No Apologies, No Regrets のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

Jason sat in the backseat of a rented blacked-out SUV parked on West 54th Street in Manhattan, the glow of city lights casting restless shadows across his face. He pulled out his phone and typed quickly.“I’m in Manhattan. Rendezvous Bar. VIP Private Room B3.Come in first. Wear something that conceals your identity. Enter at exactly 9:40 PM. I’ll come in 20 minutes later. This is to throw off anyone watching me. – J.”He hit send. Then, like a man carrying the weight of several lives, he exhaled.The anonymous email he received that morning still echoed in his mind:"They're watching you. Eric is. Trust no one. Find Agent Mowe. Only he knows the truth. Ask him about Project Clean-Up."Jason hadn’t slept since reading those words. Whoever was behind this knew far too much.***9:39 PM | Rendezvous Bar, ManhattanAgent Mowe stood across the street, face hidden beneath a black hoodie and a dark fisherman’s cap, collar popped to obscure his jawline. He had entered through the side door, s

The doctor was quiet but focused—a silver-haired man with tired eyes that seemed to have seen too much. Agent Mowe had called in a favor, and this was it. He set his black case on the hotel room table and opened it with a soft click. The instruments inside gleamed under the ceiling light—delicate, clinical, but ominous.Jason sat on the edge of the bed, still in the same clothes from the night before, his mind whirling from the kiss he had shared with Fedora.“It’s a neurological recall procedure,” the doctor began, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve likely suffered localized memory disruption—chemical, possibly trauma-induced. We’ll begin with a full scan, and based on that, I’ll prescribe neurogenic supplements and stimulation therapy.”Jason nodded slowly, absorbing it.“There’s a fourteen day pre-treatment phase,” the doctor continued, pulling out a small vial and holding it up to the light. “To prepare your brain for the recall. Then the memory reactivation itself, followed by twen

Jason Brooks had perfected the art of pretending.He woke up beside Beauty every morning with a smile carved so well it could win awards. He laughed at her jokes, touched her with gentle affection, played the role of the devoted fiancé, the driven businessman, and the man with nothing to hide. But behind those calm eyes, a storm raged—quiet and calculated.He was a man with no past.But now, he was determined to reclaim it.And that meant watching.Listening. Waiting. Pretending.***Three weeks had passed since his return from New York. Each day, he wore his mask better. But something about Beauty’s increased restlessness pricked at him. Her calls with Eric became more frequent. Whispered conversations. Sudden silences when he entered the room.She was hiding something.And now, he needed to know what.***It happened on a Tuesday evening.Beauty had left her iPad on the kitchen counter. She was in the bedroom speaking to her sister—or so she said. But a message popped up from Eric

He was leaving in the morning.Jason stood alone on the balcony of the villa, the Dubai skyline glittering like a thousand secrets waiting to unravel. The night air was warm, fragrant with hibiscus and dust, but none of it reached him. His thoughts were elsewhere—New York, memory treatments, lies spun with too much ease.Beauty had fallen asleep earlier, her head resting on his chest, murmuring something about honeymoon options in Amalfi. He’d nodded along, fingers stroking her hair, his voice low and reassuring—just enough not to raise suspicion. He hated how natural the lies had become. Hated how good he was at them.The next morning, over breakfast, he mentioned the Italy trip again. “I’ve been planning a surprise for you,” he said, reaching across the table for her hand. “Just something small in Florence. Might take a couple of weeks to finalize things with the design team there.”Beauty looked up from her croissant, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Florence? What are you planning?

The plane touched down in Dallas just past midnight. Agent Mowe didn’t wait for a car. He flagged the nearest black SUV, flashed his badge, and within minutes was speeding toward the precinct where the attempted abduction had been reported.He didn’t bother calling Fedora. Not yet.He needed facts before emotions.At the station, the suspect was still in custody—silent, smug, uncooperative. The children’s testimonies had already been documented, but Mowe requested their statements again, this time privately recorded under federal security protocols.The man wouldn’t talk. But his silence was too careful—too measured. Mowe had interrogated war criminals. He knew the look of a pawn protecting a queen.And he knew exactly where the queen was.***New York…Jason’s body convulsed slightly as the electro-stimulation eased through his neural pathways. The doctor’s voice was distant, muffled, but then—“Agent Carlstone… are you with us?”Everything went white. Then gold. Then a blast of red.