The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Three months into her new position at Wynthorne Industries, Lavinia Hartwell had established a routine that bordered on artful deception. Each morning, she arrived forty minutes before Henry, preparing his office with a precision that made their subsequent interactions appear seamless. Coffee at the perfect temperature, meeting notes arranged by priority, emails categorized and flagged—all designed to create an environment where Henry could function without having to admit he still struggled.In those early morning moments of solitude, sitting at her desk in the anteroom to his spacious corner office, Lavinia sometimes allowed herself to imagine this was her life—not just a temporary arrangement until Henry recovered enough to stand on his own. She would trace her fingers over the sleek desk nameplate that read “Lavinia Hartwell, Executive Assistant to the CEO,” and pretend the title carried the weight she gave it in her daydreams.The wall behind Henry’s desk still displayed his Camb

Lavinia Hartwell smoothed her hands down the emerald green silk of her dress for the dozenth time. Her reflection in the full-length mirror of her bedroom stared back at her with wide, anxious eyes. The woman looking back at her seemed like a stranger—sophisticated and elegant in a way Lavinia had never seen herself before.The dress had been Henry’s choice. He’d insisted on taking her shopping two days after his father’s proposal, claiming they needed to “look the part.” She’d tried to protest that her existing wardrobe was perfectly adequate, but Henry wouldn’t hear of it.“We need to be convincing,” he’d said with that practical tone he always used when he’d made up his mind. “The Wellingtons are old money, and they scrutinize everything. If we’re going to sell this engagement, you need to look like you belong on my arm.”The memory made her stomach tighten. You need to look like you belong on my arm. Not that she actually did belong there.She lifted her left hand, the unfamilia

Henry Wynthorne stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse apartment, a tumbler of whiskey in hand as he stared at the city lights below. The Wellington dinner had been two weeks ago, and things couldn’t have gone better from a business perspective. Gerald had called yesterday to confirm his investment in the expansion project—exactly the outcome Robert had predicted.The charade was working. So why did he feel so unsettled?Perhaps it was because every success at Wynthorne Enterprises felt like another step away from the life he’d once envisioned. The leather-bound astronomy journals on his bookshelf mocked him silently—relics of a dream that had died with his father’s diagnosis three years ago. He’d been accepted into MIT’s astrophysics doctoral program, had research lined up at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center. Instead, he was here, building his father’s legacy while his own aspirations gathered dust.His phone vibrated on the glass coffee table. When he picked it up,

The Wellington deal had been a triumph. Lavinia Hartwell had watched from the periphery as Henry Wynthorne shook hands with the executive team, his confident smile never faltering. She had spent weeks preparing those financial projections, staying late after everyone had gone home, checking and rechecking the numbers until her eyes burned. Not that he had acknowledged her contribution—but then again, he never did.As they rode the elevator down from the meeting, Henry loosened his tie with a sigh.“Well, that’s finally done,” he said, checking his watch. “I thought Bradford would never stop talking.”Lavinia nodded, maintaining her professional composure despite the portfolio clutched against her chest. “So what happens now with our arrangement?”The question had been burning in her mind all day. Their agHartwell-upon timeline had expired with the Wellington deal. She had been bracing herself for the inevitable end, preparing to maintain her dignity when he finally terminated their fa

Lavinia Hartwell’s fingers traced the delicate links of her grandmother’s silver bracelet before securing it around her wrist. The antique charms caught the lamplight, each tiny bell and heart a whispered promise from generations past. Her grandmother had pressed this bracelet into her palm on her deathbed, eyes bright with fever and certainty. “For when your heart needs courage, dear one. It has never failed our family in matters of love.”Tonight felt like such a moment.Lavinia studied her reflection with uncharacteristic scrutiny. She had abandoned her usual severe chignon, allowing waves of chestnut hair to frame her face in a way that softened her typically sharp features. The touch of rose on her lips and the subtle sweep of kohl around her eyes transformed her from competent to captivating. She barely recognized herself.Her father’s silver hairpin rested on the vanity’s marble surface, catching light like captured starfire. Richard Hartwell had been many things—distant, preoc