Sin For me, Daddy. のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 151 - チャプター 160

Chapter 150.The office fell silent— but only for breath. Then the soft sound of melting skin, wet and desperate filled the room. Her soft moan getting swallowed by Drystan's growl. “Auuuu… Sunshine. You are so tight.”Rosealba’s lips trembled, her thighs parted slightly to take him. “They are going to catch us, Drystan… be.. be gentle.” “Gentle?” A soft scoff tore past his lips. He moved a finger to her hair and tugged a strand away. “You think I care about who walks in?” He asked in his deep baritone voice, hissing into her ear. Rosealba shuddered at the gentle impact.“We will get caught.” Rosealba moaned in a heavy breath, panicking and trembling.His hand moved to the back of her hair and took a large grip of it, yanking it backward.“Goodness…” Rosealba gasped as pain and pleasure slit through her scalp. “That's it..” Drystan grunted, thrusting slowly. “Let them come.” He growled, keeping the same pace. “Let them come and see who you are. Who you really belong to.”Rosea

Chapter 151. The room was dark—eerily darker than usual. Rosealba tossed restlessly against the bed, groaning softly in her sleep. Her head spun, pulsing with something she could only describe as a deep headache.She moved a hand to her head, her palm gently caressing her temple in a faint attempt to ease the pain.It was then that she felt it—the presence of someone, the weight of piercing eyes heavy on her body. Her brows knitted in sudden fury. Drystan… Drystan… The name rang in her head, but she knew deep down it wasn’t him.Her heart raced, the sensation of being watched was too real, too intense. Immediately, her eyes sprang open, only to meet a pair of perfect, familiar eyes staring right back at her.Rosealba hurriedly sat upright, her breath uneven, the shock of awakening suddenly rushing through her like ice-cold water.“Hazel,” she called her voice still thick with sleep, brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of the sudden intrusion.“My lady,” Hazel said, her tone sof

Chapter 153. The engine growled low as Drystan drove alone through the winding path that led to the estate. His hands gripped the steering wheel, the weight of old memories pressing against his chest with every mile. Back then, when the weight of expectation and unspoken words were becoming heavy, he would run here to meet his uncle. Stay there days without saying a word to anyone about what exactly was up. Then over time, he realized his father had reason for putting all of that weight on him. The mansion came into view, sitting in the cradle of misty trees, cloaked in the kind of silence that made the past feel alive again. Drystan slowed the car, his sharp eyes sweeping the grounds. The fountains were still running. The garden is still meticulously trimmed. It all looked the same, yet somehow different. Nostalgia rolled over him in a quiet, heavy wave. His uncle made great choice of running off to come stay here in Sicily, but he? He was born Rome. In fact the Italian Mafia

Chapter 156.Rosealba and Emilia arrived at the restaurant.The moment they stepped in, Rosealba shimmered under the dim glow of the restaurant, her blond hair cascading down her back in a loose wave. Soft golden hues from low-hanging chandeliers kissed her skin, making her look like something ethereal — delicate and radiant. The restaurant bathed in a decadent mystery; its walls were painted in a rich, shadowy black that gave off an aura of secrecy and intimacy, like the world outside had vanished the moment they walked in.Her eyes wandered around the dark wall of the all-black restaurant, and the image immediately rang a bell, reminding her of that other black-themed restaurant where she last went on a date with Drystan. The day he proposed to her.Her heart clamped. Not in pain. But in the slight ache of missing the one dearest to your heart. A hollow tenderness thudded against her chest, slow and aching.They moved closer to the black chairs wrapped in opulence, upholstered in lu

Chapter 158.Sicily, midnight.The moon sat low, a pale white coin above the hills of Sicily. The air was thick with the scent of sea salt and silence. Somewhere beyond the rusted gates of the villa, crickets chirped like a warning.A black convoy rolled through the dirt path, headlights slicing through the mist. The first car halted at the grand iron gates. It didn’t honk. It didn’t wait.It simply paused.And from the backseat, he stepped out.Drystan.Tall. Composed. Death dressed in black.His long coat moved with the wind, the leather brushing against his thighs like a second skin. His gloves were still stained from the earlier kill, but he hadn’t bothered to wipe them. The blood had dried, dark like his silence.The night seemed to bow to him. Even the wind went still.The guards at the gate shifted. One reached for his gun.Drystan didn’t blink.He raised his eyes slowly, gaze flat, cold, and distant. That was all it took. The guard’s hand dropped. His fingers trembled. He buzz