No Way to Win Me Back のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 521 - チャプター 530

Ryan’s POVMaximilian had chosen an intimate dinner place for the date.But I wasn't going to let him dictate everything.So, instead of going with his plan, I made one of my own.The dessert boutique I had chosen was all glass and chrome, like it was allergic to warmth. It sat on a corner, minimalist to the point of arrogance, with plated desserts displayed like museum pieces and a line of people pretending not to look at the prices.I arrived ten minutes early, mostly because my driver had insisted, and partly because being punctual was the one thing I still controlled.Sloane was already there.She stood near the counter, scrolling on her phone, long coat draped over one arm. She looked exactly like someone raised in rooms where decisions were made quietly and consequences were never hers to bear.Tall, composed, expensive in a way that wasn’t flashy. When she glanced up and saw me, her smile was polite but sharp, assessing.“Ryan Edwards,” she said, extending her hand. “You’re tall

Ryan’s POVI didn’t see it coming. I had thought the “date” with Sloane would be just another obstacle, just another checkbox in Maximilian’s endless plan for me to play the obedient, unattached son of Crown Luxe. I thought I’d be able to handle it. I thought I could compartmentalize.I was wrong.I walked into that boutique expecting nothing more than perfunctory smiles, polite conversation, and the internal satisfaction of knowing I’d done what was expected. But then I saw her.Celeste.She wasn’t part of the appointment. She had come with Bonnie and Molly, a simple outing for the girls that shouldn’t have collided with my carefully orchestrated day.And yet, there she was, standing in that sunlit corner of the boutique, looking impossibly beautiful and impossibly alive. Her hair caught the light just so, the way it always did, the lines of her face soft but precise, her posture controlled yet effortless.She was Celeste, and she wasn’t mine to look at, not really, and not like this.

Celeste’s POVRyan called three times before noon.I watched the screen light up on my desk, his name blooming there like a bruise I refused to press. I didn’t pick up. I didn’t decline either. I let it ring until the sound dissolved into the hum of the studio, into the clink of metal and the low murmur of voices beyond the glass walls of my office.Ignoring him felt childish. Necessary, but childish all the same. I told myself I needed space. That if I heard his voice, steady, controlled, probably apologetic in that careful way of his, I would fold. Or worse, I would say something sharp enough to lodge between us forever.I turned back to my sketchpad instead.The Beaumont winter collection deadline loomed like a storm cloud, and normally that kind of pressure grounded me. Deadlines had always been my refuge. Work was the one place where I could translate chaos into order, gold into geometry, pain into something precise and beautiful.But that morning, my pencil carved instead of glid

Celeste’s POVI arrived at the courthouse with a steadiness that surprised me.There was no tremor in my hands as I passed through security, no spike of adrenaline when I heard Vanessa’s name murmured by reporters clustered near the steps. I had imagined this day a hundred different ways, me furious, shaking, vindictive; me unraveling; me wanting to flee at the first glimpse of her face. None of that happened.Instead, I felt… distant. As if the version of myself who had been hurt by Vanessa was standing a few feet behind me, watching quietly, no longer in control.Jenny walked beside me, her shoulder brushing mine every so often. She wore a simple navy dress, her hair pulled back neatly, her expression composed but alert.She hadn’t said much since we arrived, but her presence grounded me. It mattered that she was here, not as my employee, not as someone I was protecting, but as someone who had survived the same storm.We took our seats in the gallery. The courtroom smelled faintly of

Celeste’s POVThe next morning, I drove to my mother’s house with Molly humming softly in the back seat, her legs swinging as she watched the city slide past the window. There was something grounding about the routine of it, packing snacks, reminding her to buckle her seatbelt, listening to her narrate clouds like they were characters in a story only she could see.After the night with Ryan, after all the words we hadn’t had time to finish saying, I felt… steadier. Not healed. Not resolved. But less like I was actively coming apart.Ryan had left too soon. Work, obligations, the invisible leash his father still held tight around his wrist. We’d stood in the doorway of my office like two people afraid to say goodbye too honestly. He’d kissed my forehead, promised we’d talk properly soon. I believed him. Or maybe I needed to.Claire opened the door before I even knocked, her smile warm and immediate.“There’s my favorite people,” she said, crouching to Molly’s height. “And my second fav