Twisted vows のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

The house had never truly felt like mine. Even though I spent my childhood within its opulent walls, every marble column and intricate painting seemed to echo my father’s dominance over it. But that morning, for the first time, I wandered those halls not as his daughter—but as his adversary. The ledger. That word pounded in my head. Proof. Answers. Freedom. I waited until the house settled into its routine—the guards distracted, the staff busy with their tasks. Then, heart racing, I crept into my father’s study. The room was infused with the scents of leather, cigar smoke, and authority. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with titles that hadn’t seen the light of day in ages. I ran my fingers over the spines, looking for anything out of place, any hidden latches. My heart pounded so loudly, I was sure it was going to give me away. At first, I found nothing—just dust and the organized chaos that was my father’s obsession with perfection. But then, near the desk, my hand caught

I had a restless night. Sleep felt fragmented, interrupted by shadows dancing on the walls and the quiet ticking of the clock. By the time dawn seeped into the villa, I was already awake, standing in front of the mirror, staring at the stranger looking back at me. I was my father’s daughter—no, that wasn’t true anymore. That notion had died last night. I was something entirely different now. Something I hadn’t figured out how to name yet. Suddenly, the door swung open. Nikolai walked in, dressed head to toe in black, with the faint scent of gunpowder around him. He shot me a quick glance, sizing me up like he already knew how my day was going to unfold. “Change,” he commanded, tossing a folded pile of clothes onto the bed. I frowned at the black outfit—tight trousers, boots, and a shirt that looked like armor. “What’s this?” “Your first lesson,” he replied, his tone brooking no argument. I wanted to push back, to ask questions, but instead, I found myself putting the clothes o

The next morning, Nikolai took a different approach; he didn’t lead me to the training room like usual. Instead, we stepped into his study, a place I’d only glimpsed before. The walls were filled with shelves brimming with books and files, but the desk at the center was surprisingly empty—save for a deck of playing cards. I raised my eyebrows. "Cards? This is what we’re doing?" Nikolai sat down across from me, each of his movements deliberate and precise. He shuffled the deck effortlessly, the soft sound of paper sliding together filling the otherwise quiet room. "Strength without strategy is pointless. Your father succeeds because he knows how to manipulate perception. He doesn’t need to make the first move—he makes his enemies turn on themselves." He fanned the cards out into two tidy rows. "Lesson one: Control the board. Every interaction is like a game. Every word, every silence, every glance can change the outcome. You can’t just be predictable." I looked at the cards, a sen

The night was thick with silence. I found myself in the study, listening to the clock tick softly, marking each moment. After dinner, Nikolai had grown quiet, pacing near the window, his phone casting a faint glow in his hand. Then he finally spoke. “He knows.” I froze. “My father?” Nikolai nodded, still glued to his screen. “Matteo called him right after they left the villa. The Don trusted your words—but only for a bit. Something about how you sounded bothered him.” My heart raced in my chest. “What did he say?” Nikolai met my stare, his eyes sharp. “He’s sending someone else. This time, it’s not to test you—it's to keep an eye on you. You’ve caught his attention.” A shiver ran through me. “He’s already suspicious?” “He didn’t build an empire by being naive.” Nikolai’s jaw was set tight. “You played your part, but the Don has lived too long to be fooled by a smile. He’ll dig until he finds something.” I sank into a chair, gripping the desk edge hard. “So what now?” Nikolai

Days went by, and Viktor became a constant presence I couldn’t shake off.He glided through the villa like a wisp of smoke—silent and unseen, but always lingering nearby. In the mornings, I’d catch him on the terrace, pretending to read newspapers with this casual nonchalance. Then, by afternoon, he’d pop up in the garden just as Nikolai and I were talking. And at night? I’d spot his reflection in the mirror, standing in the glow of the hallway light.It was like a subtle kind of surveillance, the sort that gnaws at you until you start to reveal too much.Nikolai noticed it too. “He’s watching us,” he said one evening as we were holed up in the study. “Every glance, every pause. He’s just waiting for you to slip.”“I won’t,” I shot back, trying to sound convincing.He gave me a look that mixed pride with worry. “Then don’t just avoid slipping. Make him think you’ve already fallen.”I frowned, trying to digest that. Pretending to be Nikolai’s enemy again—after everything we’d been thro