Pregnant For My Ex-Husband’s Billionaire Best Friend のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

Elise’s POV.The moment I turned the corner and was out of Sabrina’s line of sight, I dropped the scared little girl act. My shoulders straightened, and the tremble in my hands vanished as if a switch had been flipped.I walked down the hallway toward the guest suite, my heels sinking into the plush runner.That was close, I thought, a thrill of adrenaline shooting through me. Too close.Catching me in her bedroom was a point for her. I had gotten greedy. I had wanted to feel the silk against my skin, to smell the expensive jasmine perfume that lingered on her vanity, to pretend—just for a moment—that I was the mistress of this house and not the charity case living in the east wing.But I had recovered beautifully. The fallen heiress speech? Genius. I almost believed it myself. I saw the way Sabrina’s anger faltered, replaced by that pathetic, predictable confusion. She suspected me, yes. I saw it in her eyes. But she didn't know. And as long as she didn't have proof, she was just the

Cole’s POV.The clock on the mahogany wall of my study read 1:00 AM.The house was silent, save for the scratching of my pen against the merger contracts. My eyes burned, gritty with exhaustion. The deal with the Japanese consortium was stalling, the Board was breathing down my neck about quarterly projections, and at home... well, home felt like a minefield.I rubbed my temples, exhaling a long, heavy sigh that rattled in my chest. I hated the tension between Sabrina and Elise. It hung over the villa like a toxic fog. I felt like a referee in a game where the rules kept changing. Sabrina was my wife, my heart, the mother of my son. She was the woman who had pulled me out of my lonely fortress. But Elise... Elise was a ghost from a time when life was simpler. She was dying, for God’s sake. Couldn't we just have peace for a few weeks? Was that too much to ask?I looked at the whiskey decanter on the shelf, tempted to pour a glass, but decided against it. I needed a clear head.A soft k

Cole’s POV.The mattress dipped under my weight as I sat on the edge of the bed.I didn't lie down immediately. I just sat there in the dark, my elbows resting on my knees, my head hanging heavy between my shoulders. The silence of the bedroom was a stark contrast to the chaos inside my head.Behind me, Sabrina lay still under the duvet. To a stranger, she would have looked like she was in a deep, peaceful sleep. Her breathing was rhythmic, her body motionless.But I wasn't a stranger. I knew the cadence of my wife’s sleep—the soft, almost imperceptible sighs she made, the way her hand usually sought mine even in her dreams.Tonight, there was none of that. Her breathing was too controlled. Too shallow. And even without touching her, I could feel the tension radiating off her body like heat. She was awake. She was lying there in the dark, probably terrified, probably hating me for being downstairs for so long.I rubbed my face with my hands, smelling the faint, lingering scent of cham

Elise’s POV.The bathroom door swung shut behind me, cutting off the sight of Sabrina standing there, clutching that greasy receipt like it was the Holy Grail.I leaned against the wall for a second, not to catch my breath, but to suppress the laugh bubbling up in my throat.She really thinks she has me, I thought, shaking my head. Amateur.Sabrina didn't understand how the game was played. She thought facts mattered. She thought truth was a shield. She didn't realize that in a war between a dying woman and a healthy, privileged wife, the truth was irrelevant. Emotion was the only currency that counted. And I was about to bankrupt her.I turned to the hallway mirror. My complexion was already pale from the foundation I used, but I needed more. I pinched the skin of my cheeks hard, creating a splotchy, feverish look. I messed up my hair just a fraction, pulling a few strands loose so I looked unraveled. Then, I hunched my shoulders, letting my posture collapse inward.Showtime.I stumb

Sabrina’s POV.I was standing in the kitchen, my hands gripping the edge of the marble island so hard my knuckles were white.I was waiting for him.I had watched them through the window. I had seen them on the patio. I saw Elise crying, I saw her touching his knee, and I saw the way Cole leaned in, listening to her lies with that furrowed, serious brow he used during board meetings.He was buying it. He was buying every poisonous word dripping from her lips.The sliding glass door opened.Cole walked in.I braced myself for a fight. I expected him to yell. I expected him to ask me why I was so cruel, why I humiliated his dying friend in public. I had my defenses ready. I had the receipt in my pocket, ready to slam it on the counter again.But he didn't yell.He stopped in the doorway, looking at me. His expression wasn't angry. It was... soft. Pitying. It was the look you give a child who has just scraped their knee, or a dog that has been kicked."Hey," he said gently, his voice low