Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 131 - チャプター 140

The chandelier glimmered like a crown above them, its light fractured through crystal and champagne. Every smile in the ballroom was sharp, polished, the kind of smile that came with mergers, not affection. Gale Lockridge stood at the center of it, his fiancée’s hand looped possessively through his arm. Margaret laughed, loud enough for the photographers, soft enough for her parents.He smiled when she looked at him. That’s all she ever asked, a smile, for show.“You’re doing wonderfully, darling,” she whispered against his shoulder, her perfume cloying, her manicured nails tracing the edge of his sleeve. “They’re all jealous.”He didn’t doubt that. Every man in this room had once envied him, the youngest CEO to take the reins of Lockridge Dynamics, the last bachelor holdout of the city’s elite. Tonight was supposed to mark the end of that title. The press release called it a union of legacy and innovation. What it really was

The restaurant emptied out before the thunder even reached its full growl. A tropical storm had rolled in from the bay, swallowing the skyline outside the tall glass windows. The city lights bled through the rain in streaks of gold and silver; thunder pulsed against the glass like a heartbeat.Gale loosened his tie as the waiter cleared the table. “Flights are grounded. Roads are closed. They’re arranging suites upstairs for all of us,” he said, scanning his phone.Vance only nodded, calm as ever. He leaned back slightly, one arm resting across the chair. “Then it’s just us, boss,” he said lightly.Something about the way he said boss always hit differently. Not mocking, not flirtatious, just low, confident, familiar. It made Gale feel seen in a way he couldn’t explain.They took the elevator in silence. The air between them felt heavier than the storm outside. Vance’s shoulder brushed his once, twice, and each time it sent a faint hum t

The office lights were dim, but Gale didn’t notice. He barely noticed anything outside the immediate heat radiating between him and Vance. His hands were on Vance’s shoulders, pulling him flush, lips crashing against lips with reckless abandon, teeth grazing, tongues tangling, the world shrinking to just this pulse of heat and need.“Gale… you’re....” Vance’s voice broke mid-word, swallowed by another hungry kiss.“I can’t stop,” Gale gasped, hands sliding down Vance’s back, clinging, gripping like he could anchor himself to him and the ground would fall away. “I… I need… I need this.”Every brush of skin, every frantic press, every groan was raw. Gale was running on instinct, on need, on the fury of finally letting go. Papers tumbled from the desk, chairs knocked aside, but he didn’t care, nothing mattered but the heat, the desperate urgency, the freedom coursing through him.Vance’s hands were everywhere, mirroring the chaos.

The gala glittered with a kind of perfection that grated at Gale’s nerves, gold chandeliers, polished laughter, champagne bubbles rising endlessly. He smiled when he had to, nodded when required, but every muscle in his body felt restrained beneath the weight of expectation. Margaret was radiant. Everyone said so. Her hand clung to his arm like she owned it, her smile bright and rehearsed. She laughed too loudly, touched him too often, brushing his collar, adjusting his cufflinks, sliding her fingers through his when clients approached. To everyone else, it was affection. To Gale, it was a chokehold. He felt her nails through his sleeve when she introduced him, her voice lilting with practiced charm. “My fiancé, Gale Lockridge. The next face of our company.” He gave his polite smile, bowed slightly, and said what he always said, the words that sounded less like his own with each eve

The morning light bled through the glass walls of Gale’s office, harsh and unkind.The television mounted on the far wall flickered with the polished chaos of a press conference. Cameras flashed, microphones angled forward like weapons, and Margaret stood at the center, poised, immaculate, the perfect image of control. Only Gale knew what trembled beneath that perfection.He hadn’t touched his coffee.He hadn’t spoken since the broadcast began.Vance stood a few feet behind him, the soft rustle of his movement the only sound breaking the hum of the city below. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened, and yet the tension that lined his shoulders said he would rather disappear into the walls than witness this.On-screen, Margaret adjusted the microphone, her expression steady. The logo of her father’s company gleamed behind her like a crown.“I want to officially announce,” she began, her voice cool and steady, “that the engageme