All Chapters of The CEO Beautiful Regret : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

*Vivienne*The cold morning air hit us the second we stepped out of the cabin.The sky above the ridge was pale blue, sharp and clear. Snow had stopped falling, but a fresh layer covered the old green truck in the woodshed.Dominic leaned hard against my shoulder, his boots dragging in the white powder. His knee was swollen double its normal size under his torn pants, but he didn't complain once. His hand was gripped tight in mine, his long fingers holding on like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go."Can you reach the step?" I asked, guiding him to the passenger door of the old truck."I can reach anything if you're next to me," he muttered, his voice rough from the fever, but his eyes were bright as he looked down at me. He bent his head, pressing his lips hard against my forehead before climbing inside.Martha loaded Clara into the middle seat between us. She tossed the white envelope with our new passports onto the dashboard, then pulled the heavy iron bar out from under her

*Vivienne*The silence in the house didn't feel real.Outside, the ocean waves hit the cliff rocks in a slow, heavy beat. The warm yellow light from the kitchen lamp lit up the clean cedar walls, but my hand still stayed close to my hip, looking for a weapon that wasn't there anymore.Dominic sat on the edge of the heavy oak table, his fingers still wrapped around mine. His face was relaxed, his dark eyes watching me, but his body was stiff, ready to move if the glass shattered."Vivienne," he said, his voice soft in the quiet room. "Sit down. Get off your foot."I looked down at my bare left foot. The cuts were clean now, washed by the river water, but the skin was purple and raw."I can stand," I whispered."You don't have to," he said. He pulled gently on my hand, drawing me into the space between his knees. His hands moved to my waist, lifting me easily until I was sitting on the edge of the table beside him.He dropped to one knee on the hardwood floor, ignoring the sharp pain in

*Vivienne*The sheriff took the suit away before the sky even turned blue.Two local patrol cars had come up the dirt lane with their red lights flashing silently against the giant cedar trees. They threw the suit into the back seat, loaded his broken driver into the second car, and took Martha’s quick, simple story without asking too many questions. A man wanted for three state warrants doesn't get to complain about how he ended up tied to a porch post with heavy yellow rope.By five in the morning, the driveway was empty again.The heavy diesel truck was parked under the trees, its engine finally shut off. The cold ocean wind blew through the open front door, carrying away the lingering smell of sweat, wet wool, and copper.Dominic stood near the stone fireplace, watching Martha set the heavy iron poker back in its brass stand. His bad knee was swollen dark under his jeans, but he refused to sit down until the heavy oak front door was shut and double-bolted."The local police won't

*Vivienne*The cellar door banged shut behind us.Dominic didn't wait for the dust to settle. He carried the heavy metal lockbox up the wooden steps, setting it down hard on the kitchen counter. The black USB drive clicked against the clean wood.Martha was standing near the front window, her long grey coat buttoned up to her chin. She had her small leather bag slung over her shoulder, and Clara was holding her hand, wearing an oversized blue wool sweater."You're leaving," I said, stepping up beside Dominic."I did my job, Vivienne," Martha said, her face completely calm. "The suit is in a police car. The driver is broken. My contract with Julian ended the moment you opened that box.""Where will you go?" Dominic asked. His hand stayed flat on the kitchen table, close to the black USB drive."Somewhere warm," Martha said simply. "Clara needs a real school. She needs a yard with grass, not cold rocks and gunshots."She looked down at Clara, her hard eyes softening for a second. Clara

*Vivienne*The engine didn't sound right.Dominic knew it the second the boat cleared the shadow of the lighthouse cliff. The small black motor was sputtering, making a low, wet coughing noise every three seconds.Martha stood at the back, her heavy boots jammed against the boat frame, holding the small steering handle with both hands. Her face was locked in a hard, pale line."The fuel line is taking in salt water!" Martha shouted over the roar of the wind.Dominic didn't say a word. He pushed the heavy black drive box under the wooden seat and grabbed my hand. He pulled me down into the narrow floor of the boat, keeping us low while the grey ocean waves slapped hard against the hull.I looked back at the cliff.Black smoke was pouring out of the top windows of the old stone lighthouse. It drifted across the grey sky like a thick blanket. But halfway up the rock wall, near the path we had just run down, a small white light flashed twice.A flash from a camera lens. Or a rifle scope.