Reborn and Mated to My Ex's Rival のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Sylvia's POVThe red wine hit his white shirt like a bloodstain.The whole room went silent. Damian stared at the dark red spreading across his chest, then at me. The wine glass rolled off the table and shattered on the marble floor."Sylvia?" Dad half-rose from his chair, brow furrowed. "What happened? Are you alright?"I crossed the distance between us in three steps and threw my arms around him. He smelled like cedar cologne and wool. The same way he'd always smelled. Solid. Warm. Real."Dad." My voice cracked. "I missed you so much."He went still for a moment, confused. Then his arms came around me, and he patted my back the way he'd done when I was small. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I've been right here all evening."I saw the calendar on the wall and finally knew for sure: I had been reborn. I was back on my twenty-third birthday — three years before my death.The room slowly came back to life. Uncertain laughter, the clink of someone picking up broken glass. I pulled back and

Sylvia's POVThe room was still staring at me.I'd just told every major Alpha in attendance that Ridgehaven belonged to Moonriver Pack alone. Not Ironclaw. Not Damian. Mine.In my first life, I would never have opened my mouth in a room like this. I would have smiled, sat down, and let Damian take the credit while I poured his champagne. That version of me was dead. Literally.My father turned to me. "You secured the bid independently?"He looked surprised. Not upset, just caught off guard. In all the years I'd been with Damian, I'd never made a single business move without routing it through my fiancé first. Every dollar, every connection, every advantage. All of it handed over like taxes paid to a king I'd built with my own hands.Leona recovered before anyone else. She sat up straighter, folding her hands on the table with the practiced composure of a woman who wore two masks at once: concerned stepmother and capable secretary."Sylvia, sweetheart." Her voice was warm and practice

Sylvia's POVThe word hung in the air between us.Marry me.I stared at him. I'd prepared data, arguments, a strategy for every possible objection. A marriage proposal wasn't on the list.My mouth opened. Nothing came out.Azrael's expression didn't change. He watched me process it with the patience of someone who'd already calculated my response time."Don't misunderstand," he said. "I'm not proposing a love match."He walked to the bar cart, poured a second glass of Scotch without asking, and set it on the table in front of me. The ice clinked against the crystal."A contract marriage," he said. "Two Packs forming a strategic alliance. That sends a stronger political message than any business partnership. And I have family obligations that require a Luna by my side. The specifics aren't relevant tonight." He sat down across from me. "The short version is: I need someone in that role, and I'd rather it be someone I can actually work with."Family obligations. I turned the phrase over

Sylvia's POVDamian's jaw worked. A vein ticked at his temple. But the cameras were still trained on all three of us, and every gossip outlet in the werewolf world was about to loop this footage for the next twenty-four hours.He forced a smile. "Of course. Sylvia can represent Moonriver. I trust her completely."I kept my face neutral. Inside, I was savoring every syllable of that lie.Backstage, after the venue cleared out, I told Damian I was heading back to Moonriver to start putting together a cooperation proposal for Ridgehaven.The smile vanished."Stay away from Azrael Nightwhisper." He paced the green room, yanking his tie loose. "I have intelligence that his Pack runs irregular financial operations. Shell companies. Offshore holdings. There are active investigations."I perched on the arm of a leather chair and crossed my legs. "Investigations by whom?""People I trust.""Which agency? What jurisdiction?"He stopped. He didn't have an answer ready because the whole thing was

Sylvia's POVThe next morning, I drove to the capital's fashion district and found Maison Éclat on Fifth Avenue.The storefront was all black marble and gold lettering. A doorman in a charcoal suit held the glass door open. Inside, the air smelled like jasmine and new leather. Velvet seating lined the walls, and soft piano music played from speakers I couldn't see.I gave my name at the front desk. The attendant's eyes lit up."Of course. We've been expecting you." She disappeared into the back and returned carrying a garment bag like it was made of glass. "This was prepared just for you."She unzipped the bag. I stared.It was a fitted black sheath dress with a sculptured neckline and a slit that stopped just above the knee. The fabric was matte silk, heavy enough to drape without clinging, with a sheen that only showed when I moved. A single line of covered buttons ran from the nape of the neck to the base of the spine.I changed in the fitting room and stepped in front of the floor