Billionaire ex-husband craves me back のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Sophia's POV I was sitting in Mark’s mansion, in a living room so big it felt like a hotel lobby. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off polished surfaces and expensive-looking art. There were plush sofas, soft rugs, and a quiet hum of central air. It was all very grand, very comfortable, and almost overwhelming. I still felt like a visitor, even though Mark kept insisting this was my home now. It had only been a week since he had dropped the bomb about being my father, and since I’d learned about my birth mother. My head was still spinning.I scrolled through my phone, trying to make sense of the new Wi-Fi connection, trying to find something to distract myself. It was a normal phone, nothing fancy, but even its screen felt small and out of place in these massive rooms. I wasn’t looking for anything specific, just wasting time, trying to push away the heavy thoughts of my past, my real past, and this strange new reality I was supposed to accept.Then, a headline caught

Sophia's POV That morning, a wave of nausea washed over me, a sickening lurch that had become all too familiar in the past week. It wasn't just the grief, the shock of learning about my birth parents, or the sting of seeing Donald’s happy remarriage. It was something deeper, something like a hollowness in my stomach, a profound weariness that even the opulent surroundings of my real father's mansion couldn’t alleviate. I felt… drained. Empty.My father, bless his attentive heart, had noticed. He’d insisted I see his private doctor, Dr. Philip, a man whose calm demeanor and gentle questions were somehow more unnerving than any aggressive interrogation. I sat in his quiet office, the air smelling faintly of antiseptic and something floral, trying to articulate the physical symptoms of my emotional turmoil.Dr. Philip listened patiently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he examined me. He asked about my diet, my sleep, and, of course, my emotional state. I mentioned the stress, the

Sophia's POV I stirred on the bed as the shrill sound from the alarm disturbed my peaceful sleep. The morning light streamed through the curtains of my bedroom, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. The encounter with Donald and Laura at the hospital, the sharp sting of Laura’s words, the unsettling sight of Donald’s surprise – it all seemed a little less vivid, a little less painful, in the clear light of a new day.As I sat properly on the bed, memories of the previous day began to flood my mind, but this time, there was a different undercurrent to them. Instead of anger or despair, there was a quiet sense of resolution, a feeling that I had finally turned a corner.I had woken with a singular thought, one that had been bubbling in the back of my mind. I didn't want to think about them anymore. Donald. Laura. Their supposed happiness. Their world. I was going to focus on my own.I recalled how I’d almost, for a fleeting moment, considered using the information I had, the knowle

Donald's POV The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of the car, a colorful sight against the deep velvet of the night sky. The hum of the engine was a low, comforting drone, a steady beat accompanying the dull throb behind my eyes. It had been a long weekend, filled with the usual rounds of golf, strategy discussions disguised as casual banter, and far too many expensive drinks with a few key associates. Weekends were supposed to be a reprieve, but for me, they often felt like just another extension of the work week, albeit with slightly softer edges.I was tired. Bone-weary, in fact. And definitely a few drinks past what I’d call ‘sober.’ Tipsy was a fair assessment. My mind felt a little fuzzy, thoughts drifting in and out like wisps of smoke. All I wanted was to step into my quiet, perfectly ordered home, maybe grab a glass of water, and collapse into bed. Laura was out with her own friends, probably at some fancy restaurant or gallery opening, so I expected the house to

Donald's POV The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. “Why did you divorce Sophia?” My father’s words echoed in the cavernous silence. Each word felt like a precise accusation. My mind raced, frantically searching for an escape, a diversion, anything to sidestep this direct interrogation. He was relentless, and I remember he didn't take no for an answer. He’d always been good at dissecting situations, at getting to the heart of the matter, and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that he wouldn’t let this go.“It’s… complicated, Dad,” I began, my voice deliberately casual, trying to deflect. “Business has been incredibly demanding. A lot of personal matters have had to take a backseat.” I managed a weak, forced smile, hoping it conveyed a sense of weary preoccupation rather than outright evasion.But my father was not easily deterred. He was a man who thrived on clarity, for concrete reasons. He met my attempt at diversion with a look that was both knowing and unimpressed.