His contract Bride, His secret child のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Amara’s POVThe kitchen was silent for exactly three seconds after I walked out, but I felt the heat of their glares on my back like a physical burn. I had drawn a line in the sand, but in a house this large, sand was easily shifted.I returned to my studio to assess the damage. The emerald silk was a total loss. The black ink had blossomed across the fabric like a malignant tumor, seeped into the grain of the fibers, and even stained the wood of the cutting table beneath. It wasn't just an accident; it was a message.You don't belong here.I spent the afternoon scrubbing the table with lemon and salt, my muscles aching, my mind drifting to the fact that I was doing manual labor in a mansion with forty servants. But I didn't want them in here. Not today. Every time I heard a footstep in the hallway, I tensed, expecting another "accident."The Silent TreatmentBy evening, the house had taken on a new, eerie atmosphere. The staff had shifted their tactics. They were no longer late or ru

Amara’s POVMoving into the East Wing felt like crossing a border into enemy territory.While the rest of the mansion was cold and grand, Adrian’s private suite was a fortress of shadows and steel. The walls were a deep, midnight charcoal, the furniture all low-profile leather and brushed metal. It was a room designed for a man who didn't want to be found, even when he was at home.I stood in the center of the massive bedroom, clutching a box of my personal sketches. Two footmen were currently moving my clothes into the secondary walk-in closet."Put those in the sitting area," Adrian’s voice came from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, watching the invasion of his space with a look of guarded neutrality."I can do it," I said, my voice sounding small in the vast room."The staff will handle it. It needs to look lived-in by tonight."I looked at the bed. It was enormous—a California King that could easily fit four people without any of them touching. It was covered in a he

Amara’s POV The man’s grip on my upper arm was like a vice, his fingers digging into the soft skin just above the emerald silk. He smelled of cheap peppermint and desperation—a toxic combination. The alcove was draped in heavy velvet curtains, shielding us from the glittering gala, but the thrum of the orchestra still vibrated through the floorboards, mocking me. "Let go of me," I hissed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Now." "Not until I get what I came for, Mrs. Wolfe," he sneered, the title sounding like a slur. He hoisted a small, high-end digital camera. "I know the 'test of character' story is a load of corporate garbage. My source says you’re on a twelve-month clock. How much did he pay you to stay quiet about the debt? Was it a lump sum, or does he pay you every time you let him touch you?" The insult felt like a physical blow. I raised my chin, trying to summon t

Amara’s POV The decapitated rose lay at my feet, a splash of crimson against the white gravel. Serena’s words were still ringing in my ears, vibrating with a frequency that felt designed to shatter my composure. Placeholder. Project. Broken toy. I didn’t go back inside immediately. I stood by the fountain until my fingers felt numb from the morning chill. I needed to find my spine. If I let Serena see that her words had drawn blood, I’d already lost. When I finally stepped back into the mansion, the air-conditioned interior felt like a tomb. I heard laughter—high, melodic, and entirely fake—coming from the morning room. I walked in to find a sight that made my stomach turn. Eleanor Wolfe was seated on the velvet sofa, a silver tea service in front of her. Beside her sat Serena, looking as if she had never left. They were two generations of the

Amara’s POV If the previous weeks were a skirmish, tonight was the full-scale invasion. The formal dining room was lit by a chandelier that looked like a frozen explosion of diamonds. The table was a long, obsidian slab, set for twelve. This wasn't just "family"; it was the inner circle of the Wolfe empire—the cousins who managed the European shipping lanes, the uncles who sat on the banking boards, and, of course, the twin architects of my misery: Eleanor and Serena. I stood at the top of the stairs, smoothing the skirts of the emerald gown. It was the only thing I had that felt like me, yet tonight it felt like a target painted on my back. "Don't look like you’re going to a funeral," a voice rumbled behind me. I turned to see Adrian. He was adjusting his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on the pulse point at my throat.