Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

Blackwood Mansion – The Ballroom, 10:42 PM --- There were things a woman did not forget. Not the caress of wind. Not the hue on walls. Not the mention of her name on the lips of one who despised her. And this—this was one of them. --- "Tell them!" Harrison's voice tore across the room, clashing against marble and candelabras like a slap in the face. Leya winced. Not at the count. From the poison. Middle of the ballroom, chest heaving and thrashing like an animal trapped in a cage for too, too long. One hand on a whiskey glass, the other stretched out in front of her as if she were nothing more than a stain that couldn't scrub from his name. Dozens of eyes reflected her back at herself in a mirror. Leering. Judging. Wishing she would snap. I said it to you," Leya breathed, the words shaking beneath the impact of her own guilt, "I borrowed money for my brother. I stole not. I begged—for his life—" "Don't play heroine," Harrison growled, taking a step c

(Vivian POV) --- Blackwood Mansion – Morning After the Scandal Sunroom stood, with wilted hydrangeas already covered in thanks to the staff. She did not even notice petals. Heat. Smoky linen aroma on hallway rugs from last night's debacle. Sitting thinking. Knees together, fists clenched in her lap. One knee was folded over the other. A spoon rang against scalding tea she had no plans on drinking. Because something was amiss. And she never erred. --- Last Night – Her Memory, Played Back with Care She'd endured Leya performing before strangers, rattling shoulders, nearly bare, accused, taunted. She'd done nothing. Not because she approved — but because the play was rehearsed. A distraction. A test. But Harrison fumed and the screen flickered the video, which Vivian had witnessed — one that most of them had not. The math. Leya had admitted to having taken $50,000. But Harrison was adamant that $70,000 had been taken. And Vivian knew her son. Knew h

--- Blackwood Mansion – Two Days After the Party Eleanor stirred honey into her tea with economical poise, shoulders squared, face a mask. In the back, Mr. Blackwood's guests lingered in the hall, and in the subdued clinking of glasses during dinner afterwards. The house was a museum of overwrought silence — where all was spotless, but electricity lingered in the air. For Nathaniel had started to ask questions. Because Harrison was a disaster. Because the numbers weren't adding up. Because Leya wasn't cracking as they'd hoped. And at the bottom line of pressure somewhere, Eleanor realized: > The heat was coming her way. She hadn't expected Leya to speak. Hadn't expected Leya to stand in the ballroom like a half-guilt, blackened spectre and say "I embezzled only $50,000." She hadn't expected anyone likely to remember the figures. But Nathaniel's head was a safe. And safes, Eleanor remembered, were opened before they exploded to kingdom come. So now, she'd push blame aside

---Blackwood Mansion – Morning AfterThe house was still.Not still.Still like an attic with its door half-open, expecting the storm to blast its way in through the ceiling.Servants tiptoed. Doors shutting just quietly. No one ever screamed.And no one ever said Leya's name.Because what had happened last night — what every one of them had seen — had revealed something.Not just shame.Not just scandal.A gasp.And it was spreading.---Mr. Samuel Blackwood – The Patriarch's WrathSamuel never or hardly ever spoke above a raised tone.He never needed to.This morning, his voice shook all the way from the library.> "You embarrassed this family in front of billionaires, Harrison."Harrison stood stiff before him, hair shaved that morning, suit creased from the guest bedroom bed."They saw you pull your wife down the stairs," Samuel sneered. "They saw you rip her bare. Blame her. Curse her like an animal.""She stole from me," Harrison growled."And that made you qualified to do what

--- Blackwood Mansion – Morning Fog The lawn was damp with fog, chilly, and still. There was no activity on the Blackwood estate. But inside the mansion, play had started. Leya rested against the servants' hall window, her tea cold in the cup. Her shawl lay loosely around one shoulder, her bandaged wrist still exposed to the burn. Clara stood against the edge of the wall, watching her in silence. "You didn't sleep," Clara whispered. Leya shook her head slowly, almost not moving. "Last night Dalton's hand was cold," she whispered faintly. "He was always warm, even in the winter. He always. He would give me his blanket when we were kids." Clara stood staring down, shame marked on her face. "Nathaniel is investigating. The money. Eleanor. The video." Leya was quiet for an instant. She was staring out across the estate below. "Even if he drew me like I stole the whole thing," she breathed, "they still convicted me. They still teased. That never stops." Clara stepped forward and