Fucked Into Forever [Forbidden Collection] のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

The full custody hearing was scheduled for a Thursday in early October, exactly thirty-nine days after Tristan had taken Theo home. Sophia showed up in the same blazer she’d worn for the temporary order, hair pinned back tight, hands steady only because Jamie had gripped them in the hallway outside the courtroom and told her to breathe. Inside, the room smelled like old wood and fresh lies. Tristan’s team had turned the case into a master class in quiet destruction. They didn’t need DNA. They had bank records, school attendance logs, neighbor statements, and a parade of “character witnesses” who all happened to be on the Musk payroll in one way or another. The judge—Honorable Marcus Hale, sixty-three, golfing buddy of Tristan’s father for twenty years—listened with the polite detachment of a man who already knew how the day would end. Sophia’s lawyer, a tired public defender who’d taken the case pro bono, did everything right on paper. She presented Sophia’s steady emplo

Sophia arrived at the Musk estate on Friday at exactly six o’clock, overnight bag slung over one shoulder like it weighed a hundred pounds. The housekeeper let her in without a word. Theo came barreling down the hallway the second he heard her voice, arms wide, shouting “Mom!” like she’d been gone a year instead of four days.She dropped to her knees and hugged him so tight his feet left the floor. He smelled like expensive shampoo and the faint trace of chlorine from the indoor pool. “I missed you so much,” she whispered into his hair.“Uncle Tristan let me swim today,” Theo said, pulling back, eyes bright. “And we had tacos. Real ones. Can you stay the whole night?”She forced a smile. “That’s the plan, baby.”“Really!? Yay!" Tristan watched from the top of the stairs, arms loose at his sides, face unreadable. He didn’t come down until Theo dragged her into the kitchen for a snack. Only then did he speak, voice low enough that the boy didn’t catch it.“Bedtime at eight-thirty. Aft

Sophia woke to the sound of small feet padding down the hallway and the faint clink of dishes from the kitchen. Sunlight cut across the massive bed in sharp lines, catching on the rumpled sheets and the faint handprint she’d left on the headboard sometime after midnight. Tristan was already gone. The spot beside her was cold, the pillow still dented from his head. She sat up slowly, body sore in places she refused to name, and pulled on last night’s jeans and the oversized Musk T-shirt she’d stolen from his drawer. The fabric smelled like him. She hated how familiar it felt. Theo burst through the door without knocking, hair sticking up in every direction, dinosaur pajamas twisted around his waist. “Mom! Uncle Tristan made waffles. With chocolate chips. Come on!” She caught him in a hug before he could drag her out, burying her face in his neck for three full seconds. He smelled like maple syrup and the expensive detergent they used here. “Morning, little man. Did you slee

Sophia’s next overnight fell on a rainy Thursday. She arrived soaked, umbrella forgotten in the rush from the bus, and Theo greeted her with a towel and a hug that smelled like popcorn. “Uncle Tristan said we can watch movies in the theater room. Real popcorn, not the microwave kind.” She laughed for his sake and let him pull her inside. Tristan stood in the foyer in dark jeans and a black Henley, sleeves pushed up, watching them without a word. His eyes tracked the rain dripping from her hair down her neck. She felt it like a touch. Dinner was simple—spaghetti that Theo helped stir—and afterward they watched cartoons in the basement theater until the boy’s head drooped on her shoulder. Tristan carried him upstairs without being asked. Sophia followed, heart heavy with the routine that was starting to feel almost domestic. When Theo was tucked in, Tristan closed the bedroom door behind them and leaned against it. No orders tonight. Just the low sound of rain against the windows.

Theo turned seven on a Saturday that smelled like rain and expensive catering. The Musk estate lawn had been turned into a circus—literal circus, with a tent, a clown who looked bored, and a pony that cost more per hour than Sophia made in a week. Balloons bobbed in the wind. Kids from Theo’s new private school ran wild. Eleanor and Richard presided like royalty, smiling for the photographer Tristan had hired “just to capture the day.” Sophia stood at the edge of it all in the navy dress she’d bought secondhand, clutching a wrapped gift that felt cheap in her hands. Theo spotted her and sprinted over, cake smeared on his cheek. “Mom! You came! Look what Grandpa got me—a real dirt bike!” She hugged him tight, breathing in sugar and grass. “Happy birthday, baby. I missed you.” Tristan appeared behind him, hands in his pockets, watching them with that careful mask he wore in public. His eyes flicked to her dress, then away. “He’s been asking for you since breakfast.” The