Pregnant for the Heartless Billionaire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

Elena’s POV When I got home, I didn’t realise how exhausted I was until I shut the door behind me. The sound of the latch clicking into place felt too final, too heavy, like it was locking me into a silence I wasn’t prepared to face.All day, adrenaline had pushed me forward, through the board meeting, through James’s pathetic display of entitlement, through Isabelle’s public meltdown and humiliation. The news cameras, the reporters, the whispers… all of it had blurred into background noise. I had moved through every hour like a blade. Sharp. Controlled. Unshaking.But the moment that door closed, the blade dulled. The weight of the day settled into my bones, dragging every breath downward.I leaned against the wall for a moment, closing my eyes as the quiet wrapped itself around me. I wasn’t sure if the ache in my chest was grief, fear, or rage. Maybe all three. They swirled inside me like stormwater refusing to settle.Eventually, I pushed myself upright and walked to the bedroom.

Elena’s POV Raymond didn’t move for a while.He just sat there, his hands steepled, his shoulders tense, his eyes fixed on me as though he were observing something volatile, something new, something dangerous. Something that could either save the Rothschild empire… or burn it completely to the ground.“You’ve thought this through,” he said at last, his voice low.“I have.”He leaned back in the chair, which creaked softly under the strain, or maybe under the weight of the thoughts stacking behind his gaze. He studied me like a man trying to decide whether the person in front of him was still the woman he knew… or someone else entirely.“If we can reduce James’s holdings,” he admitted, “it would shift control significantly back to our side.” He paused. “But how exactly do you plan to do that in detail?”I hesitated for only a heartbeat, then I told him.“We crash the company value.”He blinked. Once. Twice. Then his brows shot up.“Crash it?”“Temporarily,” I clarified, my tone c

Elena’s POV The morning had begun quietly unnervingly quietly.The kind of deceptive calm that usually sits on the skin of a storm, pretending to be harmless.Raymond had already sent his early report, Mathias had confirmed the first steps of our market maneuver, and I had a dozen unread emails from departments requesting approval, clarification, signatures, fragments of a world that refused to pause just because mine had.I was halfway through a finance brief when the receptionist’s voice crackled through the intercom.“Ma’am, there’s someone here to see you. He says his name is Mr. Darian Withmore.”I froze.Darian Withmore.That was a name I hadn’t heard in years. Not because he was forgotten, far from it, but because he was the kind of man who lived between worlds and rarely stepped into ours unless he had reason.“Send him in,” I said, trying to sound unaffected.The door opened seconds later, and he walked in with the same quiet ease he’d always had, tall, lean, composed, his mo

Elena’s POVThe hours dragged like chains.The clock above Damien’s hospital bed ticked with slow, mocking precision. Every second was a reminder that he still hadn’t opened his eyes. Every mechanical beep from the monitor was both a relief and a wound, proof that he was alive, and proof that he was still so far from me.I sat there in the dim light of the private ward, elbows on my knees, fingers clenched around my phone. Adrian had left hours ago, promising to fix the mess beneath the surface, the bounty, the danger, the shadows hunting us. But the stillness after he’d gone made the hospital feel haunted.It was quiet. Too quiet.The kind of quiet that gets under your skin, where every thought sounds like a scream.My gaze moved from the machines to Damien’s face. His skin looked pale beneath the white sheets, too calm for a man who had nearly died twice in a month. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing steady under the faint hiss of oxygen.He was fighting. I knew that much.

Elena’s POVThe hospital room had grown too quiet again.That heavy, unnatural quiet where machines breathe for the person you love, and you start to hate the sound of oxygen.Damien lay still beneath the pale sheets, his skin almost blending with the white, his body lined with wires, tubes, machines that hissed and blinked as if they owned his pulse. The rhythmic beep...beep...beep from the monitor had become the only proof I had that he was still fighting.I sat on the couch, watching his chest rise and fall. There was something cruel about the steadiness, as though time itself had stopped for him but refused to stop for me.I folded my hands together and whispered to the air, “You promised you’d always fight, Damien. Don’t you dare stop now.”A knock came on the glass. Mathias entered with a faint smile and a small paper bag in his hand.“I thought you could use something sweet,” he said, lifting the bag slightly.The smell of warm cinnamon rolls drifted out, rich and nostalgic.