THE CEO ALREADY KNEW のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

The billionaire heiress touches Celeste's arm like she belongs there.I notice her immediately — because I notice everything, because noticing things is how I've stayed alive in rooms full of people who would happily watch me drown. She's young, maybe twenty-five, with dark hair and a smile that's been polished by the best surgeons money can buy. Her hand rests on Celeste's forearm like a claim. Her body angles toward Celeste like gravity.And I hate her instantly.Which would be easier to explain if I weren't supposedly running a con.We're at a private dinner in Monaco — the last night before we fly back to Paris. The restaurant is carved into a cliff overlooking the sea, all white tablecloths and candlelight and the kind of quiet that means every word carries. Celeste was invited by an old business associate. I was invited as the girlfriend.The fake girlfriend. The one who's supposed to smile and nod and let other women touch her woman's arm without fantasizing about creative ways

The first sign that something is wrong comes at 3 a.m.I wake to darkness and the soft weight of Celeste's arm across my stomach. She's still asleep — rare for her, precious, the kind of vulnerability she only shows when she's too exhausted to remember she's supposed to be untouchable.For a moment, I just lie there, listening to her breathe.Then my phone buzzes.It's on the nightstand, facedown — the burner I keep for emergencies, the one Adrian doesn't know about. Except Adrian knows about everything, because Adrian has been playing this game longer than I have.I slide out from under Celeste's arm as carefully as I can. She stirs, murmurs something in French, settles back into sleep.The phone buzzes again.I grab it and slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind me."You thought you could hide from me?"The message is already open. No sender ID. Just those words, glowing on the screen like a threat.My blood turns to ice."The wire was cute, Daphne. Did you really think dest

The meeting with Adrian is set for noon at a café in the Marais.I don't tell Celeste the location. I don't tell anyone. I slip out of the penthouse at 11 a.m. wearing jeans and a leather jacket, no wire, no phone—okay, one phone, the burner he doesn't know about, hidden in my boot.The Marais is crowded with tourists and locals pretending not to notice each other. The café is small, unremarkable, the kind of place where conversations disappear into the noise of espresso machines and idle gossip.Adrian is already there when I arrive.He's sitting at a corner table, back to the wall, watching the door. He looks older than I remember — lines around his eyes, gray at his temples. The past few weeks haven't been kind to him."Daphne." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."I sit."Thank you for coming.""I didn't come for you.""No. You came for the truth." He signals the waiter, orders two coffees. "You always did have a weakness for things you shouldn't know.""You said you h

The morning after the gala, Celeste insists on going to the office."You're joking," I say, standing in the doorway of her closet while she selects a suit like she almost didn't die twelve hours ago."I don't joke about work.""Celeste, someone tried to kill you.""Someone tries to kill me every other Tuesday." She pulls a charcoal blazer off its hanger, inspects it. "Today is Monday. I have a board meeting at ten.""You're insane.""I'm focused." She turns to face me, the blazer draped over her arm. "Adrian wants me hiding. He wants to scare me. The moment I stop showing up is the moment he wins.""You can't win if you're dead.""Then don't let me die." She walks toward me, stops inches away. "Stay close. Watch my back. That's what you're here for, isn't it?"I stare at her. At the calm in her eyes, the steadiness of her hands. Twenty-four hours ago, she was shaking in a car, telling me about her father's heart attack and the nurse who lied. Now she's standing here like nothing happe

I wake up at 3 a.m. and find Celeste already awake, staring toward the window like danger has a schedule. This is becoming a pattern. The safehouse is quiet — too quiet, the kind of silence that feels like holding your breath. Outside, the valley is black, no lights for miles, just the stars and the moon and the wind moving through the fields. Celeste is sitting up in bed, her back against the headboard, her eyes fixed on the curtained window. She doesn't look at me when I stir. Doesn't acknowledge that I'm awake at all. "Celeste." Nothing. "Celeste." I reach out, touch her arm. She flinches — barely, just a tiny recoil — but it's enough to make my heart clench. "You should sleep," she says finally. Her voice is flat. Distant. The voice she uses with board members she's about to destroy. "I could say the same to you." "I don't sleep well in strange places." "We've been here for two nights." "Exactly." She finally looks at me. Her eyes are dark, shadowed, ringed with exhaus