The Bad Boy’s Regret のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

GABRIEL Fuck. That word. From her mouth. Directed at me. My control snaps like a cheap leash. My hips push into hers—hard enough that she moans, soft enough that I could still stop if she wanted. But she pulls me closer, grinding up, needy, desperate, bold. I suck in a sharp breath. “You keep doing that and I’m not slowing down,” I warn, a growl curling my words into something dangerous. “Good,” she fires back, eyes glittering. “Don’t.” Her hands slide under my shirt, palms exploring like she’s mapping new territory. She lifts it up, and I yank it off in one go. Her gaze drags over me—hungry, reverent—and I swear I’ll never forget that look. Her fingers trace the lines of my abdomen, slow and teasing like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “I’ve waited too long for this,” she breathes. “You could’ve had me any day,” I whisper against her lips. “All you had to do was ask.” Her response is a moan—low, ruined—when I grind against her again. Time stops meaning anything. W

MONICAThey moved through the room like they owned it, Zoey’s crown firmly back in place, people parting without even realizing it, Gabriel’s face unreadable, tense, like he’d braced himself for impact. Our eyes met for half a second. He didn’t smile. I didn’t either. It felt like standing across from someone you used to know in a dream you couldn’t wake up from.The games started not long after, because Havenstone couldn’t resist turning everything into a spectacle. Truth or dare near the couches, a stupid spinning bottle game by the stairs, someone shouting rules no one followed. We ended up near the kitchen island, Damian leaning against me from behind, arms loose around my waist, and I tried to focus on his warmth instead of the way Zoey laughed too loudly across the room.Olivia, already tipsy and cruel in that careless way, clinked her cup for attention. “Okay,” she said, pointing dramatically. “Important question that I think has been on everyone's mind.... Zoey. Gabriel. Are w

MONICA“What?”“If you can't handle normal rich kids parties then you should've stayed home. Better than hiding.” My jaw tightens. “I’m allowed to use the bathroom.”She laughs, sharp. “Relax. I’m not attacking you.” Then, casual, careless, like she’s tossing out a spare thought, “You always act like you have a target on your back. Relax girl, no one gives a fuck about you.”I don’t take the bait. I stare at the paper towel dispenser like it owes me money. That bothers her. I can feel it.She pushes. “Must be exhausting though. Always being the good girl. The fixer. The one everyone loves.” I clench my teeth. Still say nothing.Her smile fades. Her eyes sharpen. “Pretending that you don't even notice you have that effect. Even though we both know that... you have feelings for Gabriel too,” she says suddenly. The room tilts as my stomach drops.I turn to leave.“Don’t,” she snaps, grabbing my arm, fingers tight, nails digging just enough to hurt. She pulls me back, face inches from min

ZOEYI fake it so well it almost scares me, the crown sliding back into place like muscle memory, like I never took it off, like the weight of it hasn’t been crushing my skull all night. I joke louder than everyone else, I throw my head back when I laugh, I sip and sip and sip like alcohol is just another accessory, something glittery to match the dress, and when they start a stupid game I win it on purpose, not even subtle about it, just to remind them all that I still run things here, that I still decide the tone, the pace, the rules.“Of course Zoey wins,” Jordan says, half annoyed, half impressed. I grin. “I don’t lose.” They cheer. They clap. Ava hands me another drink. I take it. I always take it.But Gabriel doesn’t come back.That’s the thing that breaks something under my ribs like a crack you don’t notice until you breathe too deep. I keep waiting, eyes flicking to the doorway every few minutes, pretending I’m not counting, pretending I don’t care, pretending this isn’t eati

MONICAI freeze. My dad is standing by my bedroom door frame, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like he’s been listening the whole time.Julian’s voice comes through the phone, loud and dramatic. “Yes you did! We’re going to Montauk!” I can’t help it. “We’re going to Montauk!” I repeat again, pointing at my dad like he’s part of the chant now.He rolls his eyes. “You children are reckless.”“Dad,” I whine.“You’re not stealing a person's jet.”“It’s not stealing,” Julian yells through the speaker. “It’s character development!”My dad actually snorts. “Julian, I can hear you.”“Hi Mr. Lee!” Julian says sweetly. “We aren't stealing anything. His son is borrowing it and we're just tagging along.”“That’s not comforting.” I walk closer to my dad, lowering my voice even though Julian can definitely still hear. “We need this,” I say. “All of us. It’s been a lot this semester.”He studies my face like he’s trying to read between the lines. Maybe he sees the exhaustion. Maybe he sees the growth. M