I AGREED TO MY HUSBAND'S OPEN MARRIAGE RULES のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 171 - チャプター 180

MIACHEL'S POVThe car ride was quiet, except for Millie’s excited chatter about the rides she wanted to try. I let her talk, but my focus was on Stacy. She sat beside me, her profile calm, but I knew that peace was fragile. A little pressure would crack it.So I leaned over, my voice low enough that Millie wouldn’t catch it. “You know,” I started, “the other person said you’d blush if I kept teasing you.”Stacy’s eyes flicked toward me, then back to the window. “What other person?”“The one who knows how things are going to go,” I said, letting a smug smile curl my lips. “Remember? They told you. You’re supposed to be the perfect wife. Me, the perfect husband. Public image.” I let my hand drift, not touching her, but hovering near her thigh. “But privately… well, privately, they said you’d react. Just like this.”She stiffened. “Michael, shut up.”“Or you’ll shut me up yourself?” I chuckled. “That’s what you said earlier. Sounds fierce. But the other person already told me how things

STACY'S POVThe morning after Michael’s promise felt heavy. Like I was carrying a secret inside my chest that made every breath shallow. I dressed carefully—a sleek black dress, heels that clicked with purpose. Not for them. For me. To feel armored. I texted Helen and George, inviting them to Le Jardin, the most expensive restaurant in the city. A place where the walls were gold-leafed and the waiters spoke in whispers. I worded it just right: I’d like to discuss our future. As a family. Sent it, then stared at the screen. They’ll think I’m groveling. They’ll think I’m the stupid girl again. That was the plan.I arrived first. Sat at the reserved table, my back straight. The air smelled of truffles and money. I ordered a glass of water, just to have something to hold. My fingers trembled around the stem. Stay calm. You’re playing a role. The daughter who cares.They walked in twenty minutes late. Helen’s silver hair was coiled into a perfect twist, her slender figure wrapped in a crea

MIACHEL'S POVThe boardroom table was polished maple, cold under my palms. Figures danced on the screen—quarterly projections, merger talks—but my focus was on the phone in my lap. The silent, buzzing threat of it.My assistant, David, had sent the update an hour ago. Subject monitored. Location: café. Interaction: male, known contact. I’d skimmed it, stomach tight. Stacy had told me about meeting her “parents.” She’d promised to call afterward. She hadn’t.Now, during old Finley’s droning speech about shareholder ethics, a new notification lit the screen.A picture.It loaded slowly. My thumb hovered over the image, pulse picking up speed.Then it appeared.Stacy. At a small table outside a café. Sunlight on her hair. She was smiling. Not a polite smile. A real one. Warm. Open. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.And Henry. Sitting across from her. His athletic frame leaned in close. His hand rested on the table, near her coffee cup. Too near.My vision narrowed. The colors in the room

STACY'S POV“I’m helping,” he murmured, his mouth moving along my shoulder. His hands slid upward, tracing my ribs. One palm cupped my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple. A sharp, electric sensation jolted through me.I gasped. “Stop… we shouldn’t…”He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue tasting my skin. His other hand slid down, over my hip, gripping my thigh. “I need to wash the smell away,” he said, his voice low, possessive. “Every part of you.”This is the CNC. The roleplay. We agreed. The thought flashed, a reminder. But the line between roleplay and reality felt thin. His touch was demanding. His body against mine felt overwhelmingly present.I tried to turn, to face him, but he held me firm, pressed against the tile wall. The water cascaded over us both.His lips found mine, suddenly. A hard, claiming kiss. His tongue pushed into my mouth, deep and searching. I moaned, a sound caught between protest and arousal. My hands gripped his shoulders, unsure—to push o

MATT'S POVThe leather couch in David’s living room was stiff and new. Smelled like fake polish. I sank into it, legs stretched out, feeling the quiet of the place. Safe. Hidden. My head didn’t ache anymore. The bandages were off. Just a faint scar, hidden under my hair. A medical miracle, they said. Bullshit. I just woke up. Simple.The police were looking for me. David had told me that an hour ago, pacing around with his phone in his hand. Like it mattered.They won’t find me. The thought was solid, a rock in my gut. David’s place was a ghost address. Paid for with cash through layers of fake names. I could go out whenever I wanted. Walk the streets. But I didn’t want streets. I wanted Stacy.The door to the living room opened. David walked in, his lean frame looking tense. He stopped near the window, peering out like a nervous bird.“They’ve put out a city-wide alert,” he said, voice tight. “Your picture. Description. They’re calling it a ‘dangerous escape.’”I didn’t move. Kept my