UNFAITHFUL UNTILL THE END のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

(Daniel’s POV)Months had passed.And still… nothing.No message. No call. No sign of Amaka.At first, I told myself she needed time. What she had witnessed was not something anyone could easily recover from. Fear had a way of taking hold of a person, wrapping around their voice until silence felt safer than truth. I understood that. I respected it.But time had stretched longer than expected.Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.And her silence no longer felt like fear alone.It felt deliberate.Or worse… it felt like something had gone wrong.I leaned back in my chair, my gaze fixed on the files spread across my desk. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones. The low hum of the air conditioner filled the space, accompanied by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.It should have been calming.Instead, it made everything louder.My thoughts. My doubts. My instincts.My fingers tapped lightly against the wooden surface as I replayed the fragme

(Rose’s POV)I carried the file back to my office with quiet precision, placing it carefully on my desk. The weight of the papers felt heavier than their actual mass, not because of paper, but because of the lives intertwined in them. Benson. Patrick, now gone. And his wife. My task was clear, yet dangerous—Benson was the target, and I needed to navigate this carefully, with intelligence and patience.I leaned back in my chair, spreading the documents before me. Photos, financial statements, meeting schedules, personal notes—it was all there. I studied every detail, analyzing patterns, cross-referencing every known fact. The pieces were starting to form a picture. Benson was meticulous, calculated, a man who left almost no trace of himself. But the traces that remained—the subtle connections, the timing of Patrick’s transactions, the gaps in his wife’s activities—those were mine to exploit.My fingers traced the edge of one photograph of Benson. I hadn’t met him physically, but I knew

(Rose’s POV)I dressed with intention.Not for attention alone—but for effect.Every choice I made in front of the mirror carried purpose. The outfit, the accessories, the posture I practiced even in stillness… all of it was deliberate. I needed to be noticed, yes—but more importantly, I needed to be remembered. There was a difference.Men, especially men like Benson, rarely overlooked what appealed to their senses. Attraction had a way of lowering guard, of creating openings where logic would normally stand firm. And tonight, I intended to use that.Still, beneath the surface of it all, the mission remained clear.Control every step.Reveal nothing unnecessary.Raise no suspicion.I had spent hours preparing—not just my appearance, but my story. The version of myself I had presented to Benson—a business consultant—was no longer just a claim. I had built it into something believable, something I could defend under pressure. Every possible question he might ask, I had already rehearsed

(Rose’s POV)Benson didn’t call this time.He sent a message.Simple.Direct.No unnecessary words.Location. 8 PM.A few seconds later, another message followed—An address.Different from the restaurant we had met at before.That alone told me something.Benson didn’t repeat patterns.He changed variables.And tonight… the setting was one of them.I stared at the address for a moment, my thoughts already aligning. A new location meant a new environment—and with someone like Benson, environment was never random.It was strategy.I didn’t respond immediately.There was no need.He wasn’t asking.He was informing.And somehow… I understood that.I locked my phone and set it aside, my expression calm, my mind already preparing.Tonight wouldn’t just be a continuation.It would be an adjustment.⸻The moment I stepped into the place, I understood something immediately—Benson didn’t just choose locations.He curated them.It was a wine lounge.Quiet.Refined.Expensive—but not loud about

(Rose’s POV)The party had a rhythm—subtle, controlled, intentional.Nothing about it was accidental.The music was low, almost like a whisper threading through the air, designed not to dominate but to enhance. Conversations flowed easily, glasses touched with quiet elegance, and laughter rose in measured intervals—never too loud, never careless.This wasn’t a place for noise.It was a place for people who understood presence.The crowd was small, but that was the point. No unnecessary faces. No outsiders. Everyone here belonged—or had earned the right to be seen.And money…Money didn’t scream here.It moved quietly.Effortlessly.In the quality of wine. In the confidence of the guests. In the way no one checked prices, no one hesitated.This wasn’t wealth trying to impress.This was wealth that already knew its value.I observed.That was my strength.Lucas stood a few steps away from Benson. They weren’t engaged in constant conversation, but they didn’t need to be. There was an uns