THE KING’S UNWANTED BABY MAMA のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

~CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY ONE~ As I continue cross-referencing the staff records, another detail surfaces—quiet, almost buried. One of the midwives present during my mother’s delivery died mysteriously two weeks later. Cause listed as sudden cardiac arrest. No prior condition. I still. I shift to the timeline surrounding my father’s death. Another anomaly. A palace maid assigned to his private wing, deceased within a week of his passing. Official cause: accident. Minimal inquiry. My jaw tightens. “Record their names,” I tell Nicholas. He does. I set the files aside, separate from the rest. Confusion gives way to restless energy. I begin scanning the vault walls again, slower now, observing structure rather than labels. That is when I notice it. One of the shelving units is slightly misaligned with the others. “Nicholas.” He joins me without question. I press against the side of the shelf; it shifts under resistance. It moves. Together we slide it as

~ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY THREE~ I stand alone in the center of my private residence, facing the tall glass panels that reflect my image back at me. The crown sits where it belongs. It has never felt heavier. In my hands are the files, the culmination of decades of deception. My father’s investigation. Crimes hidden beneath silk and ceremony. Prince Albert is still on the run. But his absence will not delay today. He may hide for now, but he will not vanish from this earth. When this court adjourns, I will hunt him down myself if I must. “Nicholas.” He steps forward immediately, composed as always. Holding out a file, he hands it to me. “These contain the remaining documents from yesterday. I managed to save them.” I smile and take it. “And my brothers?” I ask. “Prince Frederick?” “He arrived at dawn, Your Majesty.” “And Prince Blake?” A slight pause. “He will not be attending.” I study Nicholas’ expression, but it does not waver. “He isn’t showing up?” I

~CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE~ Her knees weaken. “You did not act alone,” I state, no longer asking. “Which means others in this court share your guilt.” My gaze lifts slowly from her trembling form to the nobles seated beyond. “And they will step forward.” The hall is no longer tense. It is suffocating. I turn slowly, scanning the chamber, measuring reactions. Some avoid my eyes. Some look stunned. Some look as if they have already begun calculating their escape. Then my gaze lands on Katherina. She is shaking. Not dramatically. But enough. Her hands grip the armrest of her seat, knuckles pale. She cannot meet my eyes. A slow smirk curves my lips before I look away and return my attention to Ravenna. “Will you save us the time,” I ask calmly, “and tell this court what truly happened?” Ravenna lifts her head. Her composure is shattered now. Her eyes move around the chamber—searching, perhaps for an ally. They stop on Frederick. She looks as t

~CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SEVEN~ “You will never have her,” Katherina spits, her voice trembling with fury. Her hands clench and unclench as if she could strangle fate itself. “Even if you throw me out, even if you kill me—you will never have her. I swear it.” Her laugh is harsh, brittle, and defiant—as though she holds a secret I am too blind to see. With deliberate slowness, she lifts her hand and removes her crown. The room goes deathly still. The clatter of metal hitting marble echoes through the hall like a death knell. “I have nothing else to lose,” she says, her eyes gleaming with a dark, frantic light. “Well, if I’m going down, everyone else involved goes down with me.” Her gaze shifts toward Ravenna. My guards tense, but I raise a hand. Let her speak. Let her unravel herself. Katherina walks toward where Ravenna lies on the floor. Her presence is heavy, demanding the room's attention. “She helped me frame Melissa,” Katherina spits out, venom dripping from every

~CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY NINE~ MELISSA’S POV I force my eyes to focus through the dizziness. A man stands a few feet away from me, rigid, unmoving. He’s holding a cup. For a moment, I just stare. There’s something about him. A familiarity I can’t place. I don’t know him personally, I’m sure of that—but I feel like I’ve seen him before. Somewhere. My head throbs harder as I try to remember. “Who are you?” My voice comes out strained but steady. “Why am I here?” He watches me carefully, like he’s assessing how stable I am. “You’re awake,” he says. His voice is low, controlled. “That’s good. Don’t be afraid. I’m not hurting you. The boss wouldn’t like that. You’re pretty, and I’d love to lay a finger on you, but I’m not losing my life for it.” The way he says it unsettles me. I study his face. A faint scar slices along his jaw, and his features look hardened. He has the look of a man who has lived a gangster’s life since the day he was born. “Who’s in c