Too Late To Beg Your Secret CEO Wife

"Darling, you're working so hard. Have a latte and take a break."

He placed the coffee next to my hand, his gaze sweeping over my laptop screen as if by accident.

"Is this your design for the art museum? It looks like an absolutely stunning piece of work."

I instinctively moved the mouse, switching away from the half-rendered image of the core structure.

"Mm, it's almost done."

"Don't work too hard, baby."

He leaned down and kissed my cheek, but as he pulled away, his hand "trembled," and the entire latte spilled across my laptop.

"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed.

I shot up from my seat, while he made a great show of grabbing tissues and fumbling to clean up the mess.

"You go get some dry paper towels from the breakroom! I've got this!" he urged.

Alarm bells went off in my head, but I pretended to be anxious and hurried towards the breakroom. I stopped at the doorway, however, watching him in the reflection of the frosted glass.

I saw him sit down in my chair, making no effort to wipe the computer at all.

Instead, he quickly took out his own phone and, using the brief window of my unlocked screen, Airdropped an encrypted design folder to his device.

The entire process was seamless, taking less than thirty seconds.

He deftly deleted the transfer history, restored my screen to its previous state, and only then did he pick up a tissue and start nonchalantly wiping the desk.

My stomach plummeted.

So he really was plotting against me.

I immediately returned to my desk and carefully checked my computer, but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.

No files had been moved, and there were no strange transfer logs.

What on earth was he planning to do?

A deep sense of unease washed over me.

Before I could sort out my thoughts, the internal line rang.

It was the voice of the president's secretary, her tone grave.

"Ava, Mr. Davies would like to see you in his office immediately."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

The trap was about to spring.