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I Faked My Death to Destroy My Husband のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 251 - チャプター 260

260 チャプター

I didn’t know this man

IreneThe silence of the West Wing was different from the rest of the penthouse.The kind of silence that felt engineered instead of natural. Like the inside of an expensive watch, intricate gears spinning beneath polished steel, every movement precise enough to make my own heartbeat feel clumsy and intrusive.Even the air felt pressurized here.But this room smelled like him.Dark wood. Cool rain. Clean linen.And beneath it all, that sharp trace of antiseptic that clung to Romeo like a second skin.It hit me so suddenly my chest tightened.Because somewhere along the line, I had started associating that scent with safety. Which was probably the most psychologically concerning thing about me.Romeo wasn’t by the windows. Wasn’t at the balcony. Wasn’t anywhere.And yet somehow, the entire room still felt occupied by him. Like his presence had soaked permanently into the walls.I moved farther inside carefully. Then my eyes landed on the desk.And for the first time since meeting Romeo

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She was the constant

Irene I froze.I didn’t put the frame down. I couldn’t.Slowly, I looked up.Romeo was standing in the doorway.His broad silhouette blocked the hallway light, plunging half the room into shadow behind him.His white dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms. His dark hair looked windblown, messy in a way that suggested he had been outside for a long time.His eyes dropped immediately to the photograph in my hands.And everything changed.The atmosphere in the room turned glacial so fast it stole the breath from my lungs.The softness I had seen in the picture disappeared instantly behind a mask so cold it made Dante look approachable.Romeo’s face became unreadable.So empty.“You are in the wrong wing, Firecracker.”The words landed with zero warmth.No teasing amusement. No rooftop tenderness.Fear curled low in my stomach. Real fear.Because for the first time since meeting Romeo Galante, I understood there were entire parts of h

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Coast is clear

IreneThe next morning, I woke up to an empty, freezing, and entirely silent penthouse.No knock at my bedroom door.No deeply offensive comment about my caffeine dependency.No espresso waiting for me on the kitchen island beside a perfectly folded newspaper I never read.Nothing.The absence hit harder because of how quickly I had gotten used to him.Romeo had invaded my life with the subtlety of a military occupation. He had filled every empty space with his voice, his presence, his impossible intensity until somewhere along the line, my days had begun orbiting around him without my permission.And now?Nothing.It felt like the entire penthouse had been vacuum-sealed.Sterile.Airless.Cold.By 7:45 AM, Dante’s terrifyingly efficient driver was already waiting downstairs beside a bulletproof SUV that probably cost more than my future.Still no Romeo.No matte-black Porsche parked illegally across the street like some arrogant billionaire gargoyle.No hazel eyes tracking me from be

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Left me alone in the dark

IreneMy hand froze on the water bottle.Geneva.The word slammed into me harder than expected.Not just gone from the penthouse.Gone from the country.He had packed a suitcase, boarded a private jet, and vanished across international borders without saying a single word to me.“Oh,” I said carefully.I lifted the water bottle to my lips mostly so I’d have an excuse not to speak.“Right. The doctor is internationally in demand.”Alessia’s eyes narrowed immediately.Sharp.Analytical.God, living with hackers should honestly come with a warning label.“Why are you asking?” she asked slowly.I forced myself not to tense.“Am I not allowed casual curiosity?”“Irene.” Her voice softened slightly. “Did something happen yesterday?”Panic flashed instantly through my bloodstream.“No.”Too fast.I smiled immediately to cover it.“Of course not. I was just hoping to avoid another lecture about sodium intake and cardiac longevity.”Alessia continued studying me.Three seconds.Four.Five.I c

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Past and fire

RomeoIn maternal-fetal medicine, there is a definitive clinical concept known as viability.It is the exact gestational point at which a fragile, developing system becomes capable of surviving outside the highly controlled environment designed to sustain it.Before that threshold is reached, no amount of intervention, hope, prayer, or sheer force of will can alter the outcome.The system simply is not equipped to breathe on its own.Standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my suite at the Hôtel des Bergues in Geneva, I stared out across the perfectly still surface of Lake Geneva and kept thinking about that word.Viability.The city beyond the glass was perfect.Cold. Orderly. Sterile.The kind of place I usually preferred.Everything here operated with mechanical precision. The streets were clean. The air smelled faintly of snow and expensive perfume. Even the lake looked clinically composed beneath the gray Swiss sky.Normally, environments like this calmed me. Today, it fel

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Firewell

IreneI didn’t cry when Galante security team dropped my duffel bag back into apartment 4A.And I didn’t throw anything, either.I just stood there in the middle of my tiny living room, listening to the familiar hum of the ancient refrigerator while staring at the front door like it had personally offended me. The locks had been replaced. Heavy brushed-steel deadbolts now sat on the warped wooden frame, absurdly expensive against splintering paint and twenty-year-old hinges.A final courtesy from the ghost of Geneva.I walked into the kitchen and turned on the tap, letting cold water stream over my wrists while I tried to steady the pressure building beneath my ribs.For five years, I had bent myself into impossible shapes for Adrian. I had softened my personality until it became palatable. Lowered my voice. Chosen safer clothes. Trained myself to become smaller, quieter, easier to manage inside his perfectly curated beige life.And I had only just clawed my way out of that suffocatin

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Firewell 2

RomeoIn obstetrics, there is a rare psychosomatic condition known as pseudocyesis. More commonly referred to as a phantom pregnancy.The brain becomes so profoundly convinced of a presence that it forces the body to imitate the symptoms. Hormones shift. Appetite changes. The patient feels movement in a body that is, medically speaking, empty.It is a failure of biological acceptance. The mind refuses to acknowledge absence, so it manufactures evidence instead.I had been back in Rome for exactly four hours, and my entire nervous system was behaving like a textbook case.The private elevator opened directly into Dante’s penthouse with its usual hydraulic hiss. The biometric locks sealed behind me, shutting out the city and restoring the fortress to its preferred state: silent, controlled, and clinically precise.Nothing had changed.The obsidian floors still reflected the recessed lighting with surgical perfection. The glass walls still overlooked Rome like the city belonged beneath u

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Ignoring you

Irene“You do realize Dante has antique Venetian daggers displayed at exactly toddler height, right?” I asked, tossing a grape into the air before catching it between my teeth.Alessia groaned dramatically from the velvet armchair. “Do not remind me. I pointed it out yesterday, and his solution was to assign future security personnel to follow our daughter around like a presidential motorcade.”“That’s actually impressive,” I said. “Overprotective parenting before the child is even born.”“He has already lost his mind,” Alessia muttered, though the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her completely. One hand rested over the curve of her stomach. “This little girl is going to destroy him. I am serious. She hasn’t even entered the world yet, and Dante already acts like she personally signs off on his decisions.”“As she should." I replied solemnly, lifting my glass of sparkling water in salute. “Long live the Queen.”Alessia clinked her tea mug against mine.It had been nearly two hours

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Hollow

RomeoPain, at least, is useful.Pain tells a physician the body is still fighting. A screaming nerve ending is proof of circulation, proof that something inside the patient is still alive enough to resist damage. I understand pain. I manage it every day.Numbness is what terrifies us.When tissue suddenly stops responding, when sensation vanishes entirely, it means blood flow has been compromised. Oxygen has stopped reaching the cells. The damage is no longer temporary.The tissue is dying.Standing in the dark kitchen with Irene looking at me as though I were nothing more than an inconvenience in her evening, I realized I had mistaken her anger for the worst possible outcome.It wasn’t.This was worse.“I’m ignoring you. There’s a difference.”The words settled somewhere beneath my ribs with horrifying precision. If she had yelled at me, I would have known how to respond. I could have fought with her. Matched her fire. Absorbed the impact of her rage and survived it.But this calm d

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The anatomy of but

IreneBy 6:00 PM on Tuesday, I had successfully formatted three commercial zoning permits, finalized the CAD renderings for a boutique hotel in Milan and managed to go an entire eight hours without thinking about the Galante family.It was a personal best.I was currently packing my tote bag when Luca dropped a stack of blueprints onto my desk. Luca was one of the junior architects. He had a nice smile, wore a lot of navy blue, and possessed exactly zero brooding, tragic billionaire tendencies. He was safe. He was normal."Tell me you are escaping this hellhole." Luca said, leaning against my cubicle wall. "Because if Signor Bianchi asks me to revise the lobby dimensions one more time, I am throwing my monitor out the window.""I am officially off the clock." I confirmed, slinging my bag over my shoulder.Luca smiled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Good. Then let me buy you dinner. There is a new Sicilian place around the corner. Carbohydrates and wine. No spreadshee

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