Plaything in one's palm のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 78

The days that followed the crisis with Anna settled into a new, eerie normal. The penthouse was no longer a place of tense lessons or silent hostility. It was a command center under a state of high alert. Security personnel moved with quiet efficiency, their presence a constant, low hum in the background. Reports came and went on encrypted tablets. Lynn was free to roam, but the freedom felt different now. It was the freedom of a valuable specimen in a maximum-security lab—observed, protected, and utterly contained.The frantic energy that had driven Lynn’s previous paintings was gone. In its place was a heavy, contemplative stillness. He spent most of his time in the studio, but he wasn't painting with the wild, emotional abandon of before. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic. He was processing not just emotion, but a complex, chilling reality.He started a new canvas. This one was large, demanding a different approach. He didn't reach for the violent reds and bla

The day after the scandal broke, the penthouse was a hive of silent, furious activity. Caius was sequestered in his study, the low, constant murmur of his voice on conference calls a testament to the battle being waged in the digital and corporate arenas. Lynn remained in his room, the tablet James had given him a window to the outside storm. He watched as the initial tabloid article was picked up by more mainstream outlets, the narrative of the "troubled artist" and the "controlling billionaire" gaining traction. Each new headline was a fresh wave of nausea. He saw his own face—haunting, beautiful, vulnerable—splashed across gossip sites, a symbol in a story he hadn't chosen.He felt a perverse sense of exposure, as if his skin had been peeled back for public consumption. The gilded cage had become a panopticon, and he was the star attraction.In the late afternoon, James entered without knocking. He carried a garment bag and a demeanor of grim efficiency. "Mr. Lynn," he said, hangin

The days following the email leak were a descent into a silent, high-stakes war. The penthouse became the nerve center of a corporate siege. Caius was a ghost, visible only in fleeting glimpses—pacing the study during endless conference calls, his voice a low, relentless drumbeat of commands and countermeasures. The air was thick with the scent of strong coffee and tension. He had James install multiple large screens in the study, each displaying a different battlefield: stock tickers, news feeds, legal dockets. The empire was under assault, and Caius was fighting a multi-front war with a cold, terrifying ferocity.Lynn kept to the periphery, a silent witness to the storm. He saw the strain on Caius’s face, the shadows under his eyes that no amount of authority could conceal. The invincible facade was still there, but it was stretched thin, like ice over a raging river. The emails had struck a blow far deeper than any scandal about Lynn’s captivity. They had attacked the foundation of

The cracked photograph remained on the console table, a silent, screaming testament to the line that had been crossed. In the hours that followed its arrival, the penthouse underwent a subtle but profound transformation. The air of corporate crisis was replaced by something else—a cold, focused, and deeply personal fury. Caius moved with a new intensity, his silence more threatening than any outburst. The battle was no longer about stock prices or boardroom politics; it was a vendetta.That evening, after a series of terse, encrypted calls, Caius emerged from his study. He found Lynn sitting in the living room, staring blankly at a book he hadn't read."Come with me," Caius said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual clipped authority. It was a command, but it carried a weight that went beyond business.Lynn looked up, startled. The expression on Caius's face was unreadable, but his eyes held a glint of something dark and final. This wasn't a lesson. This was a revelation.Without anoth