Too Late CEO: I Am Taking Everything

Eleonora struck a long match. The flame flared, casting a warm, flickering glow across the darkened Upper East Side penthouse.

She touched the fire to the wick of the Jo Malone Red Roses candle. The heavy, romantic scent began to fill the dining room.

The walnut table was set perfectly for two. Crystal wine glasses caught the candlelight. It was their third wedding anniversary. Her chest felt full, expanding with a warm, steady anticipation.

A sharp buzz vibrated against the solid wood of the table.

The sudden noise shattered the quiet romance of the room. Eleonora glanced down. The screen of her iPhone lit up, displaying an iMessage from an unknown number. It was a video file.

Her stomach gave a strange, hollow flutter. She reached out and tapped the screen.

The chaotic, muffled sound of a crowd spilled from the phone's speakers. The camera angle was shaky, clearly recorded secretly from a VIP seat.

Eleonora frowned. The screen showed the grand, brightly lit stage of a Sotheby's auction.

"Sold for two million dollars," the auctioneer's voice boomed through the phone's tiny speakers.

The camera lens abruptly zoomed in, blurring for a second before focusing sharply on the winning bidder.

Eleonora's breath stopped. Her lungs simply ceased to function.

It was Julian.

His sharp, aristocratic side profile was unmistakable. He was supposed to be in Seattle for a board meeting. But there he was, sitting in a velvet chair, dipping his head to smile warmly at a woman sitting next to him.

The woman was wearing a pristine white dress.

Julian reached out. He took the heavy, glittering blue sapphire necklace from an auction house attendant. He leaned over and carefully draped the two-million-dollar jewels around the white-clad woman's pale neck.

The woman turned her head slightly, revealing a shy, delicate side profile.

Eleonora's fingers began to shake. The tremor started in her wrists and traveled violently down to her fingertips.

The phone slipped from her grip. It hit the edge of her porcelain dinner plate with a loud clatter.

She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth, keeping the scream locked in her throat.

She grabbed the phone again, her thumb frantically pinching the screen to zoom in. She needed a flaw. She needed it to be a lookalike.

But the camera caught Julian's left wrist as he fastened the necklace. The Patek Philippe watch gleamed under the auction house lights.

It was the watch she had given him for his thirtieth birthday.

A heavy, suffocating weight crashed down on her chest.

The electronic chime of the front door's fingerprint lock echoed through the hallway.

The sharp sound pierced through her frozen state. Panic spiked in her veins. She slammed the phone face-down on the walnut table.

She stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Footsteps approached. Julian walked into the living room.

He was wearing his tailored Tom Ford suit. The cool, crisp air of the New York autumn clung to his broad shoulders.

In his hands, he held a massive bouquet of deep red Ecuadorian roses. His dark eyes locked onto hers, soft and completely flawless.

He closed the distance between them with long, confident strides. He held the roses out to her.

Eleonora forced her stiff arms to lift. She took the bouquet.

A sharp thorn pierced the skin of her index finger. A sharp sting of pain shot up her arm.

She didn't flinch. She used the physical pain to ground herself, forcing the corners of her mouth to curve upward into a pale, rigid smile.

Julian's thick eyebrows pulled together. He immediately reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over to inspect her finger.

"Careful," his deep voice rumbled, carrying a faint, almost undetectable edge of tension. He rubbed his thumb over her uninjured skin. "Why are you so distracted tonight? What's on your mind?"

Eleonora stared into his dark, calm eyes. A violent wave of nausea hit her stomach. Bile rose in the back of her throat.

She yanked her hand out of his grip.

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice sounded thin and brittle.

She turned her back to him, walking over to a crystal vase on the sideboard. She shoved the roses into the water, putting physical space between them.

"How was the meeting in Seattle?" she asked. She dug her fingernails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke.

Julian walked over to the bar cart. He calmly unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his silk tie.

"Exhausting," he lied smoothly. "The flight was delayed for two hours on the tarmac."

Eleonora stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. The coldness in her blood spread to her fingertips.

She picked up her glass of ice water and took a slow sip. The cold liquid burned her tight throat.

"I saw the news today," she said, keeping her eyes locked on his reflection. "There was a massive jewelry auction at Sotheby's."

Julian's hand froze over the crystal decanter. It was a fraction of a second, but she saw it. The amber liquor rippled inside the glass.

He recovered instantly. He turned around, holding his drink, his expression completely relaxed.

"Yes," he said. "I was actually there."

Eleonora didn't take the drink he offered. She just stared at him. The silence in the room grew thick and suffocating.

Julian let out a soft, helpless laugh.

"Jax Mercer begged me to go," Julian explained, his voice smooth and convincing. "He needed me to bid on a necklace for his new girlfriend. I barely made it back in time for dinner."

He stepped forward. He wrapped his large, warm hand around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest.

He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I'm so sorry I didn't have time to pick out a proper anniversary gift for you," he murmured.

Eleonora's entire body turned to stone. Her muscles locked up, rejecting his touch.

As her face pressed against his suit lapel, she inhaled. Beneath his usual cedarwood cologne, there was something else.

Tuberose.

It was a faint, lingering floral scent. It was not her perfume.

The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. The ice in her veins froze solid.

Eleonora shoved her hands against his chest and pushed him away.

"I need to get the soup from the kitchen," she blurted out.

Julian's arms dropped. His hands hung in the air for a second. A flash of dark irritation crossed his eyes before he masked it.

Eleonora practically ran into the kitchen.

She gripped the edge of the cold marble island. She gasped for air, her chest heaving. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. She stared blankly at her own pale reflection in the stainless steel sink.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Julian leaned against the kitchen doorframe.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed and dominant.

"Are you distracted tonight, Nora?" he asked. His eyes narrowed slightly, probing her.

Eleonora spun around. She plastered a perfect, flawless smile on her face.

She picked up the heavy porcelain bowl of hot soup. The steam rose, hiding the redness in her eyes.

"I'm just tired," she lied back. "The new project at work is draining me."

Julian stepped forward immediately. He reached out to take the heavy bowl from her hands.

His warm fingers brushed against hers against the porcelain.

The heat of his skin felt like a burn. Eleonora flinched violently, jerking her hands back.

The bowl tilted. Hot soup splashed over the edge, staining the pristine white tablecloth.

Julian grabbed a napkin. He slowly wiped up the spill, his movements deliberate. He lifted his head and stared directly into her eyes. The air in the kitchen grew heavy and oppressive.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked. His voice was low, demanding.

Eleonora's mind flashed to the master bathroom upstairs. Hidden in the bottom drawer was a folded piece of paper—the positive pregnancy test report from her doctor. She had planned to give it to him tonight as an anniversary surprise. But that was before the video. Now the secret felt like a weight she couldn't carry.

She forced herself to stay calm. "I'll go get a towel," she said, but Julian caught her wrist.

"I'll get it," he said, and walked toward the pantry. The moment his back was turned, Eleonora saw her chance. She slipped out of the kitchen, her heart pounding. She took the stairs two at a time, ran into the master bathroom, and yanked open the bottom drawer. The paper was there. She folded it small and pressed it deep into the pocket of her silk robe. Then she hurried back downstairs, her breath shallow.

When Julian returned with the towel, she was already standing by the table, her hands behind her back, hiding the slight bulge in her pocket.

"No," she whispered.

Julian studied her face. He seemed satisfied with her submission.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm going to take a quick shower and change," he said.

He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Eleonora listened to his heavy footsteps fade down the hall. She heard the solid click of the master bathroom door locking.

The moment the lock clicked, her spine collapsed.

She stumbled back to the dining chair and collapsed into it. Her hands shook violently as she reached for her phone.

She flipped it over. The video was still looping on the screen.

The blurry side profile of the woman in the white dress stabbed into her eyes. Her brain raced, frantically sifting through every woman in Julian's circle.

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.

The noise covered the sound of Eleonora's ragged, choking sob. She grabbed the massive bouquet of Ecuadorian roses and shoved them hard off the table.

The crystal vase shattered against the hardwood floor. Red petals scattered everywhere like drops of blood.

Eleonora took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped the wetness from her eyes with the back of her hand.

She pressed the power button, turning the phone screen black.

The despair in her chest settled into a heavy, cold stone, weighing down her racing thoughts. She didn't know what to believe yet, and a pathetic, lingering part of her still desperately wanted to trust him. She would bury this doubt deep down for now, but she knew, eventually, she had to find out exactly who that woman was.