Falling for the Disgraced Heir のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

The papers lay sprawled across the table like an autopsy. Julia’s eyes moved line by line, every word slicing deeper. The ink was smudged where her fingers had lingered too long, tracing the signatures she wished she could unsee. There it was—Mr. Hughes’s sharp, practiced stroke beside her father’s death report. The date. The approval stamp. The authorization that turned neglect into murder. Her breath hitched. Logic screamed that Brandon had nothing to do with it, that he’d been a boy when it happened. But blood had a way of staining generations. The Hughes name bled through every page. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, but it did nothing to stop the ache. Her tears fell quietly, darkening the margins. She wanted to scream, to rip every sheet apart, to burn the evidence and the name both—

The apartment was too quiet. Julia woke to it—the kind of silence that didn’t rest, didn’t heal. It lingered like punishment. The other side of the bed was cold, untouched since he’d left. His jacket still hung on the back of the chair, a ghost of his warmth. His coffee mug sat on the counter, a ring of dried bitterness circling the bottom. She hated that she could still smell him—soap, sawdust, and rain. She moved through the small space mechanically, every object betraying her. His shoes by the door. The dent on the couch where he’d fallen asleep one night watching her work. The cracked window he kept promising to fix. She told herself she was glad he was gone. That distance meant peace. But when her fingers brushed the mug and it wobble

The first scream split the night like glass shattering.Julia bolted upright, heart pounding, the acrid scent of smoke already seeping through the cracks in the window. Flames licked at the sky outside—the building next door was on fire. Somewhere, a woman was crying for help.Before she could even find her shoes, Brandon was at the door, barefoot, already reaching for the handle.“Brandon, wait—!”He didn’t.The door slammed behind him, leaving only the echo of his footsteps pounding down the stairs. Julia grabbed a towel, wet it under the sink, coughing as black smoke thickened in the hallway. “Brandon!” she shouted again, voice breaking against the chaos.

The sound of the slammed drawer echoed through the small apartment like a gunshot.Julia stood by the table, the unopened envelope clutched in her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was low at first—shaking, wounded.Brandon turned from the sink, startled, his shirt half-buttoned, damp hair dripping from his shower. When he saw what she held, his expression hardened. “You went through my things?”“That’s what you’re angry about?” she snapped, holding up the envelope. “Not the fact that your father’s still pulling your strings?”He exhaled sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “It was nothing. I didn’t even open it.”&l

Rain pattered against the windowpane, soft and steady—the same rhythm that had marked every turning point between them. The air was cool, perfumed with petrichor and the faint scent of instant coffee left forgotten on the counter. Julia stood at the window, watching the droplets slide down the glass like threads of time unraveling.“Funny,” she murmured, voice barely louder than the rain. “How every beginning feels like this.”Behind her, footsteps—slow, deliberate. The kind that made her heart remember before her mind did. Brandon stopped just close enough for his reflection to blur into hers, two outlines merging in the misted glass.“Then maybe this time,” he said softly, “it’s not the beginning.” His voice was low, roughened by sleepless nights an