His contract Bride, His secret child のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Amara’s POV The Cape Haven Community Clinic was a building that seemed to be held together by salt-crusted paint and the sheer stubbornness of the locals. It stood at the edge of town, a squat brick structure that groaned whenever the Atlantic wind whipped against its north face. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of industrial floor wax and the faint, metallic tang of an aging radiator that clanked like a ghost in the walls. I sat in the corner of the waiting room, pulling my oversized wool cardigan tighter around my frame. At nearly twenty-six weeks, my coat was struggling to do its job. I had become an expert at the "unbuttoned-and-draped" look, passing off my growing silhouette as a result of poor diet and baggy layers. In a town like this, people didn't ask questions. They assumed you were either hiding from a bad debt or a bad man. In my case, it was both. And yet, it was neither. I

Amara’s POVThe city of Oakhaven was a cathedral of gray stone and persistent drizzle, a place where the sun seemed to be an occasional visitor rather than a resident. For most, the gloom was a reason to complain over lukewarm coffee, but for me, it was a sanctuary. In the shadows cast by the towering, soot-stained industrial buildings, a woman with a dangerous secret could finally breathe.I lived in a studio apartment above a bakery called The Flour Bin. Every morning at four, the scent of yeast and cinnamon would rise through the floorboards, a warm, domestic smell that tethered me to a reality that didn't involve mahogany boardrooms or silk-lined traps. Here, I wasn't the "Contract Bride" whose face had been plastered across every tabloid from New York to London. I wasn't the woman who had allegedly tried to "baby-trap" the most powerful man in the country.I was just Amara Vance—a quiet tenant who paid her rent in cash and kept her head down.I sat at my small, scarred wooden tabl

Amara’s POV The morning air in Belvidere tasted of iron and exhaust, a stark contrast to the sterile, climate-controlled luxury I had once taken for granted. I sat at the small, chipped vanity that doubled as my work desk, staring at a stack of white envelopes. For weeks, I had lived in terror of the debt collectors. I had expected them to hunt me down, to threaten my father’s shop again, and to strip away the meager savings I had managed to scrape together from my sewing. Every unknown caller made my heart skip a beat; every heavy footstep on Mrs. Janet’s stairs made me hold my breath. But when I finally gathered the courage to call the agency—hoping to negotiate a penny-on-the-dollar payment plan—the woman on the other end had sounded bored. "Amara Vance? That account was settled months ago, honey. Balance is zero. Don't call here again." The line

Adrian’s POV The penthouse of the Wolfe-Sterling Tower was designed to be a testament to absolute control. Every line was sharp, every surface was cold, and every sound was dampened by the sheer density of the glass. From this height, the city of New York didn't look like a collection of souls; it looked like a spreadsheet of light and motion. I sat at my desk, the glow of the dual monitors reflecting in my eyes. It was 11:00 PM. The merger was finalized. The Sterling textile purchase was complete. My wealth had grown by another billion in a single afternoon. By every measure of my father's legacy, I was the most successful Wolfe to ever hold the title. And yet, I felt as if I were sitting at the center of an empty room. "The gala photos have been approved for the morning edition, Adrian." Serena's voice was smooth, polished, and perfectly controlled. She walked into the of

Adrian's POV The morning after the engagement party felt like the first day of a never-ending winter. I was in my office by six in the morning, the blue light of the early dawn seeping through the tall windows of Wolfe Tower. On my desk sat the front page of every major money and society paper. "The Diamond Merger: Adrian Wolfe and Serena Sterling Seal the Future." The photo showed us on the grand staircase. I looked strong, sure of myself, and completely untouchable. Serena looked like the perfect queen. It was a perfect piece of image-making. My mother had already called three times to talk about the guest list for the spring wedding, her voice shaking with the kind of excitement she only saved for winning a business fight. I picked up the paper, the ink leaving a faint smudge on my thumb. I stared at my own face in the picture. I looked into the eyes of the man in the photo and realized I didn't k