The Silence Of His Vows のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

Luna POV:Seven days passed.Seven days since the breakfast where he'd caught my wrist and examined my bruised hand like I was something broken that needed cataloging.Seven days of nothing.No duties. No tasks. No summons.Just half an hour in the garden each afternoon, supervised by a guard who stood ten feet away and never spoke. I'd walk the stone paths, sit on the bench under the oak tree, and stare at the hedges until my time was up.Then back to my room.The rest of the hours bled together—staring at walls, counting cracks in the ceiling, waiting for something to happen.The silence felt wrong. Heavy.Like the house itself was holding its breath.***On the eighth evening, Marco knocked on my door.I was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the last of the daylight fade through the window."Luna," he said when I opened the door. His face was neutral, carefully blank. "I need to inform you of a schedule change."My stomach tightened."Starting tomorrow morning, your duties w

Time stopped.I didn’t know how long we stood like that—him caging me against the bookshelf, his hands on my neck and in my hair, his body so close I could feel the heat radiating off his damp skin.His thumb pressed against my pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm.And something inside me snapped.My hands shot up and I shoved him.Hard.With both palms flat against his chest, I pushed with everything I had, trying to move him, trying to create space, trying to get away.He didn’t budge.Not even a fraction.It was like pushing against a wall. Solid. Immovable.I pushed again, harder this time, my hands slipping slightly on his damp skin.Nothing.He just stood there, staring down at me, and something changed in his eyes.The dark, hungry look faded.And in its place—Amusement.He was amused.I could see it clearly. The slight curve at the corner of his mouth. The way his eyes lightened just a fraction.He thought this was funny.He thought my struggle was entertaining.Hot tears spille

The day felt strange.I woke up to noise—distant but constant. Footsteps in the hallways. Doors opening and closing. Voices calling out in Russian.Something was happening.I tried my door handle.Locked.I pressed my ear against the wood, listening.More footsteps. The sound of furniture being moved. Someone shouting instructions.But I couldn’t leave to see what it was.So I waited.I sat on the edge of my bed and waited while the activity continued outside my door. Hours passed. The light from the window shifted across the floor.Afternoon came. Then evening.The noise grew louder. More urgent.I paced the small room, my nerves wound tight.What was happening out there?Then, just after sunset, someone knocked.I opened the door quickly.An old woman stood there—someone from the kitchen staff I’d seen once or twice. She was holding a black dress draped over her arm and a white apron folded on top.“Put this on,” she said in heavily accented English. “Now.”I stared at her, confused

Luna POV:The kitchen was busy when I arrived for dinner service. Staff moved quickly, plating food, arranging trays. The head cook barked orders in Russian.I stood near the door, waiting for instructions.The older woman who’d given me the server uniform spotted me and walked over.“Don is eating in his room tonight,” she said. “You’ll take it up.”My stomach dropped.His room.“He’s resting,” she continued, her voice low. “Been in meetings all day. Take the tray, make sure he eats. Wait until he’s finished, then bring everything back down. Understood?”I nodded slowly.She handed me a tray—covered plate, glass of water, utensils arranged precisely.“Go.”I took the tray with shaking hands and left the kitchen.The walk to his room felt too long and too short at the same time.My heart hammered with each step.I reached the door and stopped.The tray felt heavy in my hands.Should I knock?I shifted the tray to one hand and raised my other hand to knock—But stopped.He’s resting, t

The study was dark.One lamp cast long shadows. Curtains drawn. Door closed.He sat behind the desk, motionless.The laptop screen glowed in front of him, casting blue light across his face. On it, something played. The angle made it impossible to see what.His hands rested flat on the wood. His head tilted back slightly against the chair.His eyes were closed.A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside the keyboard, ice long since melted.He'd been sitting there for two hours.Since she'd run from his room.Remembering.Her beneath him. Wrists pinned above her head. The way she'd trembled when he'd caged her against the bed. The taste of her mouth. The salt of her tears on his tongue.How soft her skin had been. How desperately she'd tried to push him away.How she'd run the moment he released her, stumbling in her desperation to escape.A knock broke the silence."Come in."Marco entered, closing the door quietly behind him.He crossed to the desk but stopped a few feet back, his eyes