(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

The courtroom stank.Not of blood, not of fear, but of something worse—government-issued diffusers pumping out “Neutral Citrus No. 6” to mask the reek of old pheromones, bitter coffee, and barely-contained ego.Lavielle Marrowen walked in, and the entire air recalibrated.Red.That was the first crime.A deep, criminal red, her suit cut to worship the line of her shoulders and the sharp slope of her waist. Not flashy. No jewelry. Just a matte-black tie, tiger-stripe cufflinks, and a face carved out of restrained violence.Every Alpha in the room stiffened. Betas started breathing through their mouths.An Omega clerk dropped his pen.Lavielle ignored them all.She was here on behalf of her firm. One of her security details had intercepted an incident involving a teen Omega scent-bonded without consent by an Alpha council brat. The Omega parents begged Lavielle’s office to help with the trial.And Lavielle had said yes.Then she’d read the co-counsel name on the file.Mia Anderson.And

Lavielle Marrowen sat perfectly still in the quiet of her eleventh-floor office, a fresh cigarette burning low between her fingers and the city bleeding into gold behind her.Greystone’s skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, washed in early evening haze—cars humming, scent trails curling from rooftops, the buzz of summer heat just thick enough to taste. But inside, the temperature never changed. Inside, the room was sterile, sealed, and hers.The Marrowen Group’s top floor wasn’t made for comfort. It was designed for containment—specifically Lavielle’s. Every surface was scent-neutral, cleaned hourly. Every vent cycled clean air in forty-eight-second intervals. The walls scrubbed out pheromones before they had a chance to cling. There were no plush chairs. No rugs. No softness. The only smell that ever lingered was hers.And now, someone else’s.It was faint. Barely traceable. But it was there.Lavielle exhaled through her nose, slow and silent.Her scent-filters had

The silence in Lavielle Marrowen’s office wasn’t calm. It was a held breath. Electric. Waiting to snap.Mia Anderson sat frozen in its grip.Jonas cracked first. “We’ll, uh… need the rest by end-of-day.”His voice dropped like a clumsy shoe. Unwelcome. Unnecessary.From across the room, Arlo didn’t even glance up. “Already sent,” he said, scrolling his tablet one-handed.Jonas’s eyes flicked to Mia—and stuck. She hadn’t moved, but something had shifted. Her jaw too tight. Her nostrils too wide. Her skin flushed, neck glowing the same shade as her legal highlighter.He leaned in. “You’re spiking,” he whispered.Mia didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her breath came shallow. Her thighs had pressed together without asking. Her scent normally neat and citric had thickened, ripened. Milkier now. Warmer.Across polished stone, Lavielle continued to watch her.With regal patience. Pure silence. Just reclined, feli

Lavielle struck a match with lazy precision. The sulphur bloom cut through the thick perfume of sweat and orchid already drowning her office. One drag, and smoke wound around her like a silk leash. She tasted Mia on the back of her tongue, sweet citrus, salt, adrenaline and her pulse kicked again, hungry.Across the desk, Mia tried to catch her breath. Dress pushed to her ribs, glasses sliding down a flushed nose, panties a damp ribbon on one thigh. She looked wrecked and reluctant, which only sharpened Lavielle’s grin.“Couch,” the Alpha said.“I can walk.”“I know.” Lavielle hooked two fingers in Mia’s wrist, tugging her forward regardless. “Indulge me.”They crossed the room as the skyline shifted to copper, windows spilling molten light across polished stone. Lavielle dropped onto the deep‑green couch, legs apart, shirt hanging open. She crushed the cigarette in a tray, then tapped her thigh. “Sit.”Mia ro

The bathroom on the executive floor of the Marrowen Group felt more like a luxury spa than a workplace. Sleek black tile, backlit mirrors, marble counters, and a rainfall shower that hissed like summer rain. Mia stood under it now, water cascading over her shoulders as she braced her palms against the tile, heart still galloping in her chest. Her thighs ached in the best, most scandalous way. And somewhere inside her...too deep to name Lavielle still lingered.She could feel it.Her scent.Her heat.Her knot.Not physically anymore, Lavielle had washed up first, casually rinsing herself off at the basin like she hadn’t just upended Mia’s entire professional existence. She’d pressed a kiss to Mia’s temple, muttered, “Take your time, wifey,” and left the room shirtless, cock clean, hard again, and completely unbothered.The door had clicked shut behind her, and Mia had stared at her reflection, steam curling aro