UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 221 - チャプター 230


 (Adrian) The days blurred into a dangerous rhythm. Kathryn stayed in the guest room, but she might as well have been in mine. She was there in the mornings when I made coffee, reviewing documents across the island like we used to in law school. She was there in the evenings when the penthouse felt too quiet, her laugh filling spaces Alessa had left hollow. She never pushed. She never demanded explanations. She simply existed — steady, brilliant, familiar. And I let myself lean into it. One night, after another brutal day of damage control, we ended up on the couch with the lights low. The city glittered far below us, indifferent to the war happening inside these walls. Kathryn had kicked off her heels, legs tucked beneath her, wine glass balanced on her knee. She looked at me the way she used to — like she saw the version of me before Alessa, before the crash, before everything became so painfully complicated. “You’re thinking about her again,” she said softly. I didn’t deny


 (Adrian) The videos arrived first. A encrypted drive delivered anonymously to my office with a simple note: “For your eyes only — V.” Victor had kept copies. Not just snippets — full, high-definition recordings of our most private moments. Nights when Alessa had come to me fully awake, hungry and desperate. Mornings when her body remembered me even when her mind didn’t. The way she whispered my name, the sounds she made, the way she moved when she thought no one was watching. Victor had been watching everything. I watched only a few seconds before closing the file. The violation was complete. Our intimacy — the one thing that still felt sacred — had been stolen and weaponized. I deleted the drive immediately, but the images were already burned behind my eyes. Then came the public announcement. Alessa posted it herself on her verified account that same afternoon: a photo of her and Marcus, smiling, with her hand on his chest and a new ring glinting on her finger. The ca

Adrian During the absolute height of Margaret and Victor’s trial, when the courthouse steps were swarming with reporters and the family name was being dismantled piece by piece on the evening news, I had sat across from Alessa in a locked, private conference room. I told her the truth I thought she could handle. I rationed it out like medicine, terrified that a full dose would kill her."Whatever comes out in that courtroom," I had said, forcing my voice to remain steady even as my hands shook against the polished mahogany table, "I refuse to let you know everything at once. Your condition… the memory loss… I can’t risk breaking you again. So if the truth pushes you away, if you turn your back on me when this is over, I’ll let you go. It’s alright. I’ll understand."She had looked at me with those wide, fragile eyes—eyes that seemed too large for her pale face—and nodded. She had whispered that she understood, that she trusted me. But that promise had meant absolutely nothing in the


 (Adrian) I saw the post at 2:47 a.m. Alessa had uploaded the dissolution papers. Not privately. Not through lawyers. Publicly. On her verified social media account for the entire world to see. The first page was clearly visible — redacted just enough to protect sensitive details, but her signature at the bottom was unmistakable. Alessandra Valez. The caption beneath it was simple and devastating: “Sometimes the hardest truths are the ones we need to face. The marriage is over. Time to move forward with honesty and peace.” She had tagged Marcus. Added a heart emoji. The comments were already in the thousands. Some supportive. Some vicious. Most shocked that she would air something so personal while still legally married. I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. She hadn’t even called me. Hadn’t given me the courtesy of a private conversation. She had chosen the most public, most humiliating way possible to declare us finished. I laughed once — sharp, broken — then set th


 (Adrian) The public storm Alessa created refused to die down. By the next morning, the dissolution papers she had posted were everywhere — dissected, memed, analyzed by legal experts on morning shows. “Alessandra Valez Moves On Publicly While Still Legally Married,” one headline read. Another: “From Reyes to Valez: The High-Profile Divorce No One Saw Coming.” Marcus was trending. My name was trending. The narrative had shifted from scandal to spectacle, and I was the villain who had apparently driven his amnesiac wife into the arms of her college ex. I sat at my desk, scrolling through the chaos, feeling strangely numb. Kathryn brought me coffee without a word. She had been staying in the guest room for days now, a quiet, steady presence that didn’t ask for explanations. She simply existed — competent, understanding, familiar. When she set the mug down, her fingers brushed my shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to read it all,” she said softly. “I know.” I closed the tab anyway