Once Upon a Marriage のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Lucian The subtle knock on my office door came precisely at nine, as planned. My lawyer, Carter, stepped inside, sharp suit, sharper eyes, carrying the thick manila envelope like it was a prize. “It’s done,” he said, placing the envelope on my desk. I let my fingers rest on it for a beat, savoring the weight of it. Shared custody. A move long overdue. Carter’s gaze flicked to mine. “I’ve arranged for the papers to be served this morning. She’ll get them before noon.” I nodded, leaning back in my chair, the city low behind me through the glass wall. “Good.” He hesitated. “Lucian, remember, public image is everything. We stick to the script. The devoted father, trying to do right by his son.” I smiled, slow. “I know the game, Carter. I wrote the rules.” He inclined his head. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” As the door clicked shut behind him, I lifted the envelope again, running my thumb along the sealed flap. Eloise. I could already picture the look on her face when the pape

Eloise I could barely keep my hands still as I waited in line at Maison Luna, the little French patisserie I always stopped at when life felt too heavy. The scent of fresh croissants and butter-drenched pastries curled around me, comforting in a way nothing else could. I ordered a lemon lavender tart and an oat milk latte, my chest tight as the barista scribbled my name on the cup. I shouldn’t be eating sweets right now. I needed to stay clear-headed for my meeting with Mike. But everything felt foggy, and the sour brightness of lemon felt like the only thing sharp enough to cut through it. As I stepped away from the counter to wait, I pressed my thumb against the pulse hammering beneath my collarbone. The café bustled with people: women in sleek navy work dresses clacking heels against marble, men in tailored charcoal suits whispering finance deals, university students in ripped jeans, their laptops open over half-eaten almond croissants. Everyone had somewhere to be. Something t

LucianThe conference room smelled faintly of cedar polish and roasted Arabica. Sunlight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the metallic logo embossed on the glass partition: Vance Global Holdings. I sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled beneath my chin as my PR director, Gina, flicked through slides on the screen.“…public sympathy is trending moderately in your favour,” she was saying, tapping her stylus against a line graph. “But to ensure the custody filing doesn’t backfire, we need to maintain the narrative that you’re stepping in for Max’s welfare, not out of vindictiveness.”“Obviously,” I murmured, flicking my gaze to her. Her lipstick was the same glossy plum as her nails, immaculate and distracting. “How do we do that without overtly smearing Eloise? The judge won’t appreciate aggressive character attacks.”“That’s where subtlety matters.” Gina clicked to the next slide, revealing a drafted media schedule: breakfast radio interviews, LinkedIn

Eloise I never imagined rock bottom would feel like this. Yeah, my life was steady drama but this? This is nothing I expected of. My phone buzzed against the kitchen counter again, vibrating in short frantic bursts. Another notification. Another headline. I didn’t need to read it to know what it said. They were all the same these days. “Disgraced Designer’s Mental Breakdown: Sources Close to Eloise Sinclair Reveal Her Jealous Rage.” “Lucian True Fights for Custody Against ‘Unstable’ Ex.” “Jennifer Sinclair: I Tried to Save My Sister From Herself.” I shut my eyes, pressing my palms against the cool marble counter, letting the numbness seep through my bones. The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock above the stove. Tick, tick, tick. Each second marked another moment of my life slipping out of my control. At some point I imagined running, my mental health was stake and so is Max, I might allow them steal my designs and go

Eloise I closed the atelier door behind him with trembling hands, feeling his presence seep out into the cold street air, leaving a blackened void in its place. My chest burned as I leaned against the wood panel, head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut. For a moment, all I could hear was the hammering of my own heartbeat and the buzzing silence that followed him everywhere. Lucian’s cologne still clung to the air, oakwood, bergamot, a hint of leather polish. Memories erupted unbidden, painting across my mind like old photographs dipped in acid. I saw his arms wrapped around my waist the first day he showed me the rooftop view of his apartment, whispering promises into my hair. I saw his mouth slanting over mine, his palm braced against my throat in the dim kitchen light when he kissed me against the fridge. I saw his eyes gleaming with silent admiration as I lifted Max out of his crib the first day we brought him home. But then, like lightning splitting an old tree, his betrayal c