The Forgotten wife of the Billionaire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

I told myself I wasn’t going to do it. I won’t give in to the urge to confront him. That I’d ignore the gift card, pretend it hadn’t happened, and go on with my life.But by the next afternoon, the envelope was still sitting on my kitchen counter like a challenge. Mocking me. Every time I passed it, I’d catch myself wondering how long he’d stood outside the shop. Whether he’d thought about knocking. Whether he’d hoped I’d open the door.So when I saw him through the bookstore window — leaning against the streetlamp across the road, head tipped slightly toward the drizzle — I didn’t give myself time to overthink about what I was about to do.I grabbed my coat, crossed the street, and stopped in front of him.“We need to talk,” I said without preamble.A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Hello to you too.”“This isn’t a game, Dominic. You can’t just… show up with gifts and expect—”Before I could finish, a small

I thought the art fair would be just another Saturday. Smile for the parents, clap for the kids, eat a cookie or two, have some orange juice and then go home. But it wasn’t. It was Dominic leaning against the bake-sale table like he belonged there. Dominic is shaking hands with Eliana’s teacher. Dominic crouching beside her lion painting, looking at her like she’d invented fire. Dominic is taking pictures of her artwork like an obsessed fan. And the worst part? Nobody questioned it. Not the teachers, not the parents, not even Eliana. Because in their eyes, he completely belonged As for me, I did question it and I see how our future will look from now if this continues to happen. By the time we got home, Eliana was still bubbling over. The excitement is not dying down. “Uncle Dom said he’s going to help me build a birdhouse! Can you believe it, Mommy? A real one! Isn’t that cool?”

A week later, I found myself in Lena’s small kitchen with a pile of wood, nails, and a determined five-year-old grinning up at me. “Uncle Dom,” Eliana said, pointing to the pile. “You said we’d make a birdhouse. Are you ready?” Her excitement was a bit contagious and I didn’t know I needed. “I’m ready,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “But you’re the designer. I’m just the assistant at your service.” She giggled. “Okay! First, we need a square. Mommy, can I have the ruler?” Lena leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes tracked everything—my movements, my patience, the way Eliana bounced in and out of the room for markers and glue. Halfway through, the hammer slipped and I swore under my breath. Eliana gasped, wide-eyed. “You said a bad word.” I grimaced. “You’re right. My mistake.” I crouched d

The crack across the bookstore window felt like it had split through my chest too. I stood frozen, staring at the jagged glass, the reflection of my pale face staring back at me. Dominic’s shadow loomed beside mine, steady and immovable. I hated how safe that made me feel. He moved me from the broken pieces, far away from the danger. “It was probably nothing,” I said, my voice clipped, trying to convince both him and myself. “Some kids playing, probably a rock—who knows.” “No,” he said firmly, crouching near the frame to inspect the damage. “This wasn’t careless. It was deliberate.” The certainty in his tone scraped against my nerves. “You don’t know that.” He rose to his full height, looking at me like he saw straight through my denial. “You’re scared. And I don’t blame you. But pretending otherwise doesn’t protect you—or her.” My throa

The next afternoon, I stood outside Maple & Steam, a café at the corner of Hawthorne Street. Its front windows were lined with hanging flowers, and the rich scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries drifted onto the sidewalk. I’d chosen it carefully—not too close to Lena’s bookstore, not too upscale like the restaurants I usually visited. Neutral ground. A place where she might let her guard down, even if it was for a moment. When I stepped inside, the warmth hit me instantly. The café was all wood and amber light, with mismatched chairs and chalkboard menus scribbled with specials. A string of fairy lights looped around the windows, casting a soft glow over the crowd of students, and families tucked into corners. And there, near the back, sat Lena. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, a mug cradled between her hands. She looked out of place and perfectly at home all at once, her shoulders tense but her expression softened by the quiet comfort of the space. I