Stepdaughter by Day, Wife by Night のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

I didn’t sleep that night.The house felt too quiet after what happened, the kind of silence that hummed in your chest, reminding you that something had cracked and couldn’t be fixed overnight. Roman tried to come upstairs—tried to talk—but I couldn’t. I just lay there, pretending to be asleep while my mind replayed that single sentence over and over.You have a son, Roman.Those five words had changed everything.By morning, I felt hollow. The twins fluttered faintly in my belly, like they were trying to calm me down, but I couldn’t stop thinking. About her. About him. About the years Roman had before me that I suddenly realized I didn’t really know.When Roman finally appeared in the doorway, his eyes were tired, his jaw tense, his shirt wrinkled from a sleepless night downstairs. He looked like a man who’d aged a decade in hours.“Lena,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “We need to talk.”I turned to face him, arms folded. “You think?”He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t kno

LENAI thought I had finally made peace with the world. For months, Roman and I had stayed quiet, away from the chaos, raising Isabella and preparing for the twins. Life was finally soft again—filled with slow mornings, laughter, and his steady presence beside me.Until it wasn’t.It started with a single notification. One article, written like poison wrapped in sugar. The headline read: “Lena Wolfe: Pregnant Again, or Desperate for Attention?”My chest tightened. I stared at my phone, rereading the words over and over until they blurred into one ugly smear. It wasn’t just gossip anymore—it was personal, vindictive. They’d found a way to twist every beautiful part of my life into something dirty.Roman was on the terrace, phone pressed to his ear, voice calm but clipped. “No, take it down immediately. You know it’s false.” His tone was all business, but the muscle in his jaw ticked with rage.When he hung up and saw my face, the storm behind his eyes softened. “You saw it.”I nodded,

LENA It started small—an idea I couldn’t shake, something that kept echoing in the back of my mind long after the chaos had quieted down. After everything I’d been through—the whispers, the judgment, the public humiliation, the fear of losing everything—it just didn’t feel right to move on like nothing had happened. I wanted to do something with it. Turn the mess into something meaningful. So one morning, I sat at the kitchen table, staring at my laptop with a cup of lukewarm tea, typing the words that had been sitting in my heart for weeks: The Wolfe Foundation for Women. I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling slightly. It felt surreal, naming something so big, so important. But it also felt right. Roman came down the stairs a few minutes later, shirtless, his hair still damp from the shower. He glanced at me curiously as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “You’ve been up early lately,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth. “Plotting another viral blog post?” I l

LENAWhen I first saw the envelope sitting on my desk at the foundation, I didn’t think much of it. Ava had dropped off a stack of mail like she did every morning—letters from donors, fan mail, event invitations. But this one… it felt different.It was cream-colored, elegant, sealed with a wax stamp I didn’t recognize. No name. No return address.For a few seconds, I just stared at it, half-expecting my phone to buzz with another text from Roman, or maybe a message from Ava about the twins’ nursery paint color. But instead, the silence in my office stretched thin and heavy.My fingers hesitated before tearing it open. The paper inside smelled faintly of perfume, something expensive and vintage—like roses steeped in smoke.The handwriting was graceful, practiced.You can’t build a new life on lies.That was it. No name, no signature, no explanation.My stomach twisted.I read it again. Then again.It wasn’t a threat. Not exactly. But it wasn’t kind either. It was taunting—personal.Som

LENAThe next few days passed in a haze of sleepless nights and constant movement. Security guards rotated shifts outside the penthouse, drones hovered discreetly above the building, and Roman’s private investigators worked round the clock. Every creak, every buzz of my phone made my heart leap into my throat.That last message—You missed me—still sat on my screen like a curse. I hadn’t shown it to Roman. Not yet. He was already on edge, and I couldn’t bear to see that flicker of fear in his eyes again.Instead, I focused on keeping things normal, at least for Isabella. Morning pancakes. Cartoons. Tiny moments of laughter between all the tension. Roman tried too—he read her bedtime stories, even though his phone never stopped buzzing. But I could see the lines deepening on his face, the sleepless nights wearing him down.On the fourth morning, he disappeared into his office right after breakfast. No one was allowed in. The door stayed shut for hours, and every time I walked past, I co