Maid To The Three Mafia Kings のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

“What... what are you doing here?” Millie forced the words out as she looked anywhere but into Aidan’s eyes.“Amelia, are you okay?” he asked, concern threading his voice. “You look... shaken.”A shaky breath escaped her. “I’m fine.”The lie sat bitter on her tongue. How could she begin to explain the storm of arousal and self-loathing churning inside her?“I need to talk to you,” he pressed. “There’s so much—I owe you an explanation.”“Explanation?” The word slipped out. If only he knew.Aidan stepped closer, a frown tugging at his brow. “I know I left the penthouse without saying goodbye...” He hesitated, then added, “Amelia, I’m so sorry.”He reached for her, but she turned away. Her hand twitched toward the door, then stilled. Andrea was likely asleep—any argument now might wake her.“Please, Amelia. Just give me a chance. Hear me out.”The truth was, she wanted more than an explanation. But this wasn’t the time or place for that.A sharp, hissing sound escaped her lips. “Not here

Sunlight streamed through the grand windows of the Cedar Ridge mansion’s dining room, bathing the polished mahogany table in a warm glow. The clink of silverware and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the quiet air.Dressed in a crisp white apron that highlighted her graceful movements, Millie glided between the table and kitchen door, balancing a tray laden with steaming plates.She and Clara moved in sync, their motions fluid and efficient—the toast arranged just right, the coffee poured with care. Still, Millie couldn’t shake the feeling of being under a microscope.Ethan’s eyes stayed on her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. Every time their gazes met, a slow warmth spread through her. His stares weren’t fleeting or casual; they held possession, a silent reminder of what had happened between them the night before, tucked away in his study.Aidan, on the other hand, watched her differently. His eyes darted to her with a heat that flared hotter each time. When their gaz

Millie nearly sprinted to Mr. Jameson’s office. Evan had cornered her into going through with his dare, and at first, she was fuming. But the longer she stewed over it, the more the anger fizzled. And, annoyingly, she found herself smiling despite it all. Somehow, staying mad at Evan was harder than it should’ve been.Her mind drifted to Sheila’s face when she passed along the message. She had tried to read into it, searching for a clue—good news or bad—but Sheila had given her nothing. Her poker face was impenetrable.Now, with every step closer, Millie felt like she was walking into a firing squad. Her palms were damp, her breath shallow.Don’t panic. Don’t say anything stupid, she told herself.She inhaled deeply, then tapped on the partially open office door. “Sir?”She pushed it open farther, the creak louder than it should’ve been in the still room. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, wings against a cage.Mr. Jameson was seated behind his desk, hunched over a stack of docu

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over Cedar Ridge Ranch. Montana’s June warmth lingered in the air, softening into gold as evening settled in. Millie and Clara trudged into the kitchen, shirts sticking to their backs, boots dusty, minds focused on only two things: dinner and sleep.But before they could kick off their shoes, a commotion outside snapped their heads toward the door.They rushed out just in time to see Mr. Jameson standing rigid near the grand entryway. Parked in front of the house were two sleek black SUVs, their engines still rumbling like caged animals.Several men in dark uniforms were unloading cargo—but not luggage. And not people. Dogs.Two Dobermans stepped onto the gravel drive like they owned it. All muscle and precision, their coats gleamed like black glass in the fading light. Their eyes swept over the property, sharp and calculating, already seeming to take its measure.Clara muttered, “Okay… those dogs look like they eat people for breakfast.”Milli

"What have I gotten myself into?"Amelia’s reflection stared back at her from the mirror bolted above the tiny bathroom sink.At twenty-six, Amelia Kate Foster carried the quiet weight of a life shaped by disappointment. Her mother—a woman who loved too easily and left even faster—had once traded Amelia’s father for a delivery guy in a uniform the color of wilted leaves. Love, Amelia had learned early, wasn’t some grand promise. It was fleeting, messy, and unreliable. And in its aftermath, she’d learned one thing: depend on no one but yourself.Her childhood wasn’t a story of scraped knees and bedtime stories. It was microwave dinners, school notes left unsigned, and empty living rooms echoing with silence. By the time she was ten, Amelia had been more parent than daughter. While her mother pursued whatever spark caught her eye that month, Amelia cleaned, cooked, and studied. She taught herself how to fold laundry and how to be invisible.Still, she survived. Graduating high school fe