Sweet Little Temptation のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

BEVERLY I drove my car up the driveway straight into the garage. I saw his usual car also parked in the garage meaning he was around. The sight of his sleek, black Mercedes SUV parked in its usual spot sent a sudden, electric jolt straight to my nervous system. ​He was home. ​I killed the engine, the sudden silence in the garage feeling heavy, almost suffocating. For a long moment, I just sat there with my hands still gripping the steering wheel, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The car next to mine wasn’t just a vehicle; it was a physical extension of Damian’s presence. It meant he was inside, likely out of his boardroom attire, dominating whatever room he was currently occupying. ​My mind instantly flashed back to the library research, the psychological terms, and that lingering, dangerous question: How far would we have gone? ​"Get it together, Beverly," I whispered to myself, my voice sounding incredibly small in the enclosed space of the sedan. ​

BEVERLY It had been three weeks since I joined the Discord server, and my entire world had subtly, deliciously shifted. The advice from the girls in the lounge had become my secret blueprint. I had stopped fighting Damian’s gravity, stopped the automatic, defensive sarcasm at dinner, and stopped wearing those oversized, shield-like sweaters around the estate. Instead, I weaponized my wardrobe and my body, turning myself into a walking temptation he couldn't legally touch but couldn't help but watch. Operation: Seduce Damian had officially entered its most dangerous phase. My sense of dressing around the house completely changed. I traded my baggy sweatpants for soft, high-cut silk shorts that hugged my hips and showed the lower curve of my buttcheeks every time I walked up the marble stairs. The oversized tees were replaced by paper-thin white tank tops that did little to hide the shape of my breasts or the fact that the house’s central air conditioning was always set to a f

BEVERLY I sat frozen in the silence of my bedroom for five full minutes, waiting for my pulse to stop vibrating in my throat. The silver moonlight gradually gave way to the pale, crisp gray of a chilly morning, the distant hum of the city outside the estate slowly waking up. A dream. It had all been a completely unhinged, incredibly vivid dream. I let out a shaky breath, throwing the duvet off my legs and swinging them over the edge of the mattress. My skin still felt hot, tingling with a phantom sensitivity that made me want to scream into my pillow. I had early morning classes today, and the absolute last thing I needed was to be distracted by a subconscious mind that had clearly gone rogue. I needed to get up, get out of this house, and reclaim a fraction of my sanity. I stood up, my legs feeling a little weaker than usual, and walked straight into the sprawling marble bathroom. The moment I flicked on the vanity lights and looked at my reflection in the mirror, my jaw

BEVERLY By the time the grandfather clock in the grand hallway chimed seven o'clock, the entire atmosphere of the estate had shifted. The blinding sun had long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep, velvet shades of indigo and violet. Downstairs, the long mahogany dining table was set for two. I sat in my usual chair, smooth linen napkin draped over my lap, waiting for him. The newfound confidence from my afternoon discovery was a heavy, intoxicating hum in my veins. The girl who had choked on her fruit and fled like a startled rabbit this morning was entirely gone. When the heavy double doors of the dining room opened and Damian walked in, I didn't look down. I didn't flush. I kept my gaze locked firmly onto his, a small, knowing smile playing at the very edge of my lips. He looked as imposing as ever. He had discarded his suit jacket somewhere, but his charcoal dress pants and crisp white shirt—buttoned rigidly to the top—still screamed of corporate absolute

BEVERLY The drive back from the university was an exercise in pure mental torture. For the entire duration of my afternoon lectures, my professors' words had faded into a dull, unintelligible hum, completely eclipsed by the loud, rhythmic thumping of my own anxious heart. The paranoia had officially set in. Every time I remembered the icy, calculating look Damian had given me across the breakfast table, my stomach dropped. *He knows,* my frantic thoughts whispered, the engine of my sedan humming a low accompaniment to my dread. *He absolutely knows.* A man like Damian didn't just overlook a strange noise coming from the interior of his private sanctuary. He was a billionaire with a security detail that could rival a small militia; he probably had sensors, logs, and silent metrics tracking the very air pressure inside those walls. But if he knew, why hadn't he confronted me. Maybe he was playing with me, biding his time, waiting for me to trip up and give myself away. By the ti