Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

My feet wouldn’t move.I stood there like the ground had grown teeth and clamped around my ankles, frozen in the echo of that kiss. It was so right on the lips, right in front of me, like I didn’t even exist.My chest tightened as if the world had just twisted sideways. Something bitter rose in my throat, burning.“Lorraine.” Misha’s voice cut through the air behind me, low and urgent.But I didn't look at him. I couldn’t.The sound of the gala inside was already a distant echo of soft music, clinking glasses, voices I no longer cared to decipher. My heart was beating so loud I could barely hear Misha calling my name. I ran. I didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around.The night air was cold, and I stumbled once, hard enough to nearly hit the asphalt. My breath hitched, vision swimming, and that was when I yanked the shoes off, the straps cutting into my fingers as I ripped them free. I hurled one toward the edge of the

I sat in the backseat, legs crossed at the ankle, fingers digging into the strap of my handbag like it might anchor me to something stable. Technically, it wasn't mine because Vincent bought it for me. But, after the roller coaster of my life a few months back that included exposing a bad family drama, rushed marriage, and brand new identity… I didn't really have my own things anymore. It was either Misha bought it or Vincent did. I dreaded thinking which one was the worst. Wade Brent didn’t say a word, but his eyes kept flicking toward the rearview mirror like I might spontaneously combust or dive out of the moving car. It would’ve been funny if it didn’t make me feel so, what could I say, monitored.“I’m not mad,” I said, voice flat.Wade cleared his throat. “Right.”“I’m not.”“Noted.”God, he sounded like a clipboard.The real reason I wasn’t talking wasn’t Misha or Silas or the ever-present fear of finding my husband in another blood-slicked torture room with dripping water and

“So if it wasn’t the cooking or the money,” Jesse asked me with genuine curiosity brimming in her eyes, “Then what made you say yes? You’re still so young, Lorraine. And you married a man like Misha…”“…A man like Misha?” I asked carefully.Jesse’s expression didn’t change much when she pointedly continued, “You know what I mean. Brilliant. Dangerous. Handsome. Rich. And, well… impotent.”“Impotent?” The word landed between us like a dropped glass. I stared at Jesse, blinking once, twice, three times just to be sure that I must’ve misheard her.“Wha—what do you…” I frowned, brows knitting as confusion took place, “...What do you mean by that?”Jesse was completely unaffected by the verbal bomb she’d just dropped on me. She lifted her brows, saying matter-of-factly, “It means exactly what it sounds like, sweetheart. He couldn’t get it up. No hardness, no reaction, no erection, no matter what I did to him.”“I—Iknow what…

By the time I heard the low hum of the black Ferrari pull into the driveway, the clock had just passed midnight. Vincent’s mansion was quiet, all staff were gone for the night, lights dimmed in the halls.I’d been lying in bed for the last forty minutes, flipping through a magazine I wasn’t reading, and very intentionally wearing the most impractical nightgown I owned. Sheer, short, and the kind of thing that was useless for warmth but excellent for… experiments.Jesse’s words had been replaying in my head all evening.Just me.His body responds only to mine.I wasn’t about to admit she’d gotten in my head. But I was curious. And I wanted to see it for myself. Maybe.The bedroom door clicked open.Misha stepped inside, dark suit still sharp despite the late hour, hair mussed just enough to hint at how long his day had been. He was loosening his tie, eyes half-lidded, and then he saw me.He stopped still.

We didn’t go far. Renaldi and Wade had taken Vincent straight to the infirmary wing. A spotless, almost hospital-grade section of the mansion that smelled faintly of antiseptic and something akin to drugs. Illegal or not, I wouldn't ask.The staff had cleared the waiting area for us, which only made the space feel more charged. No chatter. No hushed gossip. Just a handful of very dangerous men sitting in a room that suddenly felt too small.I couldn’t sit still. My knee kept bouncing until Misha’s hand landed on it, firm but gentle. “Breathe, Angel” He said quietly, like we were the only two people there.I tried. It didn’t stick. My chest still felt tight.And then, without warning, he pulled me in, one arm sliding around my shoulders, tucking me into his side. I stiffened at first, partly because I knew at least three sets of eyes were on us, and partly because the gesture was so at odds with his usual brand of sharp-edged distance.