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THE SWITCHED HEIRESS のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

57 チャプター

FORTY ONE

Whispers always start small.A flash of a camera.A familiar face in the wrong place.A woman who smiles too quietly.By Monday morning, the gossip had spread across every corridor in Castell Industries like perfume spilled on silk, impossible to ignore, impossible to clean.Hazel Castell was glowing again.And everyone wanted to know why.The first photo appeared on a lifestyle blog, Hazel, stepping out of her car at night, hair loose, no driver in sight. The caption read, The Heiress Walks Alone.The second came two days later, a blurry image of her on a balcony, laughing with a man whose face was turned away from the camera.The third didn’t need a caption. The light in her eyes said too much.By midweek, the Castell mansion felt heavier than usual, a silence that wasn’t peaceful, just waiting.Dimitri had been quiet. Too quiet.He left for meetings earlier, came home later, and when he was home, his phone was always in his hand. Hazel didn’t ask. She didn’t need to.At breakfast,

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FORTY-TWO

Hazel stopped counting the days.At first, she told herself it was nothing, a few meetings, a few messages. A shared silence that felt too familiar. But somewhere between the second glass of wine and the third stolen glance, the boundaries stopped meaning anything.Charles had become her secret rhythm.They met when the world was asleep, at the art gallery where the guard pretended not to see them, at the small café that closed early but stayed open when Charles called, or sometimes, in the backseat of his car when rain streaked the windows and words felt too heavy to speak.He never asked her to leave her life.She never asked him to stay.It was an understanding, fragile, dangerous, and completely theirs.It started with laughter. Real laughter.Hazel hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d heard it, the kind that came unguarded, low, and warm.They were sitting on the floor of his apartment, a glass of whiskey between them, surrounded by the smell of paint and coffee. Char

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FORTY-THREE

The world was quiet again. Too quiet.For weeks, Hazel moved through her life with the calm precision of a woman who had mastered both sides of herself, the heiress and the secret lover. Every morning began the same: tailored suits, perfect posture, breakfast meetings, board updates. No one could tell that her heart beat to another rhythm now.But Valentina could always smell secrets.It began with small things, a misplaced meeting, a forgotten time stamp, a call Hazel cut short when Valentina walked into the room. The woman didn’t need proof; she only needed instinct.And her instinct had started whispering again. Valentina stood by the window of Edwin’s office one afternoon, her reflection sharp in the glass. Dimitri sat across from her, jacket off, sipping his coffee like a man trying too hard to look calm.“She’s hiding something,” Valentina said softly.Dimitri looked up. “Hazel?”“Who else?” She turned, smiling that slow, dangerous smile. “Your perfect wife leaves the mansion

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FORTY-FOUR

The rain started before dawn. It hadn’t stopped since.Hazel sat in the study with the lights low, her laptop open but untouched. The sound of rain filled the silence, steady, constant. She didn’t turn when the door opened.Dimitri stepped inside without knocking. His suit jacket was still on, collar slightly open, eyes sharper than usual.“Working again?” he asked.She didn’t look up. “I’m always working.”“Not always for Castell Industries.”That made her pause. She lifted her eyes. “What are you implying?”He closed the door behind him and came closer, slow and measured. “You’ve been different lately. Leaving early. Coming back late. Turning off your phone. I asked Emilia where you were three times this week. She had no answer.”Hazel stayed calm. “You’re interrogating my assistant now?”“I’m trying to understand,” he said. “Because I can’t shake the feeling you’re hiding something.”Hazel leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And why does that sound so familiar?”His jaw t

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FORTY-FIVE

It was still raining when Hazel woke.She didn’t remember falling asleep. Only the warmth of his couch, the quiet hum of the city outside, and Charles’s hand covering hers sometime before dawn.He was already awake, moving quietly in the kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the air. Hazel sat up, pulling his hoodie tighter around her body. It hung loose on her frame, soft and heavy. The sleeves swallowed her hands.Charles looked over his shoulder. “You’re up.”“Barely,” she said, voice rough from sleep.He smiled. “I made coffee.”She walked over, barefoot, hair loose, eyes half-lidded. “You cook now?”“I survive,” he said, pouring her a cup. “Italian lessons included that part.”She took it, sipped, and smiled. “It’s strong.”“Better than the weak stuff you drink at Castell HQ.”Hazel leaned against the counter. “Youl remember everything.”He looked at her for a moment. “I never tried to forget.” Hazel didn’t answer. She turned instead, wandering around his apartment. It was simple,

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FORTY SIX

The studio lights were harsh. Hazel didn’t flinch.She sat straight, every inch of her dress perfectly fitted, her expression calm. The camera’s red light blinked on. Across from her, the host smiled, bright, eager, a little too fake.“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we’re joined today by Hazel Castell, the woman redefining modern leadership.”Applause. Flashes. Hazel smiled, small, measured, precise.“Miss Castell,” the host began, “your foundation has raised millions in less than a year. How does it feel to be the most influential woman in London?”Hazel adjusted her microphone. “It feels like responsibility. Influence means nothing if it doesn’t build something lasting.”Her tone was firm. Not cold, just steady. Controlled.Dimitri sat beside her, wearing his best mask. He smiled when she spoke, nodded at the right moments. His hand rested on his knee, thumb tapping once every few seconds, the only sign of tension.The host turned to him. “Mr. Moretti, you must be proud.”Dimitri

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FORTY SEVEN

The ballroom looked perfect. Gold light from chandeliers. Glass walls showing the city. People moving in gowns and tuxedos. Money and power under one roof.Hazel stood near the stage, silver dress fitted tight, hair pinned smooth, diamonds small and quiet. Every camera wanted her. Every whisper was about her.She smiled when needed, shook hands, listened, said thank you.Nothing extra. No nerves. Just control.Mia stayed close, handing her champagne. “Everyone’s watching you tonight,” she said.Hazel nodded. “Let them.”“You don’t even look nervous.”“I don’t get nervous anymore.”“Not even with Dimitri coming?”Hazel took a slow sip. “Not even then.”Mia gave a small grin. “You scare me sometimes.”“You should be scared of people who smile too much.”Mia laughed. “Then half this room is dangerous.”Hazel’s eyes swept the crowd, investors, politicians, old money, the board of Castell Industries. Edwin’s friends, Valentina’s circle. The whole empire gathered to watch her play the perfe

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FORTY EIGHT

Three weeks since the gala.Three weeks since Hazel last saw Charles in person.They spoke through short messages and coded calls. A rhythm they both understood. She handled meetings, charity luncheons, photo shoots, and dinners beside Dimitri, smiling when the cameras pointed her way.But when night came, she read his words, quiet messages that said things no one else could.’re close. I found someone at St. Adelaide’s. She’ll help you if you ask right.That’s how she ended up there now, dressed in plain black, hair tied low, walking through the side door of a hospital that smelled like antiseptic and old air.The woman waiting for her was in her fifties. A secretary, thin, polite, anxious. Charles had called her “a favor from another life.”“You said you wanted to see old maternity records?” the woman asked, voice tight.“Yes. 1999.” Hazel’s tone was even, soft but firm.The woman hesitated. “Those aren’t public.”“I’m not the public.” Hazel placed a folded envelope on the desk,

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FORTY NINE

It all started with a whisper after the party.The gala had barely ended when Mia showed up at Hazel’s room, hair still pinned, dress wrinkled from the rain. She didn’t knock. She just came in, eyes wild.“They’re sleeping together,” she said.Hazel looked up from her vanity. “Who?”“Valentina and Dimitri.” Mia’s voice cracked. “I saw them. I’m sorry, Hazel, but I saw them.”The words hung there. Quiet. Heavy.Hazel didn’t flinch. She stared at her reflection in the mirror instead, her own calm face, her perfect posture.“How long?” she asked.“I don’t know. Maybe months. Maybe before the wedding. I didn’t want to believe it.”Hazel turned slightly, her tone even. “You’re sure?”“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” Mia’s eyes filled. “You need to be careful. They’re planning something.”Hazel stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her dress. “They always are.”That night, she didn’t sleep.She texted one person.> Hazel: I need to know everything.Charles: About what?Hazel: My family

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FIFTY

It had been a week since Hazel saw the word switched in that file.A week since she’d gone home, locked herself in her room, and pretended to sleep while her mind kept running.Now, she had a name. Tessa Castell.It didn’t feel real yet. Names were just ink on paper until you saw what they left behind.That morning, Hazel sat at her desk at Castell headquarters, staring at the city through the glass. Emilia stood a few steps away, holding her tablet.“You asked me to pull press archives?” Emilia said carefully.Hazel nodded. “Anything from the week I was born. Hospital announcements, charity events, society pages. Especially anything with Valentina’s name on it.”Emilia hesitated. “That was over twenty years ago, Ma. Most of those files aren’t digital.”“I know. That’s why you’re going to the Chronicle’s physical archive. Use the Castell Foundation’s credentials if you need to.”Emilia nodded, but her eyes searched Hazel’s face. “You’re not going to tell me what this is about, are you

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