Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 56

MARISSA“No, Dante,” I whispered, my voice thick with the weight of a decade’s worth of secrets. “There was never another man. Tristan was the only one. He was the only man I ever loved, and the only one I ever let touch me.”The car swerved slightly as Dante’s grip tightened on the wheel, but he didn't look away from the road. The silence between us was heavy, a suffocating blanket of “what ifs.”“Then explain it to me,” he said, his voice a low, focused hum. “Because the math doesn't add up.”I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the blur of the city. “Before my miscarriage everyone knows about—we tried IVF. It was a desperate, ugly time. It wasn’t about love or building a family. It was leverage.”I closed my eyes, the memory of the sterile clinics and the hormone shots making my skin crawl. “I realized that I could never have Tristan’s love. I knew he only valued me for the sketches I produced and the millions they brought in. But then, I needed to cling

MARISSAThe Mother Superior’s voice seemed to echo from miles away, though she was only inches from me. I felt the walls of the small office closing in, the air thick with the ghosts of ten years of stolen time."I need to breathe," I whispered, my hand gripping the edge of the mahogany desk so hard the wood bit into my palm. "Please... Mother, I need a moment outside."She nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with a soft, knowing pity. "Of course, Marissa. Is it okay if I call you that? The courtyard is open. Take all the time you need. The truth is a heavy burden to carry all at once."I didn't wait for another word. I turned and stumbled out of the room, my heels clicking hollowly against the stone floor until I reached the heavy oak doors leading to the courtyard. Dante followed me, his presence a silent, tethering weight.The night air was cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of the office. The courtyard was a square of relative peace, overgrown with ivy and cen

MARISSAThe morning sun glinted off the glass facade of Vance Fashion House, a building that had once been my sanctuary and was now a monument to a collapsing dynasty. I stepped through the revolving doors, my heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic tempo against the polished marble floor.The lobby, usually a hive of hurried assistants and arrogant executives, went deathly still. Sunglasses on, my expression unreadable, I walked through the center of the hall. The whispers followed me like a wake—shocks of "Is that her?" and "How does she have the nerve?"—but I ignored them. I wasn't here to play the villain or the victim. I was here to offer a ceasefire for the sake of the boy drawing blue castles at home.I was halfway to the elevators when a sharp, familiar voice cut through the hum."You have a lot of nerve showing your face here."I stopped and turned slowly. Tina was standing by the reception desk, her face a mask of pale fury. She looked frayed, her expensive silk dress slightly wrin