Puck with the devil のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

Lucian Pov The silence in the boardroom was no longer the heavy, stunned stillness that had followed my entrance. It had morphed into something far more dangerous—a cold, sharp tension that hung in the air like drawn wire.David Vance was the first to break it.The Vanguard representative leaned forward, tapping his pen against the edge of his tablet. The flush on his face had faded, replaced by the grim, calculating demeanor of an institutional investor who controlled tens of billions in asset allocation."The theatrics are impressive, Lucian," David said, his voice measured, devoid of the previous panic. "You've made your point. You still hold the room's oxygen. But atmospheric dominance doesn't cover a three-point drop in pre-market futures, nor does it satisfy the risk compliance board in Frankfurt."Marcus Thorne of Apex Capital nodded slowly in agreement, placing both hands flat on the obsidian table. "David is right. The European consortium called an emergency review at eight-

Lucian Pov The boardroom emptied in a tense, hurried exodus.The directors who had sat at the obsidian table just twenty minutes ago—bold, demanding, and smelling blood—could not leave the room fast enough. Marcus Thorne left without offering a single word to Penelope, his leather briefcase tucked tight under his arm as he practically sprinted toward the private elevators to contact his risk committee in Frankfurt. Jonathan Croft kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as he slipped past my security detail, his knuckles pale around his phone as he frantically dialed his legal team in Panama.Even Penelope’s most loyal proxies dispersed like smoke in a gale force wind. In corporate warfare, allegiance was a fluid, delicate thing, traded on the promise of power and discarded the second the tide turned.Penelope was the last to move.She remained standing beside the marble block at the head of the room, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her hands gripping the woode

Lucian Pov The private subterranean elevator descended in absolute silence, the digital floor indicator rapidly ticking down from eighty to the basement garages.Vance stood rigid near the doors, his radio earpiece buzzing with low, continuous status updates from the outer perimeter security detail. The subterranean garage was on total lockdown—flooded with four armored SUVs, their engines idling in a low, throaty hum that echoed off the damp concrete walls.Outside the reinforced glass security gates of headquarters, a sea of paparazzi and financial journalists had already gathered like vultures, tipped off by the sudden surge in pre-market trading volume and rumors of the emergency board session. Telephoto lenses flashed rhythmically through the security grates, trying to capture a single glimpse of the titan who had just slaughtered a corporate coup before the opening bell.Vance opened the door to the primary matte-black Maybach, holding his arm over the doorframe as I ushered Ir

Lucian Pov The private motorcade slowed to a crawl as we turned onto Fifth Avenue, approaching the towering glass and granite facade of the Metropolitan Center.Even from two blocks away, the spectacle was blinding.Massive police barricades lined both sides of the boulevard, holding back a crowd of hundreds of onlookers, fanatical spectators, and media crews. High-powered floodlights washed the velvet red carpet in harsh white illumination, while a sea of press photographers stood shoulder-to-shoulder under the glass canopy, their cameras clicking in relentless, mechanical rhythm.Inside the Maybach, the ambient blue floor lighting illuminated Irene’s profile. Her fingers were still wrapped around the dark wool of my sleeve, her knuckles white beneath her lace gloves. She was staring out the dark tinted glass at the gauntlet of cameras waiting for us, her chest heaving with slow, deliberate breaths as she fought to keep her composure."They've been waiting for you all day," she murm

Lucian Pov The private exit behind the Metropolitan Center opened onto a secluded service courtyard, shielded from the street by twenty-foot security gates.Vance held the heavy iron door open as I guided Irene out of the building. The torrential downpour had slowed to a steady, rhythmic drizzle, the cool night air cutting cleanly through the suffocating heat of five hundred high-society bodies.We slipped into the back of the waiting Maybach without a single camera catching our departure.The moment the heavy door sealed shut with a soft, vacuum-tight click, the chaos of the evening evaporated. The ambient floor lights bathed the plush black leather interior in a soft, dim indigo glow. Raindrops trickled down the dark tinted windows, refracting the neon lights of Fifth Avenue into streaking ribbons of amber, crimson, and gold across the ceiling.Irene leaned her head back against the leather headrest, letting out a long, quiet sigh.She looked utterly exhausted, yet stunningly beaut