Accidentally Yours, Hockey Captain のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

Emily’s POV I sank into the booth opposite Kara, my hands trembling so violently I almost knocked over the tall glass of ice water the waiter had just set down. Will’s voice kept ringing in my ears, sharp and self‑assured—I know exactly where he is right now—and every time the memory hit, my stomach twisted tighter, cold dread coiling deep in my bones. The cafe around us felt too loud, too bright, like the whole world was moving on while I stood frozen in place, trapped by secrets and threats I couldn’t begin to untangle. Kara reached across the table, covering my shaking hands with hers, her grip firm and steady, grounding me just enough to breathe. “There is definitely something very wrong with that man, Em. More wrong than you even realize. You need to stay extremely careful around him—don’t meet him alone, don’t give him any more information, don’t even answer his messages if you can avoid it. He’s not just some rich patron or a random art buyer. He knows far too much about

Emily’s POV Arranging my days back in Paris felt like learning to walk all over again. Every street corner, every cafe, every stretch of the Seine held memories of Alex—his warm laugh echoing off the stone walls, the way he’d tuck my hand tight in his pocket when the wind turned cold, the quiet stillness of him sitting beside me while I painted late into the night. Walking through this city without him felt like wearing clothes that were too big, like something vital had been cut out of my daily life and left a hollow space I couldn’t quite fill. And beneath that aching silence lay another secret, heavy and precious, something I’d held close to my chest since that day in the hotel bathroom: my pregnancy. No one knew. Not Mrs. Anderson, not Pierre, not even Kara. I’d wrapped it tight in my heart, too scared to speak it aloud until I knew exactly what I was doing, too afraid that saying it would make it feel even more overwhelming than it already did. But I couldn’t just drift fo

Emily’s POVI stood outside Will’s apartment door for what felt like an eternity, my hand raised but trembling so violently I couldn’t bring myself to make contact. My breath came in short, ragged bursts, and my free hand pressed tight against my stomach, a silent promise to the life growing there that I was doing this for us. The thick folder tucked under my arm felt impossibly heavy, like it held not just ink and paper, but my entire future, every choice I had left to make, every scrap of freedom I still possessed. Every time I pictured Alex—cold, hungry, alone, hurt somewhere I couldn’t reach him—my resolve wavered, then hardened all over again. This isn’t for me. This is for him. I would sign anything, give anything, just to know he’s safe.I finally knocked, three slow, shaky raps against the wood.The door swung open almost immediately, as if he’d been standing right behind it waiting, counting the seconds until I broke. Will stood there, wearing that same easy, practiced s

Emily’s POV Does he know? That single question circled endlessly in my head, sharp and unrelenting, as I stood before my canvas in the quiet studio. My brush hovered mid‑air, forgotten, while my mind raced through every moment from the day before. I replayed Will’s visit to my hospital room over and over—every word he spoke, every look he gave, every pause that lasted just a little too long. He hadn’t said one thing about why I’d fainted. Not a single question about my health, not a hint of concern for anything beyond the gallery and our work together. The doctor wouldn’t tell him, I told myself firmly, pressing one hand lightly to my stomach through my loose shirt. Patient privacy rules are absolute. There was no reason for any staff member to mention something like that to a man who’d only introduced himself as my business partner. But then… Will knew everything else. He knew exactly when I searched his name online. He knew every threat I made against him. He

Emily’s POVThe afternoon sun slanted through the tall gallery windows, gilding the edges of every frame and casting long, soft shadows across the polished floor. I stood near the main entrance, speaking quietly with a visitor who lingered in front of my newest canvas, explaining the layers of color and the quiet emotion I’d tried to capture in every brushstroke. The conversation was calm, pleasant, the kind of exchange that made all the long hours alone in the studio feel worthwhile. Until I felt that familiar, unwelcome presence step up beside me.“I don’t think the gallery seems as busy as it usually does,” Will said, his voice carrying clearly, cutting through our quiet conversation. “Maybe they’re looking for something different. Something that catches their eye more.”The visitor glanced quickly between us, their polite smile faltering. They shifted uncomfortably, nodded a hurried goodbye, and walked straight toward the exit without another word. I watched them leave, frus