Falling For My Ex’s Brother-In-Law のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 271 - チャプター 280

Anna’s POV I woke up to the softest touch. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming again…that cruel place where Alex fades, where I’m always too late, where my voice breaks before I can reach him. But this touch didn’t disappear. Fingers slid gently through my hair, slow and careful, like whoever it was was afraid I’d shatter. I stirred, my lashes fluttering open. “Mum…?” My voice came out hoarse, barely there. Her face filled my vision instantly. My mother. Sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes swollen from crying, but smiling anyway…the kind of smile mothers give when they’re trying to be strong for their child. “Hey, my baby,” she whispered, brushing my hair back again. “How are you feeling?” I pushed myself upright slowly, my body stiff from sleep and stress and everything I’d been carrying for weeks. I nodded because I didn’t know how to answer that question honestly. How was I feeling? Broken. Scared. Hopeful. Exhausted. In love. All at once. “

Mrs. Quinn’s POV The quiet hum of the hospital lobby filled the silence between us. Machines beeped faintly in the distance, nurses moved in and out of corridors, and the scent of disinfectant clung to the air like something alive. I sat on one of the beige couches, my hands clasped over my lap, a coffee cup growing cold between my palms. Across from me, Mrs. Smith watched me with kind but weary eyes. She looked older than I remembered…grief and worry etching new lines along her face. “How are you coping?” she finally asked, her voice soft but curious. I took a deep breath, the question cutting deeper than I expected. “Coping…” I repeated, almost tasting the irony. “I suppose I’m… surviving.” Mrs. Smith nodded slowly. “It’s been a lot for you.” I let out a tired, humorless laugh. “A lot? That’s an understatement. I made every wrong choice a mother could make.” My voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “I supported the wrong man… believed the wrong story. I let my family n

Kristoff’s POV “Gather your men, I have a job for them,” I spoke to my main man, and he left, lowering myself into my seat and pouring myself a glass of brandy. A house map was spread out across the table, a plan needed to be made to push my plan further. Every detail, every angle had to be considered. The timing, the exits, the men… everything. I traced my finger along the walls, imagining the path each of my operatives would take. There was no room for error. The wine warmed my chest as I leaned back, letting the smooth taste calm the fire in my veins. Calm. That was the key. Every move had to feel effortless, controlled. I had orchestrated chaos before, and I would do it again. But this time… this time I would leave no traces. I called the first two men on the list, whispering my instructions in clipped sentences. I didn’t need details; they already knew the drill. My voice carried authority, not just the threat, but the promise of dominance. The house, the vault, the files…

Kristoff POV Restlessness is a disease. It crawls under the skin, gnaws at the bones, refuses to let a man sit still even when everything is supposedly going according to plan. I paced the length of the sitting room for the fifth…no, sixth… time, my footsteps echoing off marble floors that suddenly felt too loud, too exposed. Too alive. “Sit down,” my attorney said from the leather couch, calm to the point of irritation. “You’re wearing a path into the floor.” I shot him a glare. “How do you expect me to relax when Margaret Quinn is suddenly everywhere?” I snapped. “Every move I make, she’s already ten steps ahead, waving law enforcement like a fucking baton.” “She’s reacting,” he said evenly. “Not leading.” I scoffed. “You don’t know her.” I stopped near the window, peering through the heavy drapes, half-expecting headlights to cut through the darkness. Nothing. Still, the tension wouldn’t leave. It pressed against my chest, tight and insistent. Something felt off.

Kristoff’s POV “Pick the damn phone, you bastard.” I paced the length of the room, phone pressed hard to my ear like I could force it to comply through sheer pressure. The marble floor beneath my feet was cold, slick, mocking me with its calm while my insides burned. Ring. Ring. Ring. I stopped pacing and glared at the screen, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass wall…eyes sharp, face drawn, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Pick up,” I snarled. “Pick up.” As if I’d jinxed it, the call connected. “Hello?” came the cautious voice on the other end. I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need a new identity,” I snapped. “Passport. Name. History. Everything. I want out of this city.” A pause. Then a sigh. “Kris,” the man said carefully, “I’m not in that business anymore.” My grip tightened around the phone. “What do you mean you’re not in the business?” I demanded. “You were in it three months ago.