The Billionaire’s Contract Wife Can't Let Go のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

Dana POVI think I cried everything out a long time before today. Some unknown, quiet part of me has been bracing for my father's death, holding itself ready, and so when it finally happens there's no flood of tears. All I feel is a hollow, ringing stillness in my soul where grief should be.I'm sitting on a bench at the far end of the corridor, away from the waiting area where my brothers cluster together. Mom had to be sedated. They gave her something and steered her into a bed two hours ago, and I watched her go without following.Derek cried a little, his face crumpling in a sudden, boyish way that reminded me he's still my little brother underneath everything else.I had crumpled to the floor. One moment I was standing, and the next the linoleum was cold under my knees and someone's hands were at my elbows, and then I was up again and walking, and I kept walking until I found this bench, and I've been here since.Jack brought water at some point. I took the bottle and thanked hi

Dana POV: Alex Attends The Funeral The grief of the morning is a fog so thick that, for the first time in months, the thought of Alex Logan doesn’t occupy a single corner of my mind. It is a strange, hollow relief, until the black BMW pulls up the narrow cemetery road.Beside me, Charles feels the sudden change. My hand, tucked into the crook of his arm, turns to stone."What is it?" he whispers, leaning down.I say nothing. I can’t as I watch the car door swing open. Alex steps out alone, a dark silhouette against the gray morning. He wears a black trench coat and a hat pulled low, looking less like a businessman and more like a figure from a noir film. He joins the tail end of the procession of well-wishers winding toward the graveside."Did you tell him?" Jack mutters from my other side."No," I whisper. "I don't know how he knows."A traitorous spark of warmth warms it's way inside my chest, fighting against the cold wind. If he is here, after everything, it means he still care

Dana POV: Carmela Giuseppe Meets Jack AgainThe relative calm of the wake is broken by a light touch on my shoulder. I turn to see one of the younger cousins, a girl my mother whispered was struggling with bulimia earlier, looking at me with wide, hesitant eyes."Dana," she whispers. "There’s someone here. She says she’s Jack’s girlfriend. She wants to see you."I frown, my mind racing through a short, dusty list of names. Jack’s girlfriend? Lori? No, that can’t be right. They broke up years ago, and since then, Jack has been a ghost when it comes to his love life. He hasn't brought anyone home in ages.I follow the cousin back toward the entrance of the living room. The crowd is thick, a sea of black clothes and muted murmurs, but I spot her immediately. Standing nervously in a corner, wearing a simple but elegant black dress, is Carmela Giuseppe.I gasp in surprise. I push through the guests and wrap my arms around her. "You came," I breathe, pulling back to look at her. "Wow. Car

Dana POV: She Shouldn't Have Told Jack About LoriThe silence stretches for a full ten seconds and I can feel regret pooling in my stomach like lead. Why did I come up here? Why did I think Jack needed to know about Lori’s presence right now when Carmela is here with him?Carmela is the one who finally cracks the quiet, her voice cutting through the damp evening air. "Jack? Who’s Lori?"The spell breaks. The balcony erupts into a flurry of movement and muffled voices as Charles, Derek and Eddie suddenly find their drinks very interesting again. Jack’s shoulders squares in that defensive way he has when he’s cornered. He looks everywhere but me."Uh, she’s nobody," Jack says. Carmela’s eyes snap to mine, searching for the truth I just dropped like a live grenade. Hot with guilt, I give her a plastic smile. "Um, I’m going to go back downstairs," I mumble, stepping toward the sliding glass doors. "Jack, don’t worry about her. I’ll deal with it."But the damage isn't just done, it’s ca

Dana POV: Her Mom Like Charles Two days have passed since the funeral, and the house has settled into quiet. Charles calls me:"I want to take you to lunch if you're free," he says."Yeah," I say. "I’d like that."It’s only ten in the morning, but the day already feels long. I had intended to spend the morning finishing the painting I started yesterday, a landscape that began as a study of light but quickly devolved into something darker. Derek had ruined the flow last night. He stood behind me, looming like a specter, and said, "Wait, I know what that is. That dark figure is Death. He came for the woman while she’s having breakfast on a Ferris wheel."I’d turned around to glare at him, but the damage was done. The imagery had been poisoned. Then Eddie and Jack had wandered in, turning my studio into a makeshift gallery for their unsolicited critiques. I’d stood there, arms crossed, listening to them debate the "degree of bleakness" inherent in my brushstrokes and how our father’s