Beneath His Gaze のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 7

‎Life is so fucking cruel.‎‎You can want so many things, dream so hard, but never get any of it.‎‎It sucks.‎‎‎I never planned to live like this.‎‎I didn’t choose this path, yet every single day I find myself stuck in it, again and again. Like a cycle I can’t break.‎‎‎When I was little, I dreamt of being so many things. I had wild illusions about the future: freedom, love, success - hell, even peace.‎‎But this?‎‎This life I’m living now?‎‎This was never part of the dream.‎‎If someone had told me back then that this is how things would turn out, I’d have laughed in their face and called them delusional.‎‎‎I sigh, dragging my feet to my father’s office. I don’t know what he wants from me.‎‎Today was supposed to be my off day, my one day to be human, to do the things I love.‎‎Unless…‎‎No. He can’t know my secret. I can’t let that happen.‎‎‎I’m 24 years old, not some little kid he can push around anymore.‎‎But who the hell am I kidding?‎‎‎This man would

‎I was sitting on Amanda’s bed, half-slouched, playing Subway surfers on my phone.‎‎I still don’t understand how this damn game has no ending. I’ve been playing it for, what, five years now? Amanda introduced it to me back when things were a little less... intense.‎‎‎“Hey, how do I look?”‎‎‎I glanced up and nearly dropped my phone.‎‎‎Amanda stood there dressed in tight black leather—an outfit that left little to the imagination. It hugged her curves perfectly and gave her boobs a kind of dangerous attention. She reminded me of one of those cringe cartoon characters she always forces me to watch.‎‎‎“You look like one of those girls that dances on poles,” I said, deadpan.‎‎‎Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.‎‎‎“You know,” I added, “like the ones from that last party we went to.”‎‎‎“Ohh,” she said, then burst into laughter, throwing her head back like I was the funniest person alive.‎‎‎“You mean strippers, Ian.”‎‎‎“Yeah, them.”so they're called strippers,not

‎‎‎I shouldn’t have brought this guy here.‎‎I should’ve left him back at the club.‎‎‎But… I couldn’t.‎‎‎There was something about him—maybe the stupid sunglasses, maybe the way he looked like a storm in human form.‎‎‎"I'm still waiting for my answer," he said, his voice dangerously calm as he stepped closer. "I don’t like my patience being played with."‎‎‎Before I could move, he spun the stool with a flick of his wrist. My back was now to the kitchen, pressed against the counter. He placed both hands on either side of me, caging me in. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath catching in my throat.‎‎‎He stared at me.‎‎‎Those eyes‎‎God.‎‎‎I forced myself to look away, gulping hard.‎‎‎"What's your name?" he asked, his voice low, intense. I could feel his gaze on my skin like heat.‎‎‎I wanted to ignore him. I wanted to ask why he even cared.‎‎‎But the way his voice settled deep in my bones—I found myself answering before I could stop it.‎‎‎“Ian… Ian

‎After taking my bath, I lay on my bed, my thoughts drifting back to what my father had said earlier. The words kept echoing, louder than I wanted to admit. I remembered when I turned five — that was the turning point. The moment my childhood was stolen and replaced with relentless drills and harsh expectations.‎‎‎*“You're the first son of the Romeros. The heir. You can’t afford to be weak.”*‎‎‎From that day, I stopped going to school. I stopped playing with kids my age. Every time my father caught me laughing or even breathing too close to Amanda, he’d snap, shouting that *"men don't play."* I couldn’t even watch movies with my siblings without being scolded.‎‎‎I know I’m supposed to be downstairs right now, but I refuse to let him control me — not today. My father already plays enough of a role in shaping this life I didn’t ask for. I'm not a toy. I'm Ian Romero. The most feared mafia gang leader in Italy. The king of the underground.‎‎‎A knock on the door pulled me from