The Wealthy Divorcee のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 171 - チャプター 180

David Branson left without revealing anything.That was what the world saw.Black vehicles vanished into Manhattan traffic. Armed men disappeared. Sirens dissolved into the distance. By the time the glass doors of J&J headquarters stopped trembling, the moment already felt unreal—like a power surge that never fully discharged.Jenna remained still for several heartbeats after he was gone.Not because she was weak.Because something unfinished hovered in the air between them.The boardroom demanded her back.She returned with the same composed authority she had rebuilt since the island—heels steady, shoulders squared, eyes sharp enough to cut through fear and speculation. Directors were already mid‑panic, voices overlapping, legal teams dialing embassies, assistants whispering the word royal like it might explode.Jenna raised one hand.Silence fell."What you witnessed today," she said evenly, "was not a declaration. It was an introduction."A director cleared his throat. "Ms. Anderso

The red dot vanished as if it had never existed.Jenna froze.For a fraction of a second, her mind tried to rationalize it—light reflection, a trick of steam from the bathroom mirror, exhaustion playing cruel games. But instinct screamed louder than logic. The same instinct honed through years of discipline, bruises, broken skin, and relentless training.Danger.Her body responded before fear could settle.She slowed her breathing, grounding herself as her instructor had taught her years ago. Feel the floor. Control the pulse. Do not panic.Jenna crossed the room silently, muscles coiled, fingers flexing as she reached the balcony door. Madrid shimmered beyond the Glass; the city stretched beneath the midnight sky like a jeweled beast at rest. The breeze stirred the sheer curtains, cool and deceptive.She stepped outside.The air shifted.A scrape of fabric. A whisper of movement.Jenna turned—and the first assassin vaulted over the railing.She did not scream.Her foot snapped up ins

The red dot vanished as if it had never existed.Jenna froze.For a fraction of a second, her mind tried to rationalize it—light reflection, a trick of steam from the bathroom mirror, exhaustion playing cruel games. But instinct screamed louder than logic. The same instinct honed through years of discipline, bruises, broken skin, and relentless training.Danger.Her body responded before fear could settle.She slowed her breathing, grounding herself as her instructor had taught her years ago. Feel the floor. Control the pulse. Do not panic.Jenna crossed the room silently, muscles coiled, fingers flexing as she reached the balcony door. Madrid shimmered beyond the Glass; the city stretched beneath the midnight sky like a jeweled beast at rest. The breeze stirred the sheer curtains, cool and deceptive.She stepped outside.The air shifted.A scrape of fabric. A whisper of movement.Jenna turned—and the first assassin vaulted over the railing.She did not scream.Her foot snapped up ins

The night in Madrid, I did not sleep.Sirens wailed somewhere far below the hotel’s gilded windows, their echoes slicing through the velvet silence left behind after the chaos of the previous hour. The attempted assassination had been hushed, buried under layers of royal authority and private security, but the air itself still trembled as if it remembered. Even the chandeliers in the presidential suite seemed to glow too brightly, as though light itself had become suspicious of shadows.Jenna sat by the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.The city stretched endlessly below—ancient rooftops, glowing streets, the illusion of peace. It mocked her. Just hours ago, masked men had stalked her hallway with silenced guns and professional precision. If David’s men had been a second slower, she would already be a headline whispered behind closed doors.The Mysterious CEO Dies in Spain.Her fingers curled against the glass. The chill seeped into her bones, but it was nothing compare

The world woke up burning.Not with flames this time, but with outrage.By dawn, the image had crossed every border Jenna Anderson’s company ever operated in—and many it never had. Phones buzzed relentlessly. Newsrooms abandoned scheduled programming. Financial analysts, political commentators, and royal correspondents spoke over one another in frantic urgency as the same photograph dominated every screen.Rex.Jenna.Fire.He was carrying her as if the rest of the world had already fallen away. Jenna woke to white.Not the comforting whi