The Alpha Playboy Is My Mate. のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

°Jeremy’s POV.°The hallway outside her room was too quiet.It wasn’t the kind of quiet that brought calm. It was heavy, unnatural—like the air itself was holding its breath. I hesitated with my hand on the door handle, my pulse thudding unevenly in my ears. I had prepared myself for the sight I had become too used to: her lying there, small and pale, tethered to those machines I hated but depended on because their steady rhythm meant she was alive and in good health.But when I pushed the door open—The sound hit me first.A sharp, continuous alarm. The heart monitor, shrieking into the silence, cutting through me like a blade. Its red lights blinked, urgent and accusing, screaming for someone to notice.My eyes followed the noise, and then I saw.Blood.It stained the white sheets in patches, bright and raw, still fresh. The IV pole leaned at an odd angle as it dangled, its line disconnected, dripping useless drops on the floor. Wires tangled across the mattress as if ripped away in

°Jeremy’s POV°The hand on my shoulder was soft. Too soft. For half a second my chest caved in, hoping, begging. But when I turned, golden eyes weren’t waiting for me.She wasn’t Amy.The girl staring back was about my age. Red hair, bright, sharp eyes. Pretty in a way that made people look twice, but she wasn’t who I was searching for. That fact alone made disappointment slam into me like a blade.“You’re scaring people,” she said quietly, holding my gaze. “And you’re bleeding. Badly.”I almost told her to leave me alone. Almost barked it like I always did. But I didn’t, I couldn’t.She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, caught my hand before I could pull it away, and wrapped it around my knuckles. Her fingers brushed my skin — warm, gentle, and careful, like she wasn’t afraid of how broken I looked.“Stop hurting yourself,” she muttered. “It’s not helping anyone.”Her voice was steady, but there was something soft in it too. I couldn’t take it. My chest cracked open, and befor

°Amy’s POV°I just woke up from a short nap.The bus ride felt like forever, though it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. I sat beside Lydia, clutching my little pendant like it carried my whole life, which it kind of did. She hummed a tune under her breath, something old and familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Every time I sneaked a glance at her, I found her staring out the window as if the world outside was more interesting than me. But her hand rested over mine the whole ride, steady and warm, like she knew I would bolt if she let go.When the bus finally screeched to a stop, she nudged me gently. “We’re here, darling.”I followed her out, my bare feet dragging against the gravel road. The air smelled different here—less of exhaust and hospital bleach, and more of earth and wet grass. The houses were spread apart, not stacked on top of each other like in town. Lydia led me down a narrow dirt path until we stopped in front of a small cream-painted bungalow with a slanted r

°Amy’s POV°The silence pressed down on me, so heavy I thought my chest would split open. Lydia’s words still echoed in the room like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing.“Is he the father of your child?”I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. My throat felt full of rocks. My eyes darted to Christian, and for a heartbeat, I saw the same shock mirrored there on his face, the same panic tightening his face.And then—before I could even open my mouth—he spoke.“Yes.” His voice was steady, firmer than mine could ever be right now. “The child is mine.”I blinked, my heart lurching. What?Christian didn’t stop. He straightened up, his gaze never leaving Lydia’s. “Jeremy’s just a friend,” he added quickly, his tone smooth, like he’d practiced it a thousand times in his head. “It’s me. I’m the father.”Lydia froze, eyes flicking between us. For a moment, her face was unreadable, and my stomach twisted. But then—it softened. A slow smile spread across her face, wide and glowing, her whole body easi

°Amy’s POV°I looked at Christian for a long moment, maybe too long. His eyes were steady on me, like he was waiting for something, waiting for me to open up, but I couldn’t tell what he really expected. It wasn’t necessary for him to know, was it? Why did he even want to know? What good would it do him—or me—if I peeled open wounds that I was still trying to stitch shut myself?I sighed, the sound heavy and tired as it slipped out of me. My fingers found the little pendant hanging from my neck, rolling it between them the way I always did when I was nervous. My eyes fell on my lap, tracing the folds of the fabric pooled over my thighs. I stared so long it felt like maybe I could disappear into them if I just kept quiet. Another deep breath left me, rough and uneven.“Well…” I started, though the word got stuck halfway out. My chest tightened as if the air itself was too heavy, like the sentence I was supposed to form would suffocate me before I even got to the first full stop.But th