Billionaire's Match (by Tangy Candy) novel Chapter 490

Ethan smirked and turned toward the bathroom.

The moment the door clicked shut, Charlotte slipped back into the bedroom and grabbed his phone.

Near her home was a small phone repair shop whose owner had a touch of hacker skill. Several times before, when her phone or computer needed unlocking, the owner had helped her.

But accessing someone else's phone data—that was definitely crossing a line…

Charlotte hesitated for a long moment, then gritted her teeth and stomped off to see the owner.

Ethan's passcode was more complicated than anything Charlotte had set. The owner spent a long time unlocking it, though since it was a hacking program, the window of access wouldn't last long.

Back with the phone, Charlotte found a quiet corner and started digging through the project files related to Solara Energy. She recorded everything she could, sending it straight to Khloe.

Her eyes darkened, her pulse quickened. She knew the consequences if she were caught—but when she thought of how Ethan had caused the death of her closest friend, she steeled herself once more.

She combed through his contacts, messages, photo albums… anywhere that might hold private information.

Surprisingly, for a man like Ethan, who should have been riddled with skeletons, his phone was astonishingly clean.

Almost everything was work-related files or mundane personal records. His photo albums were free of chaotic or scandalous images, though he did like taking photos of his own body, along with pictures of bank cards and other cards—likely using the album as a makeshift notebook.

Charlotte had no patience to delve into his personal life. She only wanted to find traces of her friend, to confirm her suspicions.

But after thorough searching, there was nothing.

Just as she was about to give up, she stumbled across Ethan's messaging favorites. There, tucked away, was a blurry photo of a note.

The handwriting was sloppy: [Thank you for walking this part of the journey with me, Ethan.]

Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. She knew that handwriting—it was her poor, dear friend. She always stretched her strokes unusually long.

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