escape (Continued)

So I quickly texted Lucas**Me:** *I appreciate the offer, Lucas. Really. But I can’t accept it.*The three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.**Lucas:** *Can I ask why?***Me:** *Because if I stay in New York, I’ll always be Adrian Moore’s ex-wife. The woman who lost custody. The failure. I need to leave. Start completely over somewhere no one knows my story.***Lucas:** *Where will you go?***Me:** *I don’t know yet. But far from here. Far from them.***Lucas:** *I understand. The offer stands if you change your mind. Good luck, Serena.***Me:** *Thank you. For everything.*I set down the phone and looked at Clara, who’d been watching silently.“You’re leaving New York?”“I have to. I can’t stay here. Can’t walk down streets where I might run into them. Can’t see the Moore building every day. Can’t exist in a city where everyone knows I lost my son.”“Where will you go?”“Europe, maybe. Paris. I always wanted to study fashion in Paris but Adrian said it was imprac

Chapter 34: The Reinvention Begins

**Six months later - Paris**The apartment was tiny. A fifth-floor walk-up in the Marais district with a window that looked out at other windows and a bathroom so small I had to turn sideways to use the sink.Nothing like the Moore mansion.Everything like freedom.I woke up at 5 AM to the sound of Clara’s alarm in the other room. We’d been sharing this shoebox for six months, working three jobs between us, barely scraping by.And I’d never been happier.Not happy, exactly. I still woke up crying some nights, reaching for a son who wasn’t there. Still felt the phantom weight of Ethan in my arms. Still heard his voice calling for “mama” and knowing he meant someone else.But I was surviving. More than surviving. I was living.My phone buzzed. A text from Francois, my boss at the café where I worked mornings.**Francois:** *Can you cover Amelie’s shift today? She’s sick. Double pay.*Double pay meant I could eat something other than bread and cheese this week. Maybe even save a little t

Chapter 35: The Atelier

Monday arrived too quickly and too slowly at the same time.I’d barely slept, running through every possible scenario. What if Genevieve had changed her mind? What if this was some elaborate joke? What if I showed up and she didn’t even remember inviting me?Clara had helped me pick an outfit. Simple black pants, a white blouse, my only pair of decent shoes. Professional but not trying too hard.“You look perfect,” she said, straightening my collar for the third time. “Now go. And don’t come back until you have a job.”The atelier was in a beautiful old building near Saint-Sulpice, the kind with massive wooden doors and a courtyard hidden from the street. I checked the address on the card three times before pressing the buzzer.“Oui?” A woman’s voice, crackling through the intercom.“I’m here to see Madame Moreau. My name is Serena Moore. She asked me to come at two.”A long pause. Then the door buzzed open.Inside, the building was even more beautiful. Spiral staircase. Original mold

Chapter 36: The Offer She Can’t Refuse

**Three years later**The fashion exhibit opening was everything I’d dreamed of and more.White walls. Spotlights highlighting each piece. A crowd of Paris’s fashion elite sipping champagne and murmuring appreciatively about the craftsmanship, the vision, the talent.My talent.Six pieces. All mine. Created over the past year under Genevieve’s mentorship. She’d submitted them to the Musée des Arts Décoratifs’ emerging designers showcase without telling me, and somehow, impossibly, they’d been accepted.“Stop fidgeting,” Clara whispered beside me. She looked stunning in one of my designs, a deep green dress with architectural shoulders. “You’re allowed to enjoy this.”“I’m terrified someone will realize I don’t belong here.”“You created six pieces that are currently being photographed by Vogue Paris. You belong here more than anyone.”Three years. Three years since I’d left New York broken and desperate. Three years of working sixteen-hour days under Genevieve’s exacting standards. Th

Chapter 37: The Offer She Can’t Refuse (Pt 2)

“Initial investment of two million euros. That covers startup costs: atelier space, equipment, initial fabric orders, staffing, marketing. In exchange, I take thirty percent equity in your company.”Two million euros. Thirty percent equity.“That’s a lot of money.”“It’s standard for this level of investment. And it’s not charity. I expect returns. But I also believe you can deliver them.” He slid a document toward me. “This outlines everything. Take it to a lawyer. Have them review it. I want you to be comfortable with every aspect.”“Why me? You could invest in any designer—”“Because I’ve been doing this for twenty years and I know talent when I see it. You have something special. Not just technical skill, but vision. You see fashion as art, not just commerce. That’s rare. Valuable.” He leaned back. “Plus, Genevieve speaks very highly of you. She’s never wrong about people.”“What happens if I fail? If the line doesn’t sell?”“Then we reassess. Scale back. Try again. Or fold and mo

Chapter 38: Four Years Gone

**Four years later**“Mademoiselle Moore, le photographe de Vogue est arrivé.”I looked up from the fabric samples spread across my desk. My assistant, Amélie, stood in the doorway of my atelier, clipboard in hand.“Merci, Amélie. Donne-moi cinq minutes, s’il te plaît.”“Bien sûr.” She disappeared, closing the door softly behind her.I stood, stretching muscles tight from hours hunched over designs. The atelier had grown considerably since that first Fashion Week. What had started as a single room was now an entire floor in the Marais, with separate spaces for design, production, fittings, and administration.ETHEREAL had exploded beyond my wildest dreams.That first collection had sold out within weeks. Neiman Marcus. Barneys. Harrods. Selfridges. Every major luxury retailer wanted to carry my pieces. Within a year, I’d opened my first standalone boutique in Paris. Then London. Then Milan.Now, four years after that debut, ETHEREAL was a global brand. Fifteen boutiques across three c

Chapter 39: Four Years Gone (Continued)

I opened the email.*Serena,**Per your instructions, I’ve been monitoring the custody situation in New York. Adrian Moore and Vivian Cross are still together, but not married yet. They had another child together two years ago—a daughter named Sophia. Ethan, now eight, attends an elite private school in Manhattan. By all accounts, he’s a happy, well-adjusted child.**There has been no mention of you in any school records or family documentation. Legally, you still have rights to visitation, but given your extended absence from the country and failure to maintain the court-ordered visits, any attempt to re-establish custody would be difficult.**However, if you wish to pursue this upon your return, I can coordinate with New York counsel.**Regards,**Isabelle*Another child. Adrian and Vivian had another child.Ethan had a little sister. A family. A life that had nothing to do with me.The phone slipped from my hands.Clara found me an hour later, still sitting in the dark, staring at

Chapter 40: The Name That Haunts

**ADRIAN POV**The Forbes magazine sat on my desk, mocking me.**“S. Moore: The Mysterious Designer Taking the Fashion World by Storm”**I’d been staring at it for ten minutes. At the face in the photograph. A woman in an elegant atelier, surrounded by fabrics, looking directly at the camera with eyes that were familiar and foreign at the same time.Confident. Powerful. Nothing like the broken woman who’d signed those divorce papers eight years ago.But it couldn’t be her. Serena had disappeared. Gone to Paris, yes, but to work in cafés and boutiques, not to build a fashion empire worth half a billion dollars.This had to be someone else. A coincidence. S. Moore was a common enough name.“You’re brooding again.”I looked up. Vivian stood in the doorway of my office, perfectly put together as always. Eight years of marriage hadn’t dimmed her beauty or her ambition.“Just reading.”She crossed to my desk, glanced at the magazine. Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered in

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