บททั้งหมดของ I Said Yes to My Ex's Enemy: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

　　Emily blinked, startled.　　“Adrian—”she whispered, barely getting the word out before his lips found hers again—deeper this time, no longer asking, only answering.　　The air between them changed—softness giving way to something more electric, more charged.　　His hands moved with reverence, like he was memorizing her all over again. Her breath hitched when his fingers found hers, lacing them together, grounding her even as the rest of her felt like it was coming undone.　　Steam still lingered faintly on her skin from the bath. Every inch of her felt warm, sensitized, like the lines between comfort and desire had quietly blurred.　　The room, dimly lit and silent, held its breath around them.　　Adrian’s gaze followed the curve of her bare shoulder where the robe had slipped slightly. He didn’t speak, but something in his eyes deepened—dark as ink, soft as velvet.　　Emily shifted, meaning to adjust the robe—but his hand came up first, gently easing it back into place. His fingers linger

　　The storm of their bodies had stilled, but neither moved.　　Adrian lay half-curled around her, their limbs tangled, her cheek resting against his bare chest where his heartbeat thudded in a quiet, steady rhythm.　　Emily’s fingers traced idle circles on his side, slow and absentminded, as if she were memorizing the shape of him all over again.　　He kissed the top of her head.　　“I don’t want to leave,”he murmured, voice husky with sleep.“Just a few more days and I’ll be gone for a month. I already miss you.”　　Emily tightened her arms around him without a word, burying her face a little deeper against him.　　“Me too,”she whispered.“But I’ll be right here. Waiting.”　　He let out a breath that sounded like both relief and ache, and pulled the blanket higher over them, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.　　⸻　　The next morning.　　Sunlight poured softly through the curtains. In the quiet kitchen, the smell of toasted sourdough and coffee lingered in the air. Emily, still barefoot in

　　Emily let out a quiet laugh and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms.“That’s a dangerously sweet thing to say.”　　He walked toward her now, slow and unhurried, until he was standing right behind her chair.　　“Is it?”He leaned down slightly, his breath warm near her ear.“Because I meant every word.”　　She tilted her head to look up at him.“You always know exactly what to say.”　　“Only when I’m looking at you.”　　His hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, thumb brushing the edge of her collarbone.　　Emily reached up and covered his hand with hers.　　Emily tilted her head, her gaze catching on the side of his neck. Her smile froze for a second, then softened into something slightly flustered.　　She reached out without thinking, fingertips brushing lightly along the edge of his collar.　　“That…”she murmured, biting her lip.“That’s from last night.”　　Adrian’s lips curved, slow and deliberate.“Mm. I know.”　　A faint flush rose to her cheeks. She glanced instinctively at the o

　　A few days later, Adrian left the country.　　Emily woke alone the next morning, the bed still faintly warm where he’d last laid. On the pillow beside her, a folded note waited, written in his slanted, elegant handwriting.　　Remember to eat well. The chef will still come by every day at the usual time.　　Call me if you feel even a little lonely.　　We’ll video chat every night. I already miss you.　　—A.　　She smiled, touched the edge of the note, and tucked it carefully into her drawer.　　The first few days passed in quiet rhythm. Mornings with soft light and coffee, afternoons spent working in her studio. The private chef arrived at noon each day, polite and precise, preparing elegant meals in the sleek open kitchen.　　By the fourth day, the doorbell rang unexpectedly.　　It was Lila.　　And Adrian’s mother.　　“We figured you’d pretend you’re not lonely,”Lila said with a grin, walking right in with a paper bag full of pastries.“So we decided not to give you the chance.”　　“We just came

　　Night had fallen by the time Emily made the international call.　　She sat by the bedroom window, the city lights behind her casting long shadows across the floor. The world outside was quiet, stilled in twilight, but halfway across the globe, it was morning already—sunlight pouring over distant vineyards and limestone hills. She dialed the number listed at the bottom of the wine estate’s emails, her fingers steady despite the thrum in her chest.　　A few rings.　　Then a woman’s voice—warm, polished, with the faintest trace of a European accent—answered.　　“Good evening, Leclair Wine Estate.”　　Emily hesitated for half a breath. Then said gently,“Hello. My name is Emily Hart Blackwoods. I believe…you’ve been working with my husband for some time.”　　There was a pause on the other end. Then a small, delighted gasp.　　“Oh! Mrs. Blackwoods. My goodness—we’ve heard so much about you. It’s an honor to finally speak with you. Is there anything we can assist you with?”　　Emily’s lips curved