All Chapters of THE CEO ALREADY KNEW : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The penthouse is quiet at 2 a.m.Celeste is asleep — actually asleep, not the half-conscious vigilance she usually calls rest. Mireille is down the hall, dreaming whatever dreams come after three months in a basement. And I'm sitting in Celeste's home office, staring at a locked directory that appeared on her server three hours ago.I shouldn't be here.I don't have clearance for this system. Hana would kill me if she knew. Celeste would be confused, then concerned, then probably furious.But the alert came through on my personal tablet — the one Celeste gave me for "emergency use only" — and the filename stopped me cold.ORACLE_PROTO_ORIGIN.Not the decoy. Not the corrupted files. The real one. The one Mireille has been protecting for three years.I shouldn't open it.I opened it.---The directory loads slowly.Encryption layers peel back one by one — Celeste's security protocols, the ones I helped design. Then older layers, clunkier, the kind of code that predates her tenure as CEO

The news spreads faster than anyone expected.Within an hour of Celeste's resignation announcement, Laurent Axis stock dropped 22%. Within three hours, every major news outlet has the story. By evening, protestors are gathered outside the headquarters, holding signs that say JUSTICE FOR ORACLE'S VICTIMS and CELESTE LAURENT: CRIMINAL OR SCAPEGOAT?Celeste watches it all from the penthouse windows.She hasn't moved in two hours. Just stands there, arms crossed, her reflection ghosting over the glass. The city lights flicker below — the same city that cheered her, feared her, now turning against her."You should eat something," I say."I'm not hungry.""You should sleep.""I'm not tired.""You should stop standing at the window like you're waiting for a firing squad."She turns finally, and her expression is so raw, so unguarded, that I feel it like a physical blow."What if I destroyed everything for nothing?""What do you mean?""What if the truth doesn't matter? What if the company co

The world doesn't end at 6 p.m.That's what I keep telling myself as I watch the news crawl across the bottom of the screen. Laurent Axis scandal widens. CEO's partner named in Oracle files. Investors flee. Stock plummets.The world doesn't end.But it feels like it should.Celeste is beside me on the couch, her hand in mine, her eyes fixed on the television. Neither of us speaks. There's nothing left to say — not about the files, not about the trial, not about the seventeen subjects who died because my face was in a system that marked me for elimination.My face.Subject Eleven.High risk. Recommended elimination."He really wanted me dead," I say finally.Celeste flinches."My father wanted a lot of people dead. People who threatened his control. People who didn't fit his algorithm." Her voice is quiet. "You weren't special, Daphne. That's the worst part. You were just... a data point.""A data point he wanted eliminated.""Yes.""Before I ever did anything.""Before you ever had th

I wake to an empty bed.Not unusual — Celeste is often awake before me, her mind already racing through the day's crises. But this morning feels different. The space beside me is cold. The pillow doesn't have the faint indentation of her head.She's been gone for hours.I find her on the balcony, still in yesterday's clothes, her hair tangled from sleep she never got. The sun is rising over Paris, gold and pink and utterly indifferent to the two women trying to piece themselves back together."You didn't sleep," I say."I tried.""Liar."She almost smiles. "Professionally."I lean against the railing beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't lean in either. There's a distance between us now — not the cold distance of anger, but something more fragile. The distance of two people who've hurt each other and aren't sure how to close the gap."Daphne.""Yeah.""I'm sorry." Her voice is raw. "For the logs. For not telling you. For making you f

The morning of the trial arrives like a verdict.Gray light filtering through the curtains. The sound of rain against the windows. Celeste is already awake, standing at the closet, choosing her armor. Black suit. White shirt. Hair pulled back so severely it looks painful."You look like you're going to a funeral," I say from the bed."I'm going to a trial.""Same thing."She turns to face me. Her expression is composed — the mask firmly in place — but I see the cracks. The way her hands tremble as she buttons her jacket. The way her breath catches when she thinks I'm not watching."Daphne.""Yeah.""If this goes wrong — if they decide to charge me —""They're not going to charge you.""You don't know that.""I know you." I swing my legs out of bed, walk to her. "You're not your father. You're not Adrian. You're someone who made mistakes and is trying to make them right. That's not a crime.""The prosecutors might disagree.""Then we fight." I take her hands. "Together."She stares at