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The CEO's Runaway Wife and Secret Heir

Chapter 3 3

Word Count: 871    |    Released on: 09/02/2026

lace of cream leather and polis

e seat beside her. He was clutching a ragged, stuffe

g furiously on a laptop. He hadn

is legs, and the bear slipped from his grip. It tumble

ing. He looked d

her breath.

ts ear. He looked at it with disdain, but

small fingers brushed ag

a

rubbed his fingertips, frowning. He looked at Leo, really looked at him, fo

eo whispered b

d," Hart said, his voice f

led. "Preparing fo

the jet taxied to a ha

Hart muttere

into the blinding

art! Ove

the stock

s the

ing court. She was surrounded by reporters. She smiled when she s

cameras. "Hart, you didn't tell me your... ex-employee h

ent wild. Cli

hielding Leo's face. S

at Isadora. He saw the s

ed it over Camisha's head, covering Leo as well. It was a

ar," Hart ord

s were cold enough to freeze

you," Isadora stammere

rned his back on her and

ney Estate was silent

that," Camisha said,

window. "I did it for the stock price. I don't need a

ve iron gates. The estate loom

aiting. When he saw Camisha, his prof

," she gave hi

ng guest rooms," Hart ba

the house

breathing evened out. She

copies, but she needed the physical originals to make the th

lent on the plush carpet. She slipped into t

e desk and swung it open. The safe was there.

. Er

. 1015. The day

A red light b

dle to the s

She grabbed a book from the desk-The Art of

jama pants and a t-shirt. It was th

e saw the saf

up to him, closing the distance until s

her voice breathless. "I was l

her. He stepped closer. He was so close she

," Hart said softly. "Y

change

her away. Instead, his hand brushed her arm, movi

. They were just two people who kn

sha," he whispered. But he

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The CEO's Runaway Wife and Secret Heir
The CEO's Runaway Wife and Secret Heir
“I was Hart Whitney's "contract wife" for three years before I vanished, taking nothing but a secret and a scar that would never heal. Now, the billionaire CEO had tracked me down to a rainy suburb in Seattle, ready to drag me back to New York just to get the signature he needed to unlock his family trust. But when he stormed into my small house, he didn't just find a runaway employee; he found a three-year-old boy with his exact gray eyes and a nervous habit of spinning a pen that was a mirror image of his own. "He's not yours," I lied, clutching my son to my chest as Hart looked at him with cold, cynical disbelief. He forced us onto his private jet, treating me like a corporate thief and my son like a scandalous mistake. In New York, his socialite fiancée, Isadora, tried to poison my son with a "gift" of hazelnut chocolate and publicly humiliated me by exposing the jagged burn scar on my back-the very scar I earned saving Hart's life in a fire three years ago, a heroic act Isadora had stolen credit for. I couldn't understand how a man so brilliant could be so blind. He believed a faked DNA test over the evidence of his own eyes. He let his fiancée torment the woman who had bled for him and the child who shared his soul, all while I sat in the corner of his office, invisible and broken. It wasn't until my son lay dying in a hospital bed, needing a blood transfusion so rare it only ran in the Whitney family, that the truth finally broke through Hart's icy exterior. As Hart watched his own blood flow into our son's veins, he finally realized he hadn't been hunting a traitor-he had been destroying the only people who ever truly loved him.”