The taste Of Revenge のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

Selene’s POVA single pearl-headed pin sat balanced between my lips, tasting faintly of cold steel, while my fingers worked at the seam of an emerald silk dress. I wasn't thinking about silk, or the international autumn line, or the fashion critics who praised my label for its "unapologetic architecture." I was thinking about how easy it was to tear a life down to the threads…how much harder it was to stitch a brand-new one together, stitch by bloody stitch. My inner goddess didn't just dance today, she was standing in front of a floor-length mirror, lacing up combat boots beneath her tailored couture, holding her head so high her neck ached. I caught my breath as a sudden, tiny flutter hit low in my stomach. I immediately dropped the silk and pressed my palm flat against my navy wool trousers, swallowing around the knot in my throat. I raised my left hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and the morning sun caught the vintage-cut emerald diamond on my ring finger. It thre

Damien’s POVThe heavy mahogany doors of Courtroom 302 clicked shut behind us, cutting off the chaotic roar of the press outside. Inside, the chamber smelled of old oak, floor wax, and the heavy, solemn weight of judicial authority.I guided Selene toward the front row of the gallery, pulling out her leather-backed chair with deliberate care. She sat gracefully, her navy blue coat pristine, her posture regal and untamed. She caught my eye, giving my fingers a subtle, grounding squeeze before I turned to step past the wooden bar toward the prosecution table. The gallery behind us was packed to capacity…journalists, Wall Street analysts, and high-stakes investors eagerly waiting for blood.A sharp, metallic clinking sound echoed from the side entrance. The courtroom fell into a hushed silence as two armed federal marshals escorted the defendant through the side door.Xavier Adrian.He was dressed in a white long sleeve shirt and a black monkey jacket which was quite reasonable but unlik

Damien’s POVThe courtroom air turned thick, suffocating and charged, like the static before a lightning strike. At the defense table, I unbuttoned the middle button of my suit coat and leaned back slightly, resting my knuckles on the smooth mahogany surface. My focus didn't shift, It remained anchored on the two figures being escorted past the wooden bar by federal marshals.Aurora walked with her chin tilted upward, but her chest was heaving beneath her silk blouse. The tight, defensive rise and fall of her breath betrayed her. Beside her, Elliot Crane looked like a man who had suddenly stepped off a ledge into open air…his eyes darting frantically toward the press gallery, his collar looking far too tight against his neck, nearly even choking him. I knew that look. It's the look of control being violently ripped away. It was the exact moment an arrogant player realized he wasn't the master of the board…he was just another pawn about to be removed in the chess game.Beside me in the

Xavier's POvThe clerk's stamp came down like the world's smallest gavel. Somewhere in that thud was the sound of a five-hundred-million-dollar empire being reclassified as a cautionary tale. . I'd have respected it if it weren't happening to me.“Breathe. You've closed harder rooms than this, Adrian” Except I hadn't. I'd never closed a room where the collateral was my own wrists.The cuffs were still on… cheap steel, government-issue, a stark insult next to the Patek sitting in an evidence bag somewhere down the hall with my name misspelled on the tag, probably. Twenty-six years old, I'd bought that watch to celebrate my first nine-figure close. Forty-one, and it was being inventoried next to a confiscated belt like I was a man who'd been caught shoplifting his own life.Richard was still talking. Something about press strategy, about narrative control, about "getting ahead of the cycle." I wanted to tell him the cycle had already lapped me twice and was currently doing donuts on my

Selene's POVThe house is quiet in the way it only gets after a day like today. Not peaceful, just…well spent. Like even the walls are exhausted and finally allowed to exhale.I'm still in my coat. I haven't taken anything off, just walked through the front door past Damien loosening his tie in the hallway and into the bathroom, because apparently the only place left where I can stop performing composure is behind a locked door with good lighting and a mirror that's already seen me fall apart once before.The pregnancy test sits on the counter where I left it three minutes ago. I haven't dared to look. I've been staring at my own reflection instead, and underneath the woman who stood in a courtroom few hours ago without blinking, I can feel the other one stirring….the one from one year ago, the one who sat on a counter edge like this in Xavier's penthouse and watched a different test turn positive in a different life, in a marriage that still had a floor under it. I cried that day too