The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 211 - チャプター 220

The morning sun spilled through gauzy curtains, casting soft golden lines across Juliette’s sketchbook as she lay on the wicker chaise by the window. Her fingers were stained with charcoal smudges, the soft grey blending into deeper shadows on the page before her. She hadn’t planned to draw today. But the image had come unbidden, a man’s face, half-turned, eyes intense, lips parted as if caught mid-confession.She stared at it now, breath held.That face again.She had drawn it before. Last week. The week before that. Always different angles, sometimes dream-like, sometimes vividly realistic. A part of her wanted to believe it was imagination, that the man on the page was some figment of longing her subconscious had conjured. But she knew better. There was too much emotion in the lines. Too much pain in the eyes she kept drawing without consciously deciding to.“Why you?” she whispered to the paper.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The coastal town had a rhythm all its own. The waves still curled and broke like whispered secrets along the shore. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the little seaside café, where Juliette sat sipping her tea, the steam curling around her face like a gentle veil. Her sketchbook lay open in front of her, pages covered with half-finished drawings, some of flowers, others of the sea… and then a face. His face.She didn’t know why she kept drawing him. This man with storm-dark eyes, a scar at the edge of his brow, and the world's weight carved into the lines of his expression. He haunted her pencil strokes. He filled the margins. And when she closed her eyes, his name echoed in the stillness of her mind: Damon.The door jingled as someone entered.Juliette looked up. It was him again, the quiet man who always sat near the back, who never spoke unless spoken to, who always had the same cup of black coffee and read the paper like it was his lifeline.Damon.Only, she didn’t kn

Juliette hadn’t been back to her childhood home in years.The place had once felt like a museum of regret, each hallway echoing with voices of pain and shadows of decisions she had tried to forget. But now, she returned not to run from the past but to find it. Something inside her knew that if she wanted answers — real, unfiltered truth, they would begin here, where it all started.The house stood in stillness as she stepped through the doorway, the air thick with the scent of aged wood, forgotten books, and dried lavender from a vase that hadn’t been touched in years. It was her grandmother’s house now passed down quietly through paperwork Juliette barely remembered signing. Somehow, even through the layers of time, it still felt untouched - Preserved - Waiting.She moved from room to room, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Her hand brushed across the banister, the same one she used to slide her fingers along as a child, pausing at the dip carved by years of her small palms.

Juliette didn’t sleep.Even with Mason curled safely in her arms, even with Damon seated silently in the chair across from the bed like a sentinel guarding their peace - her eyes stayed open.The penthouse was dark except for the low hum of city lights beyond the glass wall. Every so often, Mason stirred against her chest, his small hands curling into her shirt, his breath warm and steady. It anchored her.But it didn’t quiet the noise in her head.The memories hadn’t returned in full. They floated in half-formed fragments like blurry photographs underwater, always slipping just out of reach. What she held now wasn’t memory. It was instinct. Sensation. A mother’s pull that defied logic or proof.She didn’t remember raising Mason.But her arms knew how to hold him.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------By dawn, her body ached from stillness, but she refused to let go. Mason stirred with a soft yawn, blinking agains

The city’s soft evening glow filtered through the tall windows of Damon’s penthouse. The lights of passing cars below flickered like restless fireflies, and in the silence of the living room, only the occasional clink of cutlery and the hushed hum of the fireplace broke the stillness.Juliette sat on the couch, her legs curled beneath her, wearing one of Damon’s oversized sweaters. Across from her, Damon held a sleek black tablet, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. Mason had fallen asleep in the guest room hours ago, leaving behind a drawing of their family: Juliette, Damon, and himself - hand in hand beneath a sun made of hearts.It was that drawing that gave Damon the courage to do what he was about to do.“I want to show you something,” he said softly.Juliette looked up from her cup of tea, her eyes curious, yet hesitant. “Another photograph?”He shook his head. “A video”.The tablet glowed to life, and the screen filled with color. Damon tapped a folder titled *Anniversary –