SCANDAL IN HIS BED のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

A shrill scream tore through the quiet of the morning.“What the hell are you doing in my bed?!”Dianne’s eyes snapped open to see a tall, broad-shouldered man sprawled beside her. Panic surged through her veins like wildfire. For a heartbeat, her mind went blank… and then the horrifying thought hit her.Did we…? Did we have sex?Her stomach twisted, bile rising. She bolted upright, fumbling for the sheets. The clock on the nightstand glared at her: 9:12 a.m.Today’s supposed to be my wedding!Her mind screamed as her heart pounded. Dianne yanked on the sheets and scrambled out of bed, her wedding dress long forgotten on the other side of the room.The man, still half-naked, sat up slowly, a slow smirk crawling across his face. “Finally awake, huh?” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with amusement.“What… who… you—” Dianne stammered, eyes wide, hands trembling.“You?” he gestured vaguely at her, “You just jump into bed with strangers now? Typical…” His smirk widened. “I thought you

“Damn it!” Dianne cursed under her breath as she slammed her laptop shut. The whispers at the office were getting unbearable. Every conversation stopped when she walked in; every pair of eyes seemed to judge her.She could hear them — the murmurs, the fake sympathy.“That’s her, right? The runaway bride who slept with someone else?”“Such a shame. She looked so perfect.”Her chest tightened. The constant stares clawed at her confidence until all she wanted was to disappear. She was strong — she’d always been strong — but this, this was breaking her piece by piece.By lunch, she couldn’t take it anymore. She gathered her things and muttered, “I need air,” before walking out. Her heels clicked furiously on the pavement as she called for a cab.Maybe… just maybe, Damian would finally talk to her. Maybe she could fix what was left of the ruins between them.She dialed his number again. No answer. Her throat tightened, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not now.When she reached the house t

Dianne’s phone buzzed while she was still sipping her morning coffee, half-awake and trying not to think about him.She glanced at the screen.Incoming call: Charlotte (her boss at the PR firm).Her heart sank.Nothing good ever came from a call this early.“Charlotte?” she said, trying to sound professional.“Dianne, good morning, dear. I need you in the office in twenty minutes. We’ve just landed a big account — and I want you handling it.”That caught her attention. “Big account?”“Yes. One of London’s top corporations. High-profile client, delicate image issue. You’re the only one I trust with this.”Dianne smiled faintly, flattered but wary. “All right, I’ll be there.”She hung up, not knowing her morning was about to spiral into madness.By the time she arrived at the Mayfair office of Sinclair Group, her nerves were frayed. The building was sleek — glass walls, polished marble, everything exuding wealth and authority. She tugged her blazer and whispered, you’ve got this, Blake.

Dianne Blake stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, twisting the strap of her emerald-green dress nervously. The color was bold, confident, and just enough to make a statement without screaming for attention.Her phone buzzed on the counter — a message from her older sister, Maya, who was away on a business trip in Paris.Maya: You look amazing, Di. Don’t let him intimidate you. And remember — he’s just a man. You’ve got this.Dianne smiled faintly, typing back quickly.Dianne: Thanks, Maya. I don’t know why he keeps getting under my skin…Maya: Because he’s Roy Sinclair, and no one makes him look like he’s losing control. Just breathe, little sis. Professional first.Dianne set her phone down, trying to steady her nerves. “Just a meeting. Professional. Nothing more,” she whispered to herself, though she already knew she was lying.The restaurant in Mayfair was buzzing with London’s elite — low chatter, clinking glasses, and soft jazz filling the air. She spotted the tabl

Saturday mornings were usually Dianne Blake’s sanctuary — no work calls, no emails demanding instant responses, no Roy Sinclair looming over her day. She rolled out of bed, hair tousled, pajamas wrinkled, and muttered, “Alright, let’s see if the apartment can survive my cleaning spree.”Her hands moved briskly, tackling the laundry, wiping counters, vacuuming corners, all while humming softly to herself. The chores were almost meditative, a way to push away thoughts of Roy — though, of course, he kept creeping back into her mind despite her best efforts.Focus, Dianne. Saturday is for peace, not the chaos that is Roy Sinclair.Later that evening, just as she was pouring herself a cup of tea, her phone buzzed. She picked it up, expecting another work message — but the name made her pause: Roy Sinclair.The text read:“It’s my birthday tonight. Family isn’t in town. Friends? Don’t keep many, except Aaron — who’s conveniently out of time. I… felt like spending time with someone, and you