Billionaire Contract Marriage: Her Quest のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

Sophia’s POVThe call came at 10:17 a.m. on a quiet Wednesday—private line, no caller ID. I almost let it go to voicemail. Almost.I answered on the third ring.“Sophia Ashford.”A bright, professional voice filled the speaker. “Ms. Ashford? This is Elena from Evergreen Events. Your wedding planner. I’m calling about the timeline—your contract expires in one week, and we need to confirm final details for the ceremony.”My heart stopped.David—sitting across the kitchen island with his coffee—looked up sharply. He’d heard every word.The contract.We’d burned it. Destroyed every copy. Promised forever without paper.But the world didn’t know that yet.I cleared my throat. “There’s been a misunderstanding. The contract is no longer in effect.”A pause. “I’m sorry?”“The agreement was terminated. We’re not proceeding with the three-year term.”Elena sounded confused but polite. “I see. May I ask… are you still planning a wedding? Or should I cancel the preliminary bookings—venue hold, fl

Sophia’s POVThe invitation arrived by courier at 11:42 a.m.—thick ivory envelope, gold-embossed Ashford crest, Aunt Melissa’s perfect calligraphy on the front.Sophia & DavidFamily MeetingThis Friday, 7:00 p.m.Ashford Estate – Private Dining RoomAttendance expected. Dress: Business FormalNo RSVP requested. No polite “we hope to see you.” Just “expected.”I stared at the card on the kitchen island. David—fresh from the shower, towel around his neck—came up behind me. Read over my shoulder.“‘Expected,’” he said dryly. “Subtle.”“It’s Richard.” I set the card down. “He’s not waiting for the birthday party next month. He wants to test us now—see if the contract burn rattled me. See if you’re still just a hired hand.”David’s hands settled on my shoulders—warm, steady. “He’s wrong on all counts.”I leaned back against him. “I know. But he’ll bring proxies. Lawyers. Maybe Jake. They’ll push. Probe. Try to make me doubt.”David turned me gently to face him. Cupped my face.“Then we do

Sophia’s POVThe invitations arrived at 4:17 p.m. on a Thursday—simple cream cards in thick envelopes, gold foil edges catching the late-afternoon light, my own handwriting on the front.Sophia Ashford & David KaneRequest the honour of your presence at their weddingSaturday, June 15th, 20267:00 p.m.Private Rooftop Pool Deck.Phias Empire Headquarters.Reception to follow.No plus-ones. No registry. No “black tie optional.” Just a quiet, honest request to the people who mattered most.I held one in my hand—felt the texture of the paper, the slight weight of it. Not just an invitation. A declaration. A line in the sand. This is real. This is ours. No contract. No timer. Just us choosing each other in front of the people who’d seen us at our worst and still stayed.David came up behind me—arms slipping around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. He’d just showered; I could smell clean soap and the faint cedar of his skin.“They’re beautiful,” he murmured against my ear.“They’re re

Sophia’s POVThe rooftop pool deck was quiet at sunset—golden light spilling across the water, turning it liquid amber. No guests yet. No music. Just the two of us, standing barefoot on the warm tile, six weeks of planning distilled into this single moment.Elena had set everything up earlier—string lights draped like stars caught in thread, white roses scattered in small clusters along the edges, a single microphone stand for David’s guitar. The officiant waited discreetly near the railing—a kind woman in soft gray who’d promised “no script, just truth.”I wore the off-white silk sheath—simple, flowing, bare shoulders catching the last sun. No veil. No train. Bare feet on the deck. Hair loose, waves falling past my shoulders. The only jewelry was the thin platinum band David had given me the day we mailed invitations—engraved inside with *Always*.David stood a few steps away—charcoal suit, no tie, white shirt open at the collar. Guitar slung over his shoulder. Eyes locked on mine l

Sophia’s POVThe rooftop reception felt like breathing for the first time in twenty years.String lights glowed above us—soft white orbs swaying gently in the evening breeze. Small tables dotted the pool deck—white linen, low vases of white roses, candles flickering gold reflections on the water. Family-style platters arrived in waves—pasta with fresh basil, roasted vegetables, tiramisu dusted with cocoa. Wine poured freely from unmarked bottles. Laughter rose and fell like music.No big band. No formal dance floor. Just us—twenty-eight people who’d become family by choice—sitting, standing, talking in small clusters under the open sky.Emma found me first—glass of sparkling water in hand, maid of honor bouquet still clutched like a trophy she refused to put down.“You did it,” she said, hugging me tight. “You’re officially my sister. No take-backs.”I laughed—real, light, free. “No take-backs.”Mr. Thomas approached next—eyes misty, suit a little rumpled from the hug he’d given me af