Love Among Thorns のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Rafael’s POVThe car rolled up the long drive, tires crunching over gravel as moonlight spilled across the stone façade of the Moretti estate.It looked more like a fortress than a home — sharp lines, heavy iron gates, windows too narrow for sunlight.I carried the girl — Amara, according to the worn student ID in her pocket — through the front doors.Mrs. Holloway, the housekeeper, stood waiting in the marble foyer, hands folded neatly in front of her apron.Her sharp eyes softened the moment she saw the bundle in my arms.“She’s hurt,” I said gruffly. “Clean her up. Keep her comfortable.”Mrs. Holloway’s gaze flicked to me, full of unspoken questions.But she merely nodded, already moving to prepare a guest room.As I laid Amara down on the soft sheets, she whimpered — a sound so raw it cut deeper than any blade.“Shh,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.I brushed a strand of blood-matted hair away from her forehead.She didn’t wake.Good.Better that way.I straightened and st

(Amara’s POV)The house was unnervingly quiet when I padded down the hallway the next morning, my bare feet soundless against the thick rugs.I clutched the note to my chest like a shield, heart hammering against my ribs.Part of me still screamed that I was making a mistake — that trusting anyone, especially a man like Rafael Moretti, would only lead to another cage, another betrayal.But another part — a softer, stubborn whisper — urged me to try.Just once.To believe that maybe someone could be kind without expecting anything in return.I found him in a small study near the back of the mansion, the door half-open, the scent of coffee rich in the air.Rafael sat behind a desk littered with papers, his dark hair a little messy, like he’d been running his hand through it all morning.He looked up as I hovered in the doorway, and something unreadable flickered across his face — something almost… gentle.Quickly hidden.I forced my voice to work.“Um… thank you,” I whispered, so soft I

The sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains was warm, golden, and almost tender.Amara lay still for a long time, just breathing, feeling the strange softness of the bed beneath her.It wasn’t like the bed at home — lumpy, hard, cold no matter how many blankets she piled on top.This bed felt… safe.Her fingers curled slowly around the edge of the comforter. She was used to waking with fear, to the sound of slamming doors, heavy footsteps, raised voices.But here, the only sounds were the faint ticking of a distant clock, the cheerful clatter of pots from somewhere downstairs, and — was that humming?She sat up cautiously. Every movement felt wrong, too quiet, too soft.The bruises from days before ached dully under her clothes, but the house itself wrapped around her like a living thing, gentle and patient.Maybe… just for today… she could pretend she wasn’t a ghost.Amara slipped from the bed, made it quickly — habit, always — and tiptoed to the door.She cracked it open and p

(Amara’s POV)The safehouse didn’t look like what I expected.It wasn’t some fortress of cold marble and cameras. It was a quiet, two-story home tucked behind heavy iron gates, wrapped in ivy and early-spring roses.There was a porch swing. A vegetable garden. Curtains that looked like they were picked by someone who cared about color and light.Homey.A word I barely understood — a word that clutched at something deep inside my chest and wouldn’t let go.Mrs. Holloway squeezed my shoulder as she unlocked the front door.Her smile was gentle, patient — a silent reassurance that I could take my time.“Come in, sweetheart. Let’s get you settled.”Inside, the house smelled like cinnamon and fresh linen.The living room was filled with warm, golden light from the windows. There were books stacked on side tables. Cozy blankets thrown across couches. A little black cat sleeping in a sunbeam — who opened one eye, blinked at me lazily, and yawned.I stood frozen on the threshold, overwhelmed

(Amara’s POV)The rain fell in sheets against the windows, gray and heavy like the memories pressing into my chest.Mrs. Holloway had lit a fire to chase away the chill, and she bustled in the kitchen now, humming softly as she baked bread — an ordinary, comforting sound. I sat curled on the old sofa, knees hugged to my chest, trying to ignore the way my hands trembled.He’s giving you safety, my mind whispered. You should feel safe.But safety had never been free. Safety always came with conditions, with cruelty hidden underneath.I didn’t know how to accept it.The door creaked open, and Rafael stepped inside, bringing the scent of wet leather and cold air with him. He locked eyes with me — not cold, not threatening. Just…watching.He crossed the room slowly, pulled up a chair in front of the sofa, and sat.For a long moment, neither of us spoke.Then he said, voice low and steady, “They’re accelerating.”I blinked at him.“Your parents,” he clarified. “They’re pulling favors. Looki