Revenge Of The Rejected Ex-Wife のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Celeste arrived just before dawn.Even grief seemed to pause, as if it needed to make room for her. She always had that effect, like the world was her stage and everyone else existed only to applaud her. She walked in wearing a black tailored coat with perfect lines that did nothing to hide her curves. Dark glasses that made her look like she was on a runway. She didn't need to introduce herself at the reception desk because everyone already knew who she was.Celeste Frostbane had come home.It was clear that Ten years in Europe had not softened her. It had sharpened her to the point that even her grief looked expensive.She removed the glasses, her eyes red but bright. Tears clung to her lashes without falling. Elegant grief, that drew sympathy instead of discomfort. She knew how to make her pain beautiful, make it even pleasurable to watch."My father…" She said, her voice low and breaking in exactly the right moments.Margaret rushed forward with a sob. Ethan followed, his face

The next day, I went to my lawyer’s office with my throat tight and my head pounding as if a volcano was erupting inside. The city outside the car window moved like it always did, busy, indifferent, bright in places I didn't want it to be. I shook my head at the scenery and thought of how it was funny how the world never paused for heartbreak.When I got to the office, I sat across from a woman in a gray suit who asked questions in a calm voice, as if my life was a file that could be organized with tabs.Dates. Assets. Custody terms. Residency. Travel restrictions.It was crazy. She slid papers across the desk and watched me sign my name like I wasn’t cutting off a limb. Each signature felt like a burial and it took everything in me not to start weeping.By the time I stepped back into Kieran’s mansion hours later, my hands felt numb.The house smelled like polished wood and expensive candles. It always smelled perfect. Even when everything inside it broke. How did a place so flawl

The only thing that stayed with me was the blood.​Not the thunder of the gunshots, or the screams that tore through the cemetery’s peace. ​It was that dark splash on the pale marble near her feet. Seraphina’s blood.​The image was burned against the back of my eyelids. Every time I blinked, I saw the crimson stain on the white canvas of my failure. I had moved on instinct, following my muscle memory to prioritize the objective. I had pivoted toward Celeste, shielding her with my body. I remembered the frantic weight of her against my chest, the way her breath hitched into a sob against my neck.​In that split second, I had made a calculation. Celeste was the vulnerability, while Seraphina was always the one who stood on her own.​I had calculated wrong.​I remembered Ethan dragging Margaret away as I issued the orders to security to get Daniel out. I had watched my son handed off, like a small, trembling bundle being tucked into the backseat of a car. He was safe, I had ensured th

The stranger didn’t move when I pulled the door open. He didn’t try to crowd the frame or charm his way in. He just stood there, waiting.​That was the first thing that got to me. Most men in my life treated space like it was theirs by birthright, but this man stood there like he knew the floor beneath his boots belonged to me, and he was waiting for an invitation to exist on it.​I just stared, I couldn't help it. The morning light hit the hard angles of his face, catching the shadow of stubble and the calm, steady weight in his eyes. He was wearing a dark, heavy coat without any flashiness. ​“Good morning,” he said. His voice was a low, gravelly hum that seemed to vibrate right under my skin. “I’m Lucian Reed.”​Lucian… the name suited him. ​“I’m sorry for dropping by like this,” he continued, his gaze never leaving mine. “I wanted to see if you were okay. And to talk. If you’re up for it.”​I found myself nodding before I could talk myself out of it. I stepped back. “Come in.”

I shouldn’t have been there.​The thought hammered in my skull with every wet thud of my fist hitting the heavy bag. Three. Four. The impact rattled my teeth and sent a jarring vibration up my forearms, but it didn't do a damn thing to quiet the noise in my head. Sweat stung my eyes, carving tracks through the grime on my face, and my lungs felt like they were filled with hot ash. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.​Across the gym, Ethan was punishing a bag with an ugly, jagged aggression. Celeste was a few feet away, moving through her drills with a trainer. She was perfect—precise, bloodless, every move a calculated display of grace.​Phoenix Rising didn't smell like the Blackthorne clubs. There was no mahogany or expensive cologne here. It smelled like floor wax, stale sweat, and survival.​I’d told myself this was "oversight." I’d told myself I followed them here after the school run to assess the threat. To get a read on Lucian Reed—the man who had sat in my kitchen this morn