Pregnant for the Heartless Billionaire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Elena’s POVThe restaurant Ethan chose was one of the most refined in the city, private booths, candlelit tables, soft piano in the background. The kind of place where every detail was calculated for comfort and class.When I stepped inside, I almost turned around. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and expensive wine, the waiters gliding about in crisp uniforms. It reminded me too much of the world I had left behind, the one built on Rothschild wealth and power, a world I had been cast out of.But then I saw Ethan rise from his table.He wore a charcoal-grey suit that looked effortless on him, his posture relaxed, his smile warm but not overbearing. He didn’t rush toward me or make a scene. He simply waited, letting me approach at my own pace.“Elena.” His voice was smooth, inviting. “You look beautiful.”I smoothed my dress self-consciously. It wasn’t designer, just a simple navy-blue sheath I had bought on sale, but his compliment felt genuine. “Thank you. And thank you for the flo

Damien’s POVI wasn’t pleased to see her.The moment Isabelle stepped into my office with her painted smile and her carefully arranged tray, I felt the familiar weight of irritation settle across my shoulders.She had been warned. More than once. But she didn’t care. She never cared.I dropped my pen on the desk with a soft click and raised my eyes to her. “What are you doing here?”She set the tray down delicately, her voice almost airy. “Food,” she replied. “I know you haven’t eaten.”My jaw clenched. “You are not my wife. Stop acting like you are.”The words were ice, but still she flinched as if I had struck her. Her lips trembled, her eyes growing wet.“Why?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ve loved you for years, Damien. I knew you before her. We were together before her. Had it not been for her, we would have been together. But since she left, you’ve been cold. Why, Damien? At least let’s start over, see what life brings us.”She was on the verge of tears, her entire body

Elena’s POVThe dinner was small, elegant, and carefully curated, one of those business gatherings where every handshake meant a potential investment, and every smile was another stitch in the fabric of reputation.I had attended dozens of these since I’d become a manager in the Oswald Group’s five-star chain. Tonight was no different. The restaurant was private, the lighting warm, the hum of conversation low but strategic. Men in tailored suits and women in jewel-toned dresses floated from table to table, their laughter perfectly timed, their words carefully weighed.I moved through the room with practiced ease, greeting clients, offering them updates on our expansion projects, ensuring every guest felt valued. It was the role I knew best: professional, polished, untouchable.But the moment I saw Ethan across the room, my composure wavered.He was speaking to two older investors, his hands in his pockets, his smile charming without effort. He looked powerful, confident, the kind of m

Damien’s POVThe helicopter blades had barely stopped spinning when I was already coordinating the transfer from the helipad to the waiting ambulance. The night air was brisk, biting, but my focus never wavered. My father was wheeled quickly and efficiently, monitors still beeping, the medical team flanking him like sentinels. My mother walked beside him, clutching her rosary and whispering prayers into the air.For her sake, I forced myself to look steady, unshaken. But inside, my chest burned.We arrived in Westmere just past dawn. The sky was still streaked in deep purples, the city not yet fully awake. The ambulance carried my father straight to the Cosmopolitan City Hospital. My mother and I followed in the car behind. By the time I saw him safely admitted and surrounded by a fresh team of nurses, it was nearly mid-morning.I checked my mother into the suite I had booked at the Oswald Hotel first. She was exhausted, her face pale, her eyes hollow with worry. She didn’t even argue

Elena’s POVThe morning began like most others: a flood of emails, staff briefings, and the steady rhythm of paperwork that came with running one of the city’s finest hotels. The air smelled of polished wood and freshly brewed coffee, the hum of guests and employees blending into a muted backdrop. I had trained myself to compartmentalise, one side of me fully the manager, the other quietly a mother and sister, but some mornings tested the balance more than others.Barely an hour into my day, my phone buzzed.“Ma’am,” one of the front desk supervisors said nervously, “we have a VIP guest who’s demanding to see you. He says his suite isn’t what he booked.”I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What exactly happened?”The supervisor hesitated. “He booked the presidential suite. But the guests staying in it extended their stay by one more night. Since the system had already charged him, we moved him into a smaller suite for the meantime. He’s… not pleased.”My head snapped up. “You charged hi