Silent Flames, Forbidden Paths のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 68

It was warm. Too warm.My skin buzzed with something electric, like the air before a storm. Someone was standing too close. Breathing too slow.And then—His breath. Right near my ear. Soft. Tempting."Say it, Alina..." he whispered, voice low and sinful. “Say you want me.”My fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Mr. Wright—Cristiano—he was there, right in front of me, his hands pressed against the wall behind me, trapping me like a secret.Our lips were inches apart.His eyes—dark, unreadable—burned into mine. My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear the silence between us.I could taste him already. My lips parted, slightly. Barely.So close. Just a little closer—“Alina.”A voice. Real.“Alina, wake up.”No. No no no no—just a few seconds more—I groaned. Twitched. The dream began to dissolve like fog in sunlight.“Alina, I swear to God—”“Go away, Satan,” I muttered from under the blanket, still clinging to the remnants of that dream like it was the last blanket of warm

We hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, and Mr. Wright was already looking at Ethan like he’d just been handed a death sentence wrapped in glitter.His arms were crossed. His jaw—tight enough to cut stone. His expression? The literary equivalent of discovering his carefully curated novel had been replaced with a neon-pink comic strip titled “FUNLANDYLAND.”“You brought me to an amusement park?” he said, voice clipped, eyes cold, like Ethan had just insulted Shakespeare to his face.“Surprise!” Ethan beamed, radiating chaos.“I told you I wanted peace.” Mr. Wright’s tone sounded like it belonged at a funeral, preferably Ethan’s.“And I gave you pieces,” Ethan declared dramatically, “of joy! Of excitement! Of your lost youth!”Mr. Wright didn’t respond. Just turned his head ever-so-slowly with a look that could vaporize a planet. Ethan, the unbothered phoenix, only grinned wider.I, in the backseat, shrank deeper into my hoodie.The tension in the car was so thick I could've roasted

Ethan scrolled through the options like he was searching for a cure. Then suddenly: “Boom. Found it. ‘Galaxy Goons 3: The Wormhole Wedding.’”Mr. Wright exhaled sharply. “You can’t be serious.”“It’s iconic,” Ethan declared. “Best chaotic franchise since Fast & Furious went to space.”The screen lit up with the poster: a green alien in a tuxedo holding hands with a space pirate bride mid-explosion.I blinked. “What… am I looking at?”“Cinema,” Ethan said with all the pride of a film critic.Mr. Wright leaned back, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. His fingers curled loosely around his drink. The collar of his night shirt still hung scandalously low. Chest tan and annoyingly sculpted. Vaguely illegal.I ignored it.Badly.The movie started with a spaceship crashing into a wedding.Literally. On the altar. Someone screamed “YOU MAY NOW KISS THE BRIDE” as laser beams flew across the screen.I snorted into my drink. Ethan cackled beside me.Mr. Wright… b

I stepped out of my dorm, dressed in my usual uniform of minimal effort and maximum sarcasm. Hair tied up in a high ponytail, lips glossed just enough to look like I tried — the usual Alina armor. The sun was already threatening to melt the sidewalks, and I hadn’t even reached the gates yet.And there he was.Nick.Leaning against the wall like a scene from some cliché high school drama — arms crossed, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, hair still slightly messy from the wind, and that easy smile he wore like armor against the world.“Morning, sleepyhead.”I blinked. “Morning, stalker.”He grinned. “What? I was in the area. Thought I’d wait for my favorite dramatic mess.”I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks pulled up in an involuntary smile.Nick Morgan. My human comfort zone.No complications. No haunting stares.Just sarcasm, shared fries, and stupid jokes about calculus formulas that sounded vaguely inappropriate.We started walking side by side, his steps naturally falling i