What Daddy Left Behind のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

~ Thea’s POVI turned my head, my dark eyes snapping from the blonde woman in the trench coat directly to the man standing beside me.I expected Stellan to look furious. To summon his security detail take them out for disrupting the peace.But Stellan Vaughn wasn't angry.His face was entirely bloodless as if he had just seen a ghost. The absolute, unshakeable confidence that had commanded the room just moments ago had been completely wiped away. He was staring down at the dark-haired little boy, his pitch-black eyes wide with a profound, mind-shattering shock. It was the look of a man who had just watched a ghost walk out of a grave.The silence lasted only a heartbeat before the media apocalypse truly detonated.Over a hundred reporters surged forward, entirely ignoring the ropes and the security barricades. Who is she, Stellan?! Is that your son?! Are you married?! Is this another scandal?! The camera flashes became a violent storm, capturing every single micro-expression on

~ Stellan’s POVThe crystal goblet caught the dim, ambient lighting of the Upper East Side penthouse, the deep red vintage swirling smoothly as she extended it toward me."Is this the woman you decided to take as your wife?"Stacy’s voice was exactly as I remembered it, a smooth, calculated purr that concealed a heart forged from pure, unapologetic greed. She stood in the center of her excessively lavish living room, wearing a designer trench coat she hadn't bothered to take off, her blonde hair perfectly styled. She looked at me with a mixture of amusement and mocking pity, holding the glass of wine out as if we were old friends catching up over a minor scandal.The feral, violently destructive beast inside my chest completely snapped his chains.I didn't answer her. I swung my arm, the back of my hand colliding brutally with the crystal goblet.The glass exploded, sending a shower of razor-sharp shards and dark crimson wine violently across the pristine white walls and the expensiv

~ Thea’s POV"How dare you slap me?" Stacy started, rising up from her seat.The heavy, ornate dining chair scraped violently against the polished marble floor of the private atrium. The dark crimson vintage I had just hurled into her face dripped from her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, staining the collar of her expensive white silk blouse. But it was the stark, glaring red handprint blossoming across her cheek—where my palm had connected a millisecond after the wine—that made her eyes bulge with absolute, unadulterated fury.I didn't back down. I stood my ground in my black boots and mourning attire, my chest heaving, the Mercer steel entirely overriding the throbbing ache in my bruised ribs."I dared because you are sitting across from my husband," I hissed, my voice dropping into a lethal, venomous whisper. "You paraded yourself onto a stage yesterday to publicly humiliate me, and now you think you can sit in a private restaurant drinking his wine like you've won? You are a delusi

~ Thea’s POVThe morning sun did not bring warmth to the master suite of the limestone estate. It simply illuminated the vast, suffocating emptiness of the room.I sat completely still in the velvet armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows, my legs pulled up to my chest beneath the black silk robe. I hadn’t slept. Not for a single second. The digital clock on the mahogany nightstand glared a harsh, unrelenting 7:00 AM.Outside the heavy, reinforced iron gates, the world was actively tearing my life to shreds.Even through the thick, bulletproof glass of the mansion, I could hear the faint, chaotic hum of the media frenzy. The low, rhythmic thumping of a news helicopter vibrated in the overcast sky above the property. The paparazzi were swarming the perimeter like vultures, their long camera lenses pressed against the iron bars, desperately waiting to catch a glimpse of the disgraced, abandoned bride weeping in her gilded cage.I looked down at the massive, flawless emerald-cut diamond

~ Thea's POVThe black Maybach sliced through the congested Manhattan traffic like a shark navigating bloody waters.As we approached the towering, sleek glass monolith of the Vaughn Enterprises headquarters, the sheer scale of the media apocalypse became terrifyingly clear. The plaza was entirely completely barricaded by NYPD officers and Stellan’s private security firm, desperately trying to hold back a ravenous, surging ocean of journalists, satellite trucks, and paparazzi. The moment my vehicle was spotted, a ripple of chaotic shouting erupted through the crowd."Mrs. Vaughn," the driver said, his voice tense as he eyed the rearview mirror. "I am routing us to the secure underground executive garage. It’s too volatile up front.""No," I commanded, my voice cutting through the quiet cabin with absolute, freezing authority. "Pull up directly to the main plaza steps."The driver hesitated, glancing back at my reflection. He saw the crimson blazer, the dark, uncompromising fire in my