When Love Finds Its Way Back のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

Security moved fast. Black-clad personnel formed a tight wall around Dreston and Cassienne, pushing back the flood of cameras, microphones, and shouting reporters. Voices overlapped in chaos—questions, accusations, speculation screamed from every direction. “Is she NULLWRAITH?” “Were we lied to?” “Who leaked the footage?” “Answer us!” Dreston’s hand never left Cassienne’s wrist. He positioned himself half a step ahead of her, his body instinctively shielding her from the flashing lights and aggressive lenses thrust into her face. She could barely hear anything over the pounding in her ears. “Clear the passage!” one of the security heads barked. The crowd resisted for a moment, curiosity outweighing courtesy, but the guards forced a narrow corridor open. Step by step, they moved Cassienne and Dreston away from the arena floor, toward a secured exit. From a distance, Tina stood and watched. She stood near the side aisle, her arms folded neatly across her chest, lips curved in

The next morning felt different. Not loud like the arena the night before. And not chaotic like the revelation. This moment was controlled and polished. It was curated. Cassienne sat in a private preparation suite reserved for high-profile guests. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected a version of her that even she had to look at twice. Her hair had been styled into a sleek, low sculpted wave, modern but regal. Not overly dramatic. Just enough to frame her face and command attention. The shine alone was intentional. Her makeup was flawless. A soft matte finish with sharp contouring that enhanced her bone structure. Her eyes were defined with precision, smoky but refined. Lips a muted rose tone that balanced power and elegance. The stylist assigned to her was none other than Lorenzo Vale, a celebrity image architect known for preparing heads of state and Fortune 100 executives for global broadcasts. “You don’t need heavy glamour,” Lorenzo had said earlier while adjusting a final stra

Cassienne’s apartment is buzzing with soft music. The living room lights were dimmed, the city skyline glowing through the glass walls. Her heels were long gone, replaced with thick cotton socks. She had changed into an oversized grey sweatshirt and soft black lounge pants, her hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. This time, no cameras, no flashing lights and no chanting. Just familiar faces. Her best friends. Aurora had claimed the single armchair near the window, curled up with a glass of sparkling wine. Daisy was half-sprawled on the rug with a bowl of snacks between her legs, scrolling through her phone and gasping every few seconds. Merrick stood near the kitchen island, pouring drinks like he owned the place. Corren sat beside Cassienne on the wide sofa. He was so close. “Do you realize,” Daisy burst out dramatically, “you’ve gained almost four million followers in less than twelve hours?” Cassienne groaned softly and covered her face with one hand. “Don

The black sleek car slowed as it turned through the familiar iron gates. Cassienne’s fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her handbag as the mansion came into view. Five years. Five years of her life had been lived within those white walls. Her driver pulled up smoothly in front of the grand entrance. The fountain at the center of the circular driveway was still running, water cascading in soft silver streams under the late morning sun. Nothing had changed. Or perhaps everything had. The driver stepped out first and opened the back door for her. “Ma’am,” he said respectfully. Cassienne nodded and stepped out. The air felt different here. And then she saw Dreston. Dreston stood at the top of the short marble steps leading into the house. He was dressed entirely in white—silk shirt tucked neatly into tailored white trousers. The fabric caught the sunlight, outlining his tall, broad frame. His sleeves were folded just enough to reveal his wrists, his hands resting cas

The door to Dreston’s bedroom closed softly behind Cassienne. And she stood still. For five years, she had been his wife. Five years of wearing his name, managing his household, and carrying the title of Mrs. Tremont. And yet… she had never slept in this room. Well, except the day she was drunk. Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her handbag. The room was spacious and masculine, a king-sized bed positioned perfectly in the center, tall windows overlooking the backyard. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, subtle and expensive. It felt foreign to Cassienne. And it felt intimate too. But it also felt wrong. And yet… strangely right. Memories began to flood her mind. The nights she had eaten dinner alone in the guest room. The mornings she had woken up early just to prepare breakfast before he left for work. The countless times she had hoped he would ask her to stay. But he never did. And now she is here. She's here standing in his bedroom as if it h