STEP ASIDE EX-HUSBAND: THE RISE OF LIANA のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

Dominic’s POVIt’s strange how easily a man can disappear.Six months ago, I was a ghost. There no records, no name, no trace. Now, I’m standing under the gilded archway of Edenhall Academy, shaking hands and smiling like any other hired consultant.The irony isn’t lost on me. The school belongs to a trust partially funded by Stanley Smith, my stepbrother, the man whose sins I’ve been uncovering piece by piece.And today, I’ve been hired to clean up his mess. “Mr. Cole,” the headmistress says, offering her hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly. The board speaks very highly of you.”“Happy to help,” I reply, keeping my expression calm. The false name, Damian Cole still feels foreign in my mouth, but it works. New ID, new background, spotless credentials courtesy of a few well-placed digital favors.We walk through the hallways of the academy, every corner polished to perfection. The walls are lined with portraits of benefactors—industrialists, politicians, Z-Core executives. Stanley’s

Dominic’s POVInformation is oxygen and lately, I’ve been suffocating.Z-Core’s networks are locked tighter than I’ve ever seen. Stanley’s paranoia has grown teeth, encrypted firewalls, rotating access keys, internal AI monitors that report deviations within seconds. It’s no longer a company, it’s a surveillance machine wearing a corporate badge. To break in, I need someone inside. That’s where Noah Tran comes in. A Level-2 IT specialist. Young, brilliant, underpaid. We meet in the kind of place no one looks for business deals, a dingy café behind the transport terminal, where the air smells like burnt espresso and rain-soaked metal.He spots me immediately, clutching his tablet like a shield. His Z-Core badge glints under the yellow light. “Mr. Cole?” he asks, voice uncertain.“That’s right.”I gesture to the chair across from me. “Appreciate you meeting me off-record.”He hesitates before sitting. “You said this was about system optimization. Are you actually contracted through Z

Dominic’s POVThe truth was never meant to be clean. It’s a weapon, useful only if you’re willing to cut with it. I’ve been sharpening mine for weeks.Stanley has built his empire on deception, ghost subsidiaries, off-ledger transfers, neural research hidden under humanitarian grants. But the rot started long before Elia. It started with money. So I decide to dig where it hurts most.By dawn, I’m in my safehouse. The room is dark except for the blue glow of my screens. The deeper I dig, the clearer it becomes: Stanley’s been manipulating the stock since before the merger. He’s been siphoning funds under the names of dormant investors, people too dead or too distant to notice.I find what I need in a folder buried under six layers of encryption: “Synthesis-Preliminary_Finance.xls.” It’s not supposed to exist.It’s a record of insider trades, each timestamped days before major corporate announcements. The profits reroute through an entity called Martech Holdings.Stanley’s signature app

Dominic’s POVI don’t dream much anymore but when I do, it’s always the same, a woman’s laughter fading into the sound of waves, a baby’s cry I can never quite reach, and then silence.Liana called me last night. She didn’t say much, she just called my name, clipped and shaking. Then she hung up.The photo sits on my desk. My fingers hover above it like it might burn me if I touch it again. Elia, smiling. Me the younger, stupid me and the baby, it wasn’t Camilla.I trace the outline of the child’s small face, the fine blond hair, the eyes that look like mine or maybe hers. The past I’ve spent years burying is clawing its way back up and this time, it’s wearing Stanley’s fingerprints.Of course he’d show Liana this. It’s exactly his style, weaponize truth and let the fallout do his work for him, what he doesn’t realize is that the truth doesn’t scare me anymore. Not since Elia.I open the encrypted drive I swore I’d never touch again. The one labeled Archive 7. It’s filled with fragme

Dominic’s POVZurich feels too clean for the kind of truth I’m chasing. The streets gleam after the morning rain, the air sharp enough to bite. Even the light here feels sterile, like the city’s built to disinfect secrets, not expose them but some stains don’t wash out, no matter how much money is poured over them.I wait outside a small café tucked behind the Bahnhofstrasse, hood pulled low, coffee cooling untouched beside me. My contact is late, but that’s not surprising. Lawyers are never on time when guilt’s in the mix. When he finally appears, I almost don’t recognize him.Julian Hart used to look untouchable, expensive suits, hair slicked back, the kind of man who could lie for a living and sleep just fine after. Now his coat hangs loose on him, eyes rimmed red, as if every hour of the last fourteen years finally caught up.“Dominic,” he says quietly, hesitating before sitting down. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”“Neither did I,” I answer. “But here we are.”He tries for