Semua Bab My Ex's Boss is My Baby's Father: Bab 51 - Bab 59

Travis started appearing everywhere.Outside the Cross Luxury Group building when I arrived for work. At the fabric district when I shopped for samples. Near Lucien's penthouse when I returned home. Always just far enough that security couldn't legally remove him, but close enough that I knew he was there.Watching. Waiting. Threatening with his presence alone.Derek and James, my security guards, documented every appearance. But Travis was careful. He never approached directly, never said anything threatening where witnesses could hear. He just stood there, staring, making sure I knew he hadn't forgotten me.The letters started arriving daily. Delivered to the studio, to Lucien's penthouse, even to my lawyer's office. All saying variations of the same thing."You destroyed my life. You stole my company, ruined my reputation, took everything I built. I won't let you succeed while I have nothing. If I go down, I'm taking you with me."Each letter was more unhinged than the last. Rambli

Day one after Chloe disappeared.Lucien stood in the studio where she'd last been seen, rage and fear warring inside him. Blood on the floor where security guards had been attacked. Signs of struggle. And Chloe, just gone."Tell me everything," he demanded of Derek, who was being treated for a head wound."Three men, maybe four. They cut the power from outside. When we went to investigate, they ambushed us. Professional military tactics. By the time we regained consciousness, Ms. Thorne was gone."Lucien called every contact he had. Private investigators. Police detectives. Security firms. Within hours, a team of experts was reviewing security footage from surrounding buildings, analyzing the attack, searching for any lead.Nothing. The kidnappers had been too professional, too careful.Day two, the ransom video arrived.Not sent to Lucien directly but uploaded to a secure server with a link sent to his email. Untraceable, routed through multiple countries.Lucien watched it with his

I wake in a hospital bed. Again. The lights are too bright. My head pounds. Someone is holding my hand."Chloe?" Lucien's voice. Rough, like he has been crying. "Can you hear me?"I try to speak. My throat is dry. A nurse appears with water, helping me sip through a straw."What happened?" I manage."You collapsed at the gala. Your blood pressure dropped dangerously low. The baby..." He stops, his voice breaking.Terror grips me. My free hand flies to my belly. "The baby?""Is okay. The baby is okay. But you scared me half to death."I look at him. Really look at him. His eyes are bloodshot. His shirt is wrinkled. He looks like he has not slept in days."How long have I been here?""Eighteen hours. They kept you sedated while they ran tests and got your vitals stable." He squeezes my hand. "The doctor said you were severely depleted. The kidnapping, the stress of the show, refusing to rest. Your body shut down."Guilt washes over me. I pushed too hard. Again. I risked the baby. Again.

On the fourth day, the doctor clears me for discharge. My levels are stable. The baby is healthy. I just need to continue resting and eating properly.Lucien helps me dress in clothes Riley brought. Soft maternity pants and a loose sweater. Everything feels surreal. Four days ago, I was on top of the world. Now I am moving into Lucien's penthouse like an invalid."Ready?" he asks, holding out his hand."Ready."We are halfway to the door when Lucien's phone buzzes. He glances at it and his expression shifts. Something unreadable flashes across his face."What is it?""Nothing. Just business." But his tone suggests otherwise.A nurse brings a wheelchair, hospital policy. I sink into it gratefully. My legs are still weak from days in bed. Lucien pushes me toward the elevator, one hand on the chair, the other carrying my bag of belongings."I transferred the five million to your account this morning," he says as we wait for the elevator. "You can verify it on your phone whenever you want

On the fourth morning at Lucien's penthouse, I wake to an email notification. My bank app shows a deposit. I open it, already knowing what I'll find.Five million dollars. Exactly as promised.The bet is settled. The contract fulfilled. I stare at the number, all those zeros, and feel nothing. Empty.There's no note. No message. Just the money, transferred efficiently, professionally. Like closing a business deal.I check my email and find it flooded with offers. Dior wants to meet. Chanel is interested. Valentino reached out through their head hunter. Every major fashion house seems to want the designer who placed third in Milan while pregnant and recovering from a kidnapping.My phone rings. An unknown number with a UK country code."Ms. Thorne? This is Catherine Mills from Ashford House London. We met briefly at Milan Fashion Week."I remember her. Elegant British woman, creative director of one of London's most respected fashion houses. We spoke for maybe five minutes at a pre-sho