Ashmoor Unseen Wolf のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

Diana’s POVThe moment Kelvin stopped the car, I practically flung the door open, lunging out like a startled deer sensing the arrow aimed straight for its heart. The hot afternoon air hit me like a slap, sharp and urgent.“Diana, wait…” his voice trailed behind me, calm but desperate.But I didn’t stop. I was already slipping through the heavy front door, swallowed by shadows.My heart was pounding, not just from the thrill of sneaking into a house I barely understood, but from the prickling fear of being caught by his father again.The memory of last time, humiliated, desperate, scrambling through a window, burned fresh in my mind. I refused a repeat.I had to find Kelvin’s room. Simple. Or so I thought.The house was bigger than I remembered, corridors stretching endlessly like veins pulsing with secrets. Each turn growing colder and more unfamiliar than the last. The air heavy and thick with the scent of polished wood and faint perfume. The marble floor beneath my feet gleamed lik

Diana’s POVThe nausea still clung to me like a second skin, a lingering souvenir from my last visit to Kelvin’s. But skipping rehearsal wasn’t an option, not with the competition breathing down our necks. Two hours. Just two hours left, and my voice had to be flawless, even if my heart wasn’t.Eva sat cross-legged on the polished wooden desk, head tilted, eyes skimming the sheet music like she was deciphering a secret language only she understood. Her brow creased in fierce concentration. God bless her heart, but Eva couldn’t sing to save her life. Today, she sounded like a violin being throttled mid-solo by an offended cat.I tried to hold it in, I really did, but the second she hit that high note like it owed her money, laugh exploded out of me in uncontrollable waves. It turned into a cough halfway through, scraping its way up my throat like sandpaper.Eva threw her hands up dramatically. “Okay, okay, get it out of your system. I’m a dancer, not Beethoven.”I covered my mouth, try

Abigail’s POVI was supposed to be strong.But today?I felt like I was unraveling, thread by trembling thread. I was literally crumbling.My body was a prison of heaviness, every limb weighted as if carved from wet sand. The pregnancy had taken over me, dragging me into a state of perpetual exhaustion. Even breathing felt like a negotiation with pain. My stomach churned with nausea, and a fog of fatigue pressed against my temples.I’d only missed two alarms, but guilt clung to me like a second skin. I needed more sleep, more silence, more time to pretend I wasn’t drowning.Then suddenly, a sharp twist lanced through my lower belly, tearing me from the bed.“Ouch!” I gasped, clutching my side as a fresh wave of pain curled up my spine. The baby stirred, not with sleepy flutters, but frantic, panicked movement.A cold shiver slithered down my back like melting ice. My panic bloomed fast, thick and suffocating.I reached for my phone to call my mum, then froze.No use.My phone battery

Abigail’s POVThe moment Diana bolted off stage like a wounded doe, I felt it, sweet, sharp, like honey laced with venom. Satisfaction, hot and dizzying, bloomed in my chest.She didn’t even try to fight it.She shattered so beautifully.Perfect.Vivian had delivered it like a dagger wrapped in silk. Her silver gown caught the stage lights, glittering like starlight on snow. And that song, Diana’s song, had spilled from her mouth like it had never belonged to anyone else.The auditorium buzzed with chatter, students trading notes on who might win. Parents adjusted in their seats, hopeful eyes scanning judges’ faces.But all I did was smile.This wasn’t a competition. It was a performance of my making. A symphony of sabotage.I leaned back, legs crossed, lips curled in a slow, deliberate smirk.I didn’t care if Ashmoor won or lost.All that matters now is that Diana had lost everything.Her voice. Her spotlight. Her dignity. And next, her place beside Kael.Just as I was soaking in the

Diana’s POVI sat cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the TV, the cool hardwood pressing against my skin. Mum was beside me, her eyes sparkling with quiet pride, her smile as warm as sunlight filtering through the window.On the screen, a poised female broadcaster spoke with practiced enthusiasm.“Ashmoor Academy has long been hailed as the premier institution in San Francisco, and once again, it has proved its excellence. Winning the 10th Annual San Francisco Schools’ Showcase, young prodigies Diana Johnson and Kael Draven—son of Governor hopeful Lord Draven—left the crowd stunned with their outstanding performance. Public sentiment continues to surge in Draven’s favor ahead of the upcoming gubernatorial elections.”Mum turned to me, her voice tinged with triumph. “See? I always knew Draven had your best interests at heart. You’re a star now, my dear.”Heat rose to my cheeks. “Please, Mum,” I murmured, the corners of my lips lifting in spite of myself.She clapped her hands