Stepdaughter by Day, Wife by Night のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

LenaI spent the next two days in a strange fog, balancing between wanting to tell Roman and wanting to run away from the conversation altogether. Every time I looked at him, my throat closed up. Every time he smiled at Isabella, or tucked me into his arms at night, the guilt burned sharper.It wasn’t that I thought he’d be angry. No—Roman Wolfe had always made it clear that he wanted a family with me. But after everything we’d been through, every public scandal and whispered judgment, I didn’t know if either of us had the strength to start over again so soon.But secrets had a way of growing heavier by the hour. And this one was starting to suffocate me.By the third morning, I woke up to the sound of rain tapping softly against the windows. Roman wasn’t beside me. That wasn’t unusual anymore—he’d often go for early runs or take calls from his office before breakfast. Still, the empty space beside me made the house feel too quiet.I rolled onto my back, my hand instinctively resting

Lena The text still haunted me. Days had passed since that night, and I hadn’t told Roman about it. Not because I wanted to keep secrets—God knew we’d had enough of those—but because I didn’t want to see that look on his face again. The protective one that hardened his jaw, darkened his eyes, and made him feel like he had to shield me from the world. I couldn’t bear to add more worry when things were finally calm. Or at least, pretending to be. I kept deleting the message thread, convincing myself it was some sick troll online, some random person trying to get a rise out of me. People had done worse for attention, and being married to Roman Wolfe made me a constant target. Still, a small part of me—an ugly, gnawing instinct—kept whispering that it wasn’t random. And then, three days later, I got the call. I was in the nursery, rocking Isabella after her nap. The sun filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold, and her tiny hand was gripping my finger when my ph

LenaIt started as a whisper in my head. A single thought I kept brushing aside until it wouldn’t leave me alone anymore: write it down.I’d been carrying everything for so long—my mistakes, my regrets, the moments that shaped me, and the ones that almost broke me. And now, after everything that happened with Vivian, after seeing that note tucked in the envelope like a bad omen, I needed to find a way to breathe again. Writing had always been that for me. My escape. My way of turning chaos into clarity.So one morning, after Roman left for a meeting and Isabella was down for her nap, I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and opened my laptop. The cursor blinked on a blank page, daring me to start.I typed three words.The first time.And just like that, it all began.At first, I didn’t even know what I wanted the memoir to be. Was it a confession? A love story? A cautionary tale? All I knew was that it had to be honest. No filters, no pretense. Just the truth as I lived it—t

LenaI’d convinced myself I was ready for this. I’d told Roman a dozen times that it would be fine, that his family would be polite, that I could handle a few curious glances and whispered questions.But as our car turned up the long, winding driveway to the Wolfe family estate—an actual mansion overlooking a lake—I felt my stomach drop somewhere between my ribs and my throat.Roman reached for my hand without looking away from the road. His thumb brushed my knuckles. “You’re trembling,” he said softly.“Maybe it’s the air conditioning,” I muttered, though we both knew it wasn’t.He glanced at me then, one brow lifting. “Lena.”I sighed. “Fine. I’m terrified, happy?”He smirked, and the sight eased some of the nerves clawing at me. “They’re going to love you,” he said, confident as always. “And if anyone doesn’t, they can deal with me.”That made me smile—barely. “Yeah, because intimidating my potential in-laws is definitely the way to win them over.”Roman parked the car and turned t

LENAThe day of the launch arrived faster than I expected.It was barely eight in the morning when I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft cream blouse that Roman insisted I wear because it “made me look like the face of a brand.” My nerves were already bubbling under my skin, every heartbeat a reminder that months of planning, sleepless nights, and second-guessing were about to go public.The official launch of Little Wolfe — my baby brand.What started as a few late-night ideas while feeding Isabella had turned into something real. Sustainable baby products made with soft organic fabrics, eco-friendly packaging, and designs I personally helped sketch. Every piece carried a story — our story.I stared at my reflection, smoothing a wrinkle in my blouse. My hands were shaking slightly.Roman appeared behind me, his reflection towering over mine, looking entirely too calm for someone whose wife was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. “You’re going to be fine,” he said,