Dear Ex-husband, My Stepbrother is Your Replacement. のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

ASTRIDI didn’t even get the chance to recover from my shock because more people trooped into the house right after that.Turns out, I have a large extended family. My mother was an only child, but my father had four brothers and a sister.Coupled with their wives and kids, I’ve learned over twenty new names and hobbies in the past two hours.The house is swamped with raised voices and the smell of delicious food.It’s a bit overwhelming, but I cannot get over how happy and excited everyone was to see me. I received long hugs and reassuring words from every single one of them.Uncle Moretti’s wife even cried. They all smell like old money and generational wealth. The kind that never runs out.Oh, and I have a famous uncle. Morris Machiavelli, the CEO of Morris Motors. There are billboards of his luxurious car company all over New York City. I’m pretty sure the Montessori’s have mentioned him once or twice. All my life, I’ve felt lonely and rejected and useless, but two hours in the

ASTRID“Girl, where have you been?” “Hi, Zeya. Can I spend the night?”Zeya’s smile disappears when she notices my wet cheeks and puffy eyes. She steps aside immediately, ushering me into her cozy apartment.“What happened?” She asks softly, taking a seat beside me on the sofa.“Where have you been?”I wipe my cheeks and take a deep, shaky breath.“I’m pregnant.”Zeya freezes.“And the baby is Silvan’s.”Her mouth falls open and for a moment, stunned silence reigns in the room. Then I burst into another round of tears.“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pulling me against her chest. “It’s okay. Everything will be fine. I’m here for you. Tell me everything.”I oblige. By the time I’m done, Zeya’s eyes are as wide as saucers.“Wait… you’re an heiress to a multi-million dollar company and you’re pregnant for your step-brother?”I shrug. “Lucky me, I guess.”“This is crazy. Are you sure Leilani is really pregnant? I mean, she was hanging out with Claire, and we both know that Claire is a lying,

ASTRIDDecorations for Nathan and Claire’s engagement party are already underway when I arrive at the Montessori mansion.The grandeur of the lavishly decorated hall taunts me, a mock reminder of everything the Montessori’s never thought I deserved.I pause at the entrance, taking in the twinkling chandelier that casts a golden glow across the marble floors, heavy embroidered drapery covering floor-to-ceiling windows and of course, the ginormous cake.No kidding, that engagement cake is almost as tall as I am and big enough to feed a small army.My gaze falls on the tastefully decorated bride and groom area and my stomach tightens with fury.I wait for the sorrow and heartbreak to kick in.It doesn’t. All that’s left is anger and a burning need for revenge.Three years ago, the Montessori family never bothered to throw a party for me during my engagement. There were no chandeliers, no cake, no celebration, just an empty room that echoed with the painful sounds of my shattering heart

ASTRID Two hours later, the engagement party was already in full swing. The ballroom pulsed with the soft sounds of false laughter, clinking glasses and romantic music. The ladies shimmered beneath the twinkling lights of the chandelier, their expensive diamond necklaces throwing sharp reflections that almost stung my eyes. The men were not left out, dazzling in pricey designer outfits and shoes that probably cost more than my rent. At first I felt self-conscious as I wove through the teeming crowd like a ghost, refilling champagne glasses and offering delicious finger foods with names long enough to fill a birth certificate. The weight of countless stares from the guests pressed into my skin. Some clucked their tongues in pity while the others did not bother to hide their looks of disgust. Wherever I went, whispers followed. “Isn’t that Astrid Montessori?” A guest inquired, her voice tinged with devious curiosity. “You mean the adopted daughter of the Montessori’

ASTRID I can’t have kids… I don’t want children… I don’t want anything to do with that baby… I have never considered myself clumsy, but when those fiercely uttered words filter into my ears, my grip on the tray turns slippery and it shatters to the floor. Bits and pieces of expensive glass cups fly in all directions, but I pay no attention to the mess. All that runs through my mind is the conviction in Silvan’s eyes when he said those words. One thing is very clear — for some reason, Silvan Rourke genuinely doesn’t want children. Hell, the mere idea of having little rugrats of his own probably makes his skin crawl. “What the hell are you doing here?!” The sharp sneer snaps my befuddled brain back to the present. “You clumsy waif! You broke the glass and yet you stand there doing nothing?! Clean up this mess at once!” Flustered, I blink at the shattered glass as if seeing it for the first time. Then mumbling an apology beneath my breath, I bend to pick up the jagg