Shattered vows: Revenge of an ex bride のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Elara stood in the grand foyer of Killian Hayes’ estate like a woman unraveling. Her eyes were red-rimmed, not from actual tears but the skillful dabbing of eye drops she kept in her clutch for moments just like this. Her shoulders trembled as if weighed down by the heartbreak she had rehearsed in the car.She didn’t have to fake every part of it. Some of it was real. Preston ending things—even for the sake of strategy—had felt like losing her only tether to stability. And now, she stood on the frontlines of a battlefield she had to fight alone.“Hold on.” he said, walking back to his laptop on the dining table then came back.“Elara what exactly is wrong?” he said, his voice etched with confusion and something else. Worry? Hope?She looked up at him, bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”The anguish in her voice was carefully measured, but the effect was real. Killian’s features tightened. He closed the distance between them with long, purposeful strides.“What happ

The morning after felt like stepping into someone else’s life.Elara stood in the mirror, her damp hair wrapped in a towel, skin still tingling from the hot shower that had done little to scrub away the memory of Killian’s arms around her. His warmth. The safety she’d pretended to need but had secretly craved far more than she was willing to admit.She was still wearing his shirt.It clung to her in places that made her feel far too exposed, emotionally, not just physically.A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.“Elara,” Killian’s voice called gently. “Get dressed. Something comfortable. We’re going out.”She blinked. “Going out?”“You’ll see.”She waited until his footsteps retreated before turning to the wardrobe. Her brows furrowed as she opened it and paused.It was full like she remembered. She still wasn't over it Rows of clothes, elegant, casual, playful, everything in her size. There were soft knit sweaters, flowing dresses, cotton tops, and expensive jeans. And at the b

The soft rustle of silk was the only thing she could hear through the quiet of Killian’s hallway as Elara stepped into the corridor. Her bare feet padded over the marble, her hair falling in soft waves down her back, and the neckline of her deep burgundy dress dipped just enough to command attention but still whisper elegance.Tonight, she wasn’t playing victim.She was going to be the instigator.Killian had been pacing the living room, phone to his ear, shirt sleeves rolled up, and that familiar scowl furrowing his brow. A man busy making moves, plotting Ivy’s ruin, shielding his own ambitions.He didn’t hear her approach until she spoke.“Are you always this intense when you’re working, Mr. Hayes?”Killian turned. His mouth parted slightly, and for a second, she caught it, the flicker in his eyes. Like hunger. Like lust.“Elara.” He blinked, ending the call mid-sentence without apology. “You… look different.”She gave a soft shrug. “Comfortable dresses don’t have to mean sweatpants

The sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, warming the hardwood floor in the morning light. It was gentle, soft, as if the world knew it had witnessed something tender the night before and decided to ease into the day slowly.Elara stirred.Killian’s bed, no, not his bed, she reminded herself, a room in the house but gods, it smelled like him. That warm, musky scent of cedarwood and freshly washed sheets, the way his voice had sounded when he said she was the one thing he felt too deeply to draw… it had all stuck in her mind against her will.And to her skin.She shifted, a soft moan leaving her throat as soreness ached between her legs. A reminder. A claim for him in her.Stop it, she hissed internally. This is just another step. A phase. You’re not his. He’s the enemy. You’re playing him, remember?But then she looked down.She was wearing his shirt.A white,clean on which was oversized with the buttons half-done because her hands had trembled too much in the dark last

Preston waited near the abandoned house on the hilltop, the one that overlooked the Beckett estate from a hidden but elevated angle. It used to be a secret hideout for rich kids playing rebel with cigars and stolen champagne. Now it was sjust dusty and empty.He had a reason for choosing this location specifically.Elara arrived ten minutes late, wrapped in a long black coat and confusion on her face. The sun was beginning to set at this point and she looked even more beautiful in the setting light.“You said it was urgent,” she said, eyes narrowing, breath visible in the cooling evening air. “Did ivy do something to you? Did she—”“It’s not,” Preston cut her off gently. “Come inside. You’ll want to sit.”She hesitated.But something in his voice made her follow without questions.He led her to the back of the house where a makeshift table stood. On it was his laptop and the black drive. He quietly plugged it in and opened a folder that he had titled: The truth.“I’m sorry,” he said s