His Plaything のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

[Dante] “As you can see, sir, our branch in Japan is outperforming South Korea, so I suggest we—” BZZZZT. My phone vibrated, interrupting the presentation. All eyes subtly glanced at me as I glanced at the screen. Bianca. I hadn’t seen her since that day. I hadn’t gone after her either, opting to let things cool off—and clear my head after Mr. Wentworth decided to stir chaos and leave me with the mess. As I reached for the phone, the room tried to act casual, but I could feel their curiosity in the air. Normally, I never answered calls during meetings. But this time, I did. I swiped to answer and pressed the phone to my ear. “You! You left me! How could you? Get back here, dammit! I can’t get home by myself!” she slurred. Silence fell on my end for a beat. I pressed my lips together, then asked quietly: “Are you drunk? Where are you?” I heard the woman gasp over the phone before hanging up. I stared at the screen. Did she mean to call someone else? And who

[Bianca]The first thing I registered was the light. Pale, silvery, and much too bright for the way my head was pounding. I groaned and flopped onto my side, shielding my eyes. The second was the sheets—cool, soft and tangled around my legs like I'd fought off a dream or maybe a demon. Either option felt equally possible for some reason.The ceiling above me wasn't familiar. Definitely not Cassie's.So where the hell was I?I struggled to sit up and the sheets slipped down and I froze. My top was gone. My heart began to race, thudding in my ears as I jerked the covers away to assess the damage.My panties? Still on.My legs trembled as I shifted slightly, testing for any soreness. But there was none. No sticky skin. No ache. Just a mild hangover and a foggy brain.On the bedside table sat a packet of wipes—one half sticking out, signifying that it had been used—and next to it, a neatly folded piece of paper.I reached for it with trembling fingers.'The suite was paid for. But you st

[Bianca]"What are you looking at?" I didn’t bother softening the tone of my voice as I paused halfway to his desk.Dante leaned back in his chair. “Not much,” he said, though his eyes lingered on me. “Just trying to make sense of that cardigan.”I tilted my head, fingers splaying wide as I gave a mock twirl, showing off the teal sweater and the deliberately mismatched layers and colours. “Disappointed?” I asked, my mouth curving into something like a smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. Not quite.He sighed like it physically pained him. “Very.”That was the idea. I had gone back to Cassandra’s place after making the call to him and dressed in the ugliest, least tempting thing I could find. A preemptive shield. A reminder that I wasn’t here to seduce him. I was here to say thank you and find out what he wanted. “Could you get the door?” he said casually, gesturing behind me.I squinted at him, suspicious of the request, but turned anyway. I made it exactly one step before pausing.

[Bianca]I exited the building shortly after our conversation. While strolling past the parking lot, I heard someone—a woman to be specific, call out:"Hey!"The voice was familiar so I spun around. To my surprise, it was the same woman I'd accidentally bumped into outside Dante's house the other night. This time, I got a better look.Around 5'10, maybe taller with the boots. Curvy. Broad-hipped and broad-shouldered, with rich brown skin. She wore a simple olive coat, and under it, a dark dress that hit just below her knees."Hey," I returned, trying to sound as polite as I could. After all, we didn't even know each other's names.Nice to meet you," she said, a little breathless. "Bella Dawson." Then she smiled, revealing a set of perfectly aligned teeth. "Sorry to bother you, but would you mind if we talked for a bit? Somewhere quieter?"I didn't ask why because I already knew what the topic was. Dante. What I didn't know was the details and in times like this—curiosity often got the

[Dante]I didn’t leave the office until well after sunset. Not because I had nothing better to do—if anything, the day had been unusually productive and busy. From sex with Bianca to finally silencing that insufferable doctor once and for all, I’d crossed off most of the day’s regular obligations. By all metrics, it had been a good day.But the work never really ended. I wasn’t particularly fond of it. I didn’t find spreadsheets, meetings, or documentation fulfilling. Still, I had no intention of ever stooping to poverty. Not now. Not five years from now. Not even on my deathbed.I was thirty-one. Sooner or later, I’d have to consider retirement but before that came succession. That lovely word that terrified men who’d built empires. The moment you start thinking about who comes after you, you start realising you’re not immortal. You start making exit plans—planning for your own obsolescence, wanting to make sure the next person to take over wouldn’t fuck up your life’s work.A succes