The Lieutenant's Vengeful Desire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

The roar of Hastan’s Harley shattered the night’s silence as he pulled away from Meira’s house. The engine vibrated beneath him, echoing the turmoil inside his chest. The cold night air whipped against his skin, sharp as a blade, but it did nothing to cool the fever of thoughts burning within him. He rode through the deserted streets until he reached his parents’ old home—a sanctuary of sorts, one place where he could untangle the knots coiling tighter inside his mind. Inside the modest study, the air smelled faintly of old wood and machine oil. But the room was lined with sleek monitors, tangled wires, and servers that pulsed like a hidden heart. Here, Hastan’s battlefield was not with guns and soldiers—but with codes, shadows, and secrets. He sat down, slid Meira’s cloned phone onto the desk, and connected it to his laptop. That device was more than plastic and circuits—it was a time capsule. Six years of her life, of her silence, of the pain she had buried, now lay at his finger

After Aira ended the call, the shadows of the past slowly faded. Yet another incoming ring pulled Meira back into reality—the endless rhythm of work. Why is everyone calling me today? Tch. She glanced at her phone, spotting the name of one of her staff—Erik. “Hello?” Her voice was firm. “Ma’am, we’ve got a serious problem with one of the computers where we installed MedLink earlier,” Erik’s voice came out quick, almost frantic. Meira frowned. “Serious? What happened?” “The computer’s been hit with ransomware. Important files are encrypted, and there’s a ransom note flashing on the screen. I think the hacker slipped in during the MedLink installation. The issue’s in the server room on the third floor. I need you here to help coordinate.” Meira exhaled sharply. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” She set the phone down and stood before the mirror to tidy herself—only for her breath to hitch. Reflected back at her were the glaring red marks scattered along her neck and upper ch

“Now…” His voice dropped, a low whisper that brushed against her skin like a threat, “we begin to talk.” Hastan’s hand moved slowly, his warm fingers parting the strands of hair that veiled Meira’s eyes. The touch was featherlight, yet it stole the air from her lungs. Her heart hammered erratically, as though her body already knew what was coming long before her mind could process it. “H-Hastan… please, l-let me go…” Her voice quivered, fragile, nearly swallowed by the silence between them. Her eyes fluttered shut when his strong fingers slid from her temple down the curve of her cheek, pausing at the hollow of her throat. The trail of his touch seared like fire, leaving sparks across her skin. “This…” Hastan murmured, his tone cold as steel yet heavy with dominance, “…is how I speak to my little kitten.” Meira swallowed hard. Her body was taut, yet something deep inside trembled with an unfamiliar ache she could neither deny nor control. His fingers grazed the delicate chain arou

Sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains, spilling warm patterns across the floor. Meira stirred awake, her lashes fluttering as her mind surfaced from the haze of sleep. Yet the comfort she expected from her hotel room never came. The air carried a different scent—coffee and the faint aroma of food. It was homely, dangerous in its warmth, because it wasn’t hers. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts scattered, until fragments of last night pushed their way through—Hastan’s unyielding gaze, his steel grip, the way his voice wrapped around her like chains. Heat rushed to her cheeks. The clock ticked past seven. The bed beside her was empty. Relief pricked her chest; maybe Hastan had already left for duty. She sat up, adjusted her breath, then stepped out. The shirt clinging to her body—his shirt, stripped of buttons—hung loose, barely held together by her trembling hands. Her skirt felt indecently thin against the morning chill. She walked barefoot, eyes half-shut, seeking nothing b

The hallway outside the military hospital cafeteria was eerily quiet, the air still heavy with the aftertaste of confrontation. Meira walked with measured steps toward Hastan, who still carried Dio securely in his arms. The child’s cheerful little voice broke through the silence. “Come on, Mama, where are we going now?” Meira’s smile softened, though her heart remained restless. She stroked her son’s hair. “Sweetheart, Mama has to check some hospital rooms today. That means a lot of walking.” Dio’s lips pouted. “But that’s tiring. I want to stay with Uncle Hastan.” She opened her arms, a gentle request. “Uncle Hastan has work to do, baby. Come here, Mama will carry you.” But Hastan’s voice cut in—calm, steady, unyielding. “It’s fine. Let him stay in my office.” Before Meira could respond, Octavian appeared at the end of the corridor. His gaze locked on Dio in Hastan’s arms, sharp and unreadable. “Dio,” Octavian said softly, though his tone carried pressure Meira knew all too