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The CEO's Runaway Wife and Secret Heir

Chapter 7 7

Word Count: 602    |    Released on: 09/02/2026

e, Hart didn't ye

sofa in the master bedroo

asked. He was looking at her

ou were obsessed with the stock price. You would ha

tner because I though

kno

me believ

ou survi

x England had launched a hostile takeover bi

rounded by lawyers. He was s

ng sweatpants. She grabbed a mar

n pill defense using the Grandmother's Trust as collateral. She didn't just write it; she explained it,

m went

the board. "Tha

ying to look important in the co

ink we should just...

isha. "You're not just an anal

lass at Wharton, Hart.

. "Be my acting CFO.

do I

vidence myself. And... I give y

itated. Fre

rked in perfect sync. Camisha destroyed Felix on the

hing dangerous blooming in his

room. He had es

om

's leather chair. He pi

he TV screen, Leo started spinning the pen

t f

learned it in boarding school. It was a nervous habit so ingrained, so uniquely

you that?" H

p. "Nobody.

he gray eyes. The peanut

s too

ver to Leo. "You have some

plucked a single ha

eo rubbed

put the hair

nd from the whitebo

was clenched around the hair

vate doctor. "I'm sending a sam

face went pale. If Hart found out the boy wa

ber. "I need a favor at the lab. It's goin

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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.”