One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 74: Chapter 74

The café was quiet, the scent of burnt espresso lingering beneath flickering fluorescent lights. Arielle sat hunched over a scratched table, the printed forgery trembling in her hands when her phone buzzed again.
A single notification.
Voice Message from Damien
She froze.
Not a call.
Not a text.
A voice message.
From his number.
Her fingers shook as she tapped to play it.
Static.
Then, his voice—
Breathy. Low. Hoarse.
“Arielle…”
She sat bolt upright.
“It’s me. I—I don’t have long. They’ve… I don’t know who to trust. If you get this, find Étienne. He—”
A crackle. Muffled shouting.
Damien’s voice returned, strained.
“Tell the kids I—”
The recording cut.
Arielle replayed it. Again. And again. Each word etched into her soul like a brand.
She didn’t cry. Not this time.
She stood, slipped the forged signature back into her folder, and left the café.
Étienne was already waiting outside.
Tall, dark, older now—but eyes sharp as ever. The scars on his knuckles hadn’t faded. The Beretta beneath his jacket hadn’t moved.
“You heard it?” she asked.
He nodded once. “He’s alive.”
“But for how long?”
“That’s up to us.”
Back in the hotel, Étienne secured the doors, covered the peephole, and laid out maps on the desk. Venice gleamed under moonlight outside, but within the room, it felt like a war room.
Arielle handed him the printed letter. “Forgery. His real signature curves here.”
Étienne examined it. “Sloppy work, but smart timing. With Damien gone, someone wants the throne.”
“He said not to trust anyone. He said your name.”
Étienne’s jaw clenched. “Then they’re in deeper than we thought.”
He pulled out a flash drive. “These are satellite logs from the tarmac. Heat scans. Passenger movement. I’ve been watching.”
“And?”
“There was a second plane. Unregistered. No transponder. It left twenty minutes after Damien’s.”
Arielle’s blood chilled. “So he was transferred?”
Étienne nodded. “Or intercepted.”
The next morning, Arielle’s phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number
No message. Just a picture.
Damien.
Bound. Blindfolded. A bruise along his jaw.
No timestamp.
No demand.
Just proof.
Proof he was alive.
She showed it to Étienne.
He narrowed his eyes. “This place... it’s not Venice.”
“Then where?”
He zoomed in. A single tile design in the background. Roman. Not Italian.
Étienne picked up the phone. Called someone.
“We’re heading east.”
“Where?”
He met her gaze. “Greece.”
Arielle didn’t hesitate.
“Then we go now.”