Rejected Bride, Billionaire's Wife のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

I thought I was finally learning how to breathe again. Not the shallow, cautious breaths of someone terrified to trip on her own emotions, but deep, grounding ones that filled my lungs with something resembling peace.Alexander and I had settled into a strange rhythm, his presence was commanding, his touch magnetic, and yet he still kept pieces of himself locked behind his sharp jawline and narrowed eyes. And me? I was pretending I wasn’t slowly unraveling, that my heart wasn’t doing cartwheels whenever he leaned a little too close.But that morning, walking into the heart of the restaurant with his hand possessively brushing the small of my back, I realized just how fragile the illusion of peace was.We had gone out for brunch, something normal, something light. I wore a simple cream dress, nothing extravagant, and Alexander, of course, looked like sin dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, as though casual wasn’t in his vocabulary. The man could make breathing look like an art form, an

I woke that morning with a knot in my chest. The mansion was as quiet as a graveyard, save for the faint clink of silverware from the dining room where Isabella had likely stationed herself, sipping tea like a queen awaiting her subjects. Ever since she arrived, she’d made it her mission to remind me that I wasn’t one of them, that I was here on borrowed time.But today wasn’t about Isabella. Today, I needed courage for something bigger. Something harder.I needed to ask Alexander for permission.Permission, to see my own parents.The ridiculousness of it twisted something bitter in me. What kind of marriage required me to seek approval for something so ordinary? A sham one, I reminded myself. A contract where freedom came second to appearances, where my life, my movements had been quietly absorbed into his.I found him in his study, sunlight spilling across his broad shoulders as he scanned papers on his desk. Always so composed. Always in control.“Alexander,” I said, my voice stead

The car ride felt longer than it should have, though the city blurred past in a stream of gray and gold. Alexander sat beside me, impeccably silent, his presence like a fortress I couldn’t climb. I clutched my hands together in my lap, staring out the tinted window, rehearsing what I might say to my parents.How much of this sham could I hide? How much of myself could I reveal?When the car finally rolled up to my parents’ modest home—the same house where I’d spent my childhood—the weight in my chest nearly split me in two. The familiarity of it, the garden my mother tended with calloused hands, the faint creak of the porch step, it was home. My real home.“Ready?” Alexander’s voice was low, unreadable.I forced a nod.The door swung open before I even knocked. My mother’s face appeared, lined with years but glowing at the sight of me. “Elena!” she exclaimed, pulling me into her arms before I could even breathe.I clung to her, burying my face into her shoulder. For the first time in

I found Isabella waiting for me in the drawing room the next morning, her posture a picture of elegance—legs crossed, silk robe wrapped tightly around her as if it were armor. She held a porcelain teacup in her hand, but from the hard glint in her eyes, I could tell she wasn’t here for tea.“Elena,” she said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Sit.”The command in her voice grated against my skin. I wanted to refuse, to keep walking until I was far from her poisonous gaze. But I sat anyway, if only to prove I wasn’t afraid.She studied me for a long moment, the silence thickening between us. Finally, she spoke. “Do you know how many women have sat in that very chair?”My brows knit. “I don’t—”“Dozens,” she cut in sharply. “Dozens of them. All with the same wide-eyed look, all pretending they were different. And do you know what they wanted?” She leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Money. Power. Access to my brother’s name.”I felt heat rising in my chest, but I forced

The gallery lights were soft, golden, reflecting against polished floors and priceless paintings. Alexander moved beside me, cool and composed, offering his usual clipped smiles to critics and investors. His hand rested at the small of my back—possessive, grounding.But none of that mattered.Because across the room, Damien stood.Impeccably dressed, eyes as stormy as the day he abandoned me, his expression unreadable. His gaze found me, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with unspoken history.I forced myself to look away, to pretend I hadn’t seen him. But my chest was already tight, my past already bleeding into the present.When Alexander was pulled into a conversation about stock indexes and acquisitions, I excused myself, claiming I needed a moment. My heels echoed against the marble as I slipped into a quiet corridor.I hadn’t expected to be followed.“Running away again, Elena?”The voice struck me like a blade.I turned, and there he was. Damien. The man who had onc