Divorcing the Ruthless Billionaire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

POV MINDYThe Lake Como villa had always been my sanctuary. To the world, it was a postcard of Italian luxury—terracotta tiles, infinity pools, and gardens that smelled of lemons and old money. But tonight, as the moon reflected off the black water of the lake, the silence of the house felt heavy. It felt like a held breath."Father said the auditors would be here by midnight," I whispered to my reflection in the vanity mirror. I was wearing a vintage Veronesi silk robe, the embroidery identical to the one Rachelle wore at her debut. I had always tried to be her. I had spent my life perfecting her walk, her pout, her silence.But Rachelle was a Queen now, and I was just a girl in a big house, waiting for a man in prison to tell me I was pretty."Signorina Mindy?"The voice came from the intercom on the wall. It was Marcus, Nikolai’s former lawyer. He had been staying in the guest wing for three days, supposedly to "protect the family assets" from Rachelle’s "hostile takeover.""Yes, M

POV RACHELLEThe smell of Lake Como—a mix of cold alpine water and ancient stone—was replaced by the sterile, expensive scent of a private medical wing in Milan. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse, watching the sun rise over the Duomo. My sapphire gala gown was gone, replaced by a simple black silk robe, but the weight of the "Veronesi Heart" still sat heavy against my chest."She’s awake, Rachelle."I turned. Dorian stood in the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He had been monitoring the news cycles for six hours straight. To the world, the Veronesi villa had suffered a "catastrophic gas leak." The truth—that our father had tried to incinerate his own children—was buried under layers of corporate hush-money and Santoro influence."Mindy?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper."She’s physically fine. A few minor burns, some smoke inhalation. But she’s... different. She hasn't stopped crying since we landed. She keeps asking for you."I walked down th

POV RACHELLEThe ninety-day clock had stopped. For three years, my life had been a series of deadlines, contracts, and forced silences. But as I stood in front of the vanity mirror in the penthouse, I didn't see a "wife" or a "CEO." I saw a woman wearing a dress of emerald silk that I had draped myself—no assistants, no stylists, no hidden agendas.Tonight was Day 91. The first day of a life that wasn't mandated by a judge."You're staring again," Nikolai’s voice drifted from the doorway.I met his eyes in the reflection. He was leaning against the frame, dressed in a charcoal suit with no tie, the top buttons of his shirt open. He looked healthier, the sallow paleness of the hospital wing replaced by a faint glow of life. But the way he looked at me hadn't changed. It was still the look of a man who had found a miracle in a wreck."I’m just getting used to the silence," I said, turning to face him. "No lawyers in the kitchen. No inspectors checking the pillows. It’s... unnerving.""W

POV RACHELLEThe elevator ride back to the penthouse was silent, but the air between Nikolai and me was humming with the static of the secret we had just unearthed. A sister. A child born from the wreckage of my mother’s "death." I gripped the iron key to the Prato archives so hard the metal bit into my palm, a grounding pain against the rising tide of nausea."Rachelle," Nikolai said softly as the floor numbers climbed. "We don't know the whole truth yet. Enzo was old. He could be remembering a shadow.""He remembered the name, Nikolai. Jolene. He remembered a five-year-old girl with my eyes." I looked at my reflection in the polished brass of the elevator doors. I looked like a stranger—a woman draped in emerald silk, holding the keys to a kingdom built on the bones of a sibling I never knew. "If my father has been hiding a child for ten years, it’s not for love. It’s for leverage. It’s a backup plan."The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.The penthouse was dark. Usually, the am

POV RACHELLESicily was a beautiful lie. The air in Cefalù smelled of salt, orange blossoms, and ancient secrets. As our private yacht, The Siren, pulled into the turquoise harbor, the sun was setting behind the jagged cliffs, casting the cathedral in a blood-red light. To the paparazzi lining the docks, we were the ultimate scandal: the billionaire couple who had cheated death and a divorce, returning to their ancestral roots for a "Reconciliation Honeymoon.""Smile, Rachelle," Nikolai whispered, his hand resting possessively on my waist. He looked every bit the powerful Santoro heir in his linen suit, though I could feel the tension in the muscles of his back. "The cameras need to see a woman who has forgotten everything but her husband’s touch."I leaned my head against his shoulder, my fingers trailing over the silk of his lapel. I was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a white lace dress that made me look like a tragic, romantic heroine. "I’m smiling, Nikolai. But if one more photogr