EX-HUSBAND'S REGRET (It's Too Late To Apologise) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

I told myself I wouldn’t think about the email. I told myself it was just one line, stripped of context, pulled from a past I didn’t fully understand yet. That there were a hundred explanations that didn’t involve deliberate cruelty. I told myself a lot of things. Morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains of the penthouse bedroom, warm and deceptively calm. I lay on my side, one hand resting over my belly, feeling the gentle, familiar weight of my daughter. She kicked. Strong. Defiant. Alive. My throat tightened. "The fertility clinic job is done. He would never know." Those words from the email pulsed in my mind like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced the thought away. Not today. I couldn’t spiral today. Not when my body already felt stretched thin, my emotions frayed at the edges. Obsessing wouldn’t help. Investigating could wait. I swung my legs off the bed and stood slowly, bracing myself until the room stopped tilting.

The hospital doors slid open with a soft hiss, and sunlight spilled across the polished floor like nothing in the world had almost gone wrong. Discharged. The word felt unreal. I stood there for a second longer than necessary, one hand pressed to my belly, the other gripping the strap of my bag as if the ground might tilt beneath my feet again. My body still felt fragile—like glass that had been shaken too hard—but the baby was fine. Strong heartbeat. No complications. Just Braxton Hicks. False labor, the doctor had said gently, smiling like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. It hadn’t felt ordinary. Calloway hovered at my side, one hand hovering near my elbow, close enough to catch me if I swayed but careful not to crowd me. He’d been like that since the doctor left the room—quiet, watchful, controlled in the way that only made the tension radiating off him more obvious. “Ready?” he asked. I nodded. “Yeah.” His driver was already waiting, the car pulled up precise

I knew something was wrong the moment I woke up. Not because of the baby—she was quiet, nestled low, calm for once—but because the penthouse felt different. Heavier. Like the air itself had been locked down. There were footsteps outside my door. Multiple. Measured. Controlled. Not Calloway’s. I pushed myself upright slowly, heart ticking faster with every sound. Voices murmured in low tones beyond the hallway—male, unfamiliar, professional. The kind of voices that didn’t belong to normal mornings. When I opened the door, I found them. Two men stood outside my bedroom like sentinels. Suits. Earpieces. Broad shoulders, alert eyes. Security. “What is this?” I asked. One of them straightened. “Good morning, Mrs. Sterling. Mr. Sterling asked us to escort you to breakfast.” Escort. The word scraped against my nerves. “I don’t need an escort to walk down a hallway.” He gave a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Orders, ma’am.” I didn’t bother arguing with him. I turned

We moved to the living room—an awkward triangle of tension and unspoken questions. Calloway positioned himself beside me on the sofa, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. His presence was solid, protective. One hand rested casually on the armrest, but I could see the tension in his fingers, the way they pressed slightly into the expensive leather. Marcus took the armchair across from us, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His phone sat face-up on the coffee table between us, those text messages still visible on the screen. I couldn't stop staring at them. "Start from the beginning," Calloway said. His voice was calm, controlled, but I heard the steel underneath. "How is Sienna Brooks your sister?" Marcus let out a long breath. "Half-sister. Same father, different mothers. My mother was wife number one—the legitimate one who stuck around long enough to secure her position in the family business. Sienna's mother was an affair my father had when I was about

Marcus arrived at Sterling Tower fifteen minutes later, Sienna pale and quiet beside him.We met in Calloway's private office—the one with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, the city sprawling beneath us like a jeweled web. It was past midnight now, the building empty except for security and the four of us.Marcus's eyes were sharp, alert despite the late hour. "What's this about?"Calloway didn't waste time. He pulled up the files on his large monitor, the clinic records filling the screen in damning detail."Your father," Calloway said flatly, "has administrative access to Carter Fertility Clinic. On September 11th, he used that access to switch two fertility samples. Mine and Damien Anderson's. As a result, Elena got pregnant with my child instead of her ex-husband's."Marcus stared at the screen. His face went white."That's..." He moved closer, scanning the logs. "No. My father wouldn't—""He did." I pulled up the financial records. "The Brooks Family Trust paid the