I felt it when he called my eyes the most beautiful in the world. Kissed them like they were his salvation. But they were never really mine. He loved me, yes… But he loved her first. And I was just holding on to what she left behind... Now she's back and demand what's her. What will be left of me if she takes everything?
View More私の通う高校には、アイドル並みに人気の双子の兄弟がいる。
二人だけで、全校女子生徒のハートを鷲掴みにしてるんじゃないかってくらいの人気ぶり。
私、小嶋希空(こじまのあ)も彼らのファンのうちの一人だ。
お兄ちゃんである相楽陸斗(さがらりくと)くんは、少し癖のあるミルクティーブラウンの髪に、タレ目の二重の瞳と目元のほくろがチャームポイント。
弟である相楽海斗(かいと)くんは、染めていないサラサラの黒髪に、涼やかな切れ長の二重の瞳が印象的。
相楽兄弟は、双子でも顔は全然似ていないけど。
兄弟そろって目だけでなく鼻も口も整っていて、少女漫画のヒーローにも負けないくらいのイケメンだ。
おまけに成績も優秀で、陸斗くんはサッカー部、海斗くんはバスケ部で運動神経も抜群。
そして、兄の陸斗くんは私の好きな人でもある。
陸斗くんと初めて話した日のことは、今でも鮮明に覚えている。
あれは、今からちょうど1年前のこと。
高校に入学して間もない、4月のある日の放課後。
私は、担任の先生から授業で回収したクラスメイト全員分のノートを、教室から職員室まで運ぶようにと頼まれた。
「日直でもないのに、なんで私が……」
『小嶋お前、暇そうだから』って、先生ひどくない?!
そりゃあ今後部活に入る予定もないし、今日は学校が終わったら真っ直ぐ家に帰るだけだけど。
入学して早々に雑用を頼まれるなんて、ついてない。
「はぁ……」
クラスメイト40人分のノートを胸の前で抱えると、無意識にため息がこぼれた。
ていうかこれ、けっこう重い。その上、何冊ものノートを胸の前で抱えていると、目元が隠れてしまって足元がおぼつかない。
私は、足元に気をつけながらゆっくりと階段をおりていたのだが。
──ズルッ!
「きゃっ」
ふとした瞬間に足が滑り、体が大きく後ろにのけぞった。
うそ。おっ、落ちる……!そう思ったときだった。
「危ない!」
私は、後ろから誰かに抱きしめられた。
え!?
「キミ、大丈夫?!」
相手の人の両腕が、後ろからしっかりと私の腰にまわされている。
誰かが、助けてくれたんだ。
「はい、ありがとうございま……」
私は、助けてくれた人にお礼を言おうと後ろを振り返った。だけど、最後まで言葉を発することができなかった。
だって相手の男の子が、思わず息を飲むほどきれいな顔立ちをしていたから。︎︎︎︎︎︎
「怪我はない?」
にっこりと微笑む彼。
やわらかそうなミルクティーブラウンの髪が、窓から入ってきた風で揺れる。
「はい。おかげさまで大丈夫です」
「そう。なら良かった」
彼は私から手を放すと、階段に散らばったノートを拾い始める。しばらくそれをぽーっと見ていた私も、慌てて一緒にノートを拾う。
「これ、職員室へ持っていけば良いのかな?」
ノートの束を抱えた彼が、私に尋ねる。
「いや、でも悪いです」
「遠慮することないよ。クラスメイトなんだから、助け合うのは当たり前」
クラスメイト……こんなにもかっこいい人、同じクラスにいたんだ。
まだ入学して数日だから、クラスメイト全員の顔と名前を覚えていなかった私。
そういえば、入学早々女の子にキャーキャー言われている人がいたような気がする。
えーっと、確か名前は……そうだ。相楽くんだっけ。
I couldn’t ignore the growing storm inside me anymore. At first, I tried to silence it. I distracted myself with chores, tried to focus on meals and anniversaries and the way Richard smiled when he walked through the door. I told myself I was overthinking, that maybe I was just too sensitive. I blamed my hormones, the medication, even the tonic that upset my stomach. But deep down, something had shifted. I no longer felt seen... just watched. As if I were being studied… or guarded. Especially when he kissed my eyes. That should’ve been the first real clue, shouldn’t it? No matter how passionate or rushed our nights were, Richard never forgot to cup my face gently, lean in, and kiss my eyes like they were sacred. Like they were the best part of me. I used to find it romantic. Now, I wasn’t so sure. The message from the hospital 'Miss Stacy has finally woken up' had haunted me for days. It clung to the back of my mind like cobwebs I couldn’t wipe away. I had wanted to ask him outri
By the time Richard got home, I had already curled up in bed, too drained to pretend anymore. The candles had long melted down to nothing, the food sat untouched on the counter, and the wine remained unopened. I lay in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in silence and a sinking ache I couldn’t name. I heard the door click open, his familiar footsteps on the hardwood, and then the soft creak of the mattress as he sat beside me. “Tessa,” he said gently, his voice warm against the cold wall I was building inside me. “I’m sorry.” Before I could turn, he slid beneath the covers and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His scent, that familiar mix of cedar and bergamot, filled my lungs. He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, then held something out in front of me... small, velvet, and unmistakably expensive. A jewelry box. I hesitated. My fingers brushed against the fabric before I slowly opened it. Inside lay a bracelet delicate white gold enc
I woke up to the sound of Richard’s phone buzzing against the nightstand. It was still early, too early. The sun hadn't even filtered in through the curtains yet, but he stirred beside me, blindly reaching out for the device. I didn’t say anything at first. I just watched him from the curve of the pillow, my cheek pressed against the cool linen, eyes half-lidded. He squinted at the screen, then smiled. Not just a twitch of the lips, not the half-hearted grin he gave me when he was trying to humor me. This one was real. Bright, even. It made something in my chest twist. "Good news?" I asked softly, my voice raspy with sleep. He looked startled like he’d forgotten I was there. Then he smiled again, the one he meant for me this time. “Yeah. Work stuff. Just a project finally coming together.” I gave him a small nod, forcing my voice to sound light. “That’s great.” I didn’t push. I didn’t ask to see the message. I never did. I was Mrs. Anderson, after all... the wife. Not the investi
Back home, the warmth of the mansion did little to thaw the chill that had settled in my bones. My cheek still throbbed, and the scratch beneath my eye was beginning to swell. The maid, Lydia, met us at the door, her eyes darting to my face before quickly looking away. She didn’t ask what happened, she never did. Instead, she quietly led me to the kitchen and placed a warm bowl of tonic on the marble counter. “Madam,” she said gently, “this was specially requested by Madam Clarisse. She said you should take it before resting. It will help… with your cycles.” Cycles. That was her polite way of saying contraception. I stared at the bowl, a thick, almost black liquid steaming faintly. Bitter roots, boiled herbs, and whatever else Richard’s mother believed would keep me from “accidentally ruining my health with a pregnancy.” I forced a small smile. “Thank you, Lydia.” She bowed her head and left me alone. The first sip turned my stomach. By the third, I felt the now-familiar
TESSA’S POVThere’s something about the cold air at the orphanage that always stings my eyes, maybe it’s the wind or maybe it’s just me being overly emotional again. I come here every December, like clockwork. It started as something... something to keep my hands busy. I told myself I was just dropping off knitted scarves and cookies. But really, I think I just needed to be around kids, any kids. Even if they weren’t mine. “Miss Tessa!” one of the little girls called as she ran up to me, her boots crunching in the gravel. Her name was Lila. She couldn’t be more than six years old, with messy pigtails and a chipped front tooth. I knelt down to her level and held out a soft pink scarf. “This one’s yours.” Her face lit up like I’d just handed her gold. “It’s so soft!” she squealed, wrapping it clumsily around her neck. “Did you really make this?” “I did,” I said with a smile. “All by hand.” “It smells like cookies,” she added, sniffing it. I laughed a little. “That’s probably beca
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