Priced By My Billionaire Nemesis のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

He leaned in and kissed me.For a second my brain just… stopped. There was no time to process, no time to remember that I hated him, that he didn’t trust me, that ten minutes ago he had turned my life into a negotiation. There was only the sudden press of his mouth on mine, the shock of warmth, the firm, unapologetic way he angled my jaw like he had every right to touch me.My first instinct was to shove him away. My hand flew to his chest, fingers bunching in the expensive knit of his sweater, ready to push. His heartbeat thudded against my palm—fast, hard, not nearly as calm as his face always pretended to be. That tiny betrayal of his composure stole my momentum. My brain tried to restart, but my body was already two steps ahead.The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t testing or hesitant. It was decisive and contained, like everything else about him, but under that control there was a heat that caught me off guard. His mouth moved against mine with a certainty that made it very clear th

I didn’t sleep.I lay there all night, staring at the cracks in my ceiling while the evening replayed in jagged loops—Adrian’s voice in the car, my parents’ faces, the number one million marching across my brain like a neon sign I couldn’t switch off.And the kiss.God, the kiss.Every time I shut my eyes, I felt it again—the firm, deliberate pressure of his mouth on mine, his hand curving around the back of my neck, thumb resting right where my pulse had gone wild. My body remembered it in humiliating detail: the heat, the shock, the way the room had blurred around the edges until there was only him and the stupid, treacherous way I’d leaned in.My mother had knocked softly about an hour after he left.“Lena?” Her voice through the door was gentle, too gentle. “Can I come in?”I’d considered pretending to be asleep, but I’d never been able to lie to her with my eyes closed. “Yeah,” I said, rolling onto my back. “Come in.”She slipped inside, hair braided down in a lose braid down her

The bus jerked forward the moment I sank into the cracked vinyl seat, and the motion sent a bolt of pain straight through the center of my skull. This wasn’t the dull ache of a normal headache or the throbbing pulse of simple exhaustion; it was a full, merciless migraine blooming behind my eyes like a white-hot star exploding.Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, each flicker a stab of brightness. A toddler behind me whimpered. Someone cleared their throat with a sound that sliced clean through the air. A phone chimed three sharp notifications in a row. Every noise slammed into my skull and multiplied until it felt like my brain was rattling in its own cage.I pressed my forehead to the cold window, hoping the chill would numb the pounding, but it only gave the pain a harder surface to ricochet against.Home was impossible. My mother’s eager questions and shining eyes would shatter whatever fragile grip I had left on my composure. My father’s quiet watching would pick apart every lie I

Adrian didn’t sit; he didn’t even try. His eyes swept over my face once—one long, clinical drag of a gaze that made my skin prickle—before flicking to the cold mug, the untouched glass of water, the way I leaned against the booth like my bones had forgotten their job. Something in him snapped so quietly it didn’t make a sound, but I felt it. The air shifted; it tightened, sharpened, like the moment before a storm breaks open and ruins the world beneath it.He reached into his coat, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a handful of bills onto the table—too many for chamomile tea, too many for anything in this café. They landed with a muted thud that made the barista flinch and made my stomach twist, because it sounded like an ending.Then he turned his eyes on me. Not soft. Not gentle. Something colder. Something burning.“Lena,” he said, and my breath caught, because the way he said my name wasn’t anger exactly. It was the sound someone makes when they’ve been terrified and haven’t admit

The apartment fell into silence the moment he closed the guest-room door behind him.Not peace.Not calm.A silence sharp enough to carve through bone.Adrian stood there for a long breath, his hand still wrapped around the doorknob, the faint imprint of her weight lingering across his arms. Her floral shampoo still clung to his coat. The warmth she’d left on his palms refused to fade. And the longer he stood there, the more that lingering warmth felt like an insult. A reminder. A bruise he couldn’t see but couldn’t stop touching with the edge of memory.He hated that.He hated everything about the way his chest felt too tight, too full, too exposed—as if the simple act of carrying her had rearranged something in him that he’d spent years forcing into a clean, locked box. As if her presence had reached into the ribcage he kept barricaded and twisted, with effortless precision, a part of him he swore no one would ever access again.With a low exhale, he stepped back and pulled out his