Revenge on my Alpha husband のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 131 - チャプター 140

Lianna: The High Priestess’s house was the last place I expected to find beauty. Yet here I was, standing in a courtyard blooming with midnight roses, their velvet petals releasing a sweet, intoxicating fragrance that made me pause before stepping further in. I had imagined something else entirely—an ancient, sagging shack, maybe, with a cauldron bubbling over and cats hissing from dark corners. But this? This was elegance. Clean-cut hedges, polished obsidian stone underfoot, and lanterns swinging gently in the breeze like they carried secrets inside their glass. I caught my reflection in the black marble pillars that flanked the doorway. My hair was a mess from the ride, and dust streaked the hem of my dress. Wonderful. I should have worn something less… peasant. And I should have taken a car instead. But then again, I wasn’t here to win a fashion contest. I was here to figure out why the hell Freya was still breathing royal air. The doors opened before I could lift a

Lianna: The door clicked shut behind us with a muted thud, sealing away the buzz and clamor of the palace corridors. I stood still for a moment, my fingers grazing the cool brass handle before releasing it, the faintest chill clinging to my skin. It felt strange—this quiet—after weeks of public display of affections and private distance. And then Edward’s arm slid around my waist, his fingers splaying over my hip, drawing me flush against the hard planes of his body. His breath was warm against my temple, his voice low, honeyed, and entirely smug. “I’m glad we don’t have to pretend anymore,” he murmured. “No more stiff formalities. No more cold silences. Just us.” I tilted my head to look up at him, one brow arching with deliberate slowness. “You’re getting sentimental. Should I be worried?” He chuckled, deep and quiet, the sound rumbling in his chest, and I felt it through the thin silk of my dress. “You could be,” he replied, his tone teasing as his hand trailed

Lianna: "I mean you're happy." He continued. “Of course, life’s been good,” I said, smoothing the napkin across my lap even though there was nothing on it to clean. “I’m married to Edward. And honestly, if anyone told me years ago that it would end this way… him and me, I’d have laughed in their face. Actually, I probably would’ve thrown a drink at them first, then laughed.” That earned me a faint grin, but it was fleeting. His eyes flickered, something raw flashing behind them, but it was gone before I could pin it down. He just nodded, slowly, like he was counting out each beat in his head. “I’m glad,” he said finally, and his voice was rougher now. “You deserve it. And also, I am really fucking sorry for how I treated you." Of all the things I thought Ethan would say, an apology wasn’t high on the list. So I exhaled and said, “Well. That’s big of you.” He huffed a faint laugh, shaking his head. “You always had a way with words.” “Some people call

Lianna: I tugged at the collar of my tunic as I walked alongside Ethan, every nerve in my body protesting the decision to follow him. His strides were leisurely, like he hadn’t just crawled out of a dungeon a few days ago. Like people didn't go hush or whisper every time he walked into a room. We stopped at the base of the gazebo. The wood creaked faintly beneath our feet as we climbed the steps. His boots scuffed against the weather-worn planks, while my lighter shoes made soft thuds that sounded far too loud. I didn't like it. The quiet. The absence of people pretending they weren’t watching. The way my pulse thumped behind my ears. Halfway up, I halted, my fingers flexing at my sides. “Alright,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “What exactly do you want, Ethan?” He stopped too, two steps above me. The corner of his mouth twitched—maybe a smile, maybe a grimace. It was hard to tell with him these days. “Scared to be around me?” he asked, turning to face me fully.

Edward: The Lycan Confederate was a large castle of old stone and wood, soaked in centuries of blood and sweat. Even now, with the hall scrubbed spotless and banners from every allied Pack hanging high, there was no mistaking it for anything but a fortress. Its bones creaked with ancient power, and despite myself, I could feel it under my skin. Like it was sizing me up. I flexed my hand against the polished oak table, tapping my thumb once, slow and deliberate, against the grain. The sound echoed through the low murmuring of the gathered Alpha Kings. Every one of them sat tall, dressed in ceremonial black, silver crests glinting on broad chests. Some had beards like they’d walked out of an old legend. Others wore their scars like crowns. And all of them were older than me. Wiser? They’d say yes. I had other opinions. “Alpha Edward,” one of them said, in a voice so thin and cold. Osric of the Winterfang Pack. His Pack ruled the northern territories. Brutal lands. Brutal