Don't fool me, Ex. I'll never marry you (again). のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Dawn greeted this city with a cold gray hue, piercing through the gaps in the curtains of my luxurious but now hollow apartment. I woke up before the alarm went off, my thoughts immediately fixed on one name: Jack. There was no anxiety left, only a terrifying calm, like the surface of a lake before a major storm. Before moving, I reached for my personal phone and sent a short text to Arthur, Dominic’s personal assistant. “I’m taking the day off. I have a pressing personal matter. Do not contact me until tomorrow.” I did not wait for a reply. I knew Arthur was a compliant machine, and Dominic was too busy with his own plans to question my personal time.I left the apartment while Mike was still collapsed on the living room sofa, surrounded by empty whisky bottles and the suffocating scent of alcohol. He wouldn't wake up for at least a few more hours. That man was already ruined, even before I started pulling his final strings. I walked out with the elegance I intentionally maintained,

The morning sun pierced through the office's large glass windows, creating sharp lines of light that illuminated the fine dust dancing in the air. The atmosphere at the headquarters, which was usually busy and full of hurried footsteps, now felt different on this floor. Inside Dominic’s soundproof office, time seemed to stop ticking, squeezed between the tension that was growing ever thicker.I stood frozen in the middle of the spacious and minimalist room, feeling the cold air from the air conditioner stinging my skin, a contrast to the warm sunlight greeting the world outside. The atmosphere in Dominic’s office turned tense again when he did not let the topic of Jack simply pass by. The man stepped closer, his stride steady yet almost soundless on the velvet carpet, his eyes narrowing, demanding an explanation I hadn't yet given."What did he show you, Bella? What made you dare to come here with a different look in your eyes? A look that seems not to know the meaning of fear," Domin

Dominic released his grip on my chin, yet his eyes never truly pulled away. There was a strange glint of recognition there—a sign that the walls of his doubt had crumbled. He spun the desk, his movements calm yet laden with an elegant predatoriness, then reached for a thick, black envelope with a striking gold seal. With one casual motion, he tossed it onto the desk, right in front of me.​"Open it," he commanded curtly.​My heart hammered as my fingers touched the expensive, textured paper. I broke the seal, and inside was an exclusive invitation to a high-end gambling event held in a secret location that had never even appeared on the public intelligence radar. I frowned, staring at Dominic skeptically.​"Gambling? Dominic, you know Mike isn't interested in money through such cheap means. He prefers playing with women or politics. To him, gambling is just a game for desperate people. He will think of this as a ridiculous waste of time."​Dominic offered a thin smirk—an expression he

The sound of the door locking tightly behind me now feels like a death knell. Mike doesn’t just know I lied; he has prepared the stage for his personal tribunal.​"You know, Bella..." Mike’s voice breaks the silence, heavy and laden with a restrained threat. He stops right in front of me, but there is no explosive anger. What is there is worse: a cold, possessive gaze. "I’ve always liked a good view. But why did it have to be with Dominic? You’ve dared to lie to me."​My heart stops beating. I remember clearly that day, when I came home to the apartment, Mike asked how my day was. I told him everything—about the traffic, about the panic when the elevator suddenly died, about the darkness of the room and the claustrophobia that nearly made me faint. I was honest about the incident, but I deliberately omitted one crucial detail: I didn’t mention that I was trapped with Dominic.​"Mike, I..." my voice catches.​Mike steps forward, closing the distance until I can feel the chill radiating

I huddled in the corner of Mike's cold studio. Darkness enveloped the room, but my thoughts were burning bright with the painful reality: Mike hadn't just manipulated me; he had turned me into a weapon to kill the only ally I had.​Suddenly, a flash of memory struck my consciousness like lightning in the middle of a storm. That wire. My memory went back to those moments before I stepped into Mike's studio last night—when Dominic nimbly attached the tiny, almost invisible microphone inside the folds of my dress. But now, reality hit me hard: If that device was still attached and functioning, it meant that every ragged breath, every drop of my fake tears, and most crucially—Mike's order to frame Dominic—had been broadcast straight to that man's ears.​I covered my mouth tightly, pressing the back of my hand to my lips so that the restrained sobbing would not leak into a scream. Would he consider me a compromised pawn? No. Dominic isn't the type of man to react with impulsive emotion. If