Once His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 41 - 챕터 50

Chapter 42Caleb’s POVThe knuckles of my right hand throbbed, a dull, rhythmic ache that served as a reminder of the punch I’d thrown at the hallway wall. It was a silent strike, a muffled explosion of years of regret, but the wall hadn’t budged. Neither had the reality of my situation.I stood in the service kitchen, the "Jean-Pierre" wig sitting on the counter like a dead animal. I looked at it with loathing. For weeks, I had tucked my pride into that itchy mesh, swallowed my voice into a ridiculous caricature of a Frenchman, and bowed to a man who wasn't fit to tie Evelyn’s shoes.But tonight... Tonight the mask had slipped. Not just the physical one, but the emotional one. Telling that story to Luna, my daughter, who had my eyes and her mother’s stubborn spirit had been like opening a vein.“The Knight is on guard,” I had whispered."The Knight is an idiot," I muttered to my reflection in the stainless steel backsplash.I heard the heavy, uneven gait of Alaric approaching. He wa

Chapter 44Caleb’s POVThe kitchen was a cathedral of stainless steel and silence, illuminated only by the under-cabinet LEDs. Evelyn had retired to her wing early, citing a lingering migraine from the merger paperwork. This left me alone with the man who intended to sit in my ex-wife's chair, sleep in her bed, and spend my children’s inheritance.Alaric was alone in the formal dining room, the clicking of his fountain pen on legal documents echoing down the hallway. He was impatient. He wanted his late-night indulgence.I looked at the counter. The Truth Serum was ready.I started with the base. A classic Grand Marnier soufflé requires finesse, egg yolks, sugar, flour, and a splash of citrus. But for Alaric, I was crafting something far more potent.In a small copper saucepan, I prepared the reduction. I didn't just use the orange liqueur. I reached into the back of the pantry for a bottle of Clandestine, a high-proof, over-proofed moonshine I’d acquired during my time in the shadow

Chapter 46Caleb’s POVPart I: The Ghost in the KitchenThe digital clock on the oven flickered to 2:14 AM.I had discarded the Jean-Pierre wig and the heavy glasses, leaving them on the prep table like the skin of a shed snake. My knuckles still throbbed from the wall, and my nerves were shot from the Julian encounter. I’d known the Sterling hawk would try to pluck a feather; I just hadn't expected him to be so bold. Shoving the dog’s brushed-out fur into the edge of my prosthetic had been a desperate gamble, and the thought of Julian staring at a Golden Retriever lab report almost made me smile.But the smile died as the air in the kitchen changed.The heavy, swinging door didn't creak, it sighed. I didn't have to turn around. My body knew her. My skin recognized the shift in the room’s temperature before my brain could process the soft pad of bare feet on the marble."You look different without the hat, Jean-Pierre," Evelyn whispered.I froze, my back to her. I was wearing only a

Chapter 48Caleb’s POVPart I: The Ethical Crisis of a Five-Year-OldIf Julian Sterling was a shark and Lucian Dupond was a vulture, then my daughter, Luna, was the ultimate apex predator. She didn't use NDAs or offshore accounts; she used large, watery eyes and the word cruel.I was in the kitchen, finally breathing a sigh of relief after Lucian’s departure, preparing for the Gala Menu Preview. Sitting on the counter was a crate of six live, premium Maine lobsters. They were destined for the Lobster Thermidor."Jean-Pierre?"I looked down. Luna was standing there, clutching her stuffed rabbit. She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the crate. One of the lobsters clacked its claw against the wood."Oui, Petite Princesse?" I chirped, adjusting my wig, which was currently listing to the left."Why are they in a cage?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Do they have names?""Zey are... eh... guests for ze dinner," I said, sweating."This one is Sebastian," she pointed to the biggest

Chapter 50 Caleb’s POVPart I: The Humidity of DoomNew York in July was not a city; it was a pressurized steam cooker. For a man living behind three layers of medical-grade adhesive, a synthetic wig, and a prosthetic nose, it was a death trap.The Sterling Empire Summer Gala was being held in the penthouse’s rooftop garden. It was an Open Air event, which meant I was currently standing over a charcoal grill in ninety-five percent humidity, searing wagyu beef for a hundred of the city’s most judgmental elite.I felt it the moment the structural integrity failed.A bead of sweat, cold and treacherous, rolled down my temple, bypassed the wig line, and seeped directly into the spirit-gum bond on the right side of my jaw. There was a faint, sickening hiss, or perhaps that was just my soul leaving my body.The right flap of my Jean-Pierre beard peeled away from my skin by exactly three centimeters."Non, non, non," I hissed under my breath, flipping a steak with unnecessary violence to