Ex wife Returns As My Father’s Fiancée のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 26

OpalThe bell above the heavy wooden door of E. Shaver, Bookseller chimed with its familiar, melodic ring. Outside, Savannah was bathed in the crisp, golden light of late Tuesday afternoon, but inside, the shop remained a quiet sanctuary smelling of aged parchment, beeswax, and espresso."Look! Look who's here!" Oliver’s voice carried across the quiet aisles like a trumpet.Before I could reach out to catch the hood of his jacket, Oliver broke into a jog, heading straight toward the armchair corner beside the architectural history section.Sitting in the wingback chair, an open leather-bound book resting on his knee, was Sebastian. He wore a finely tailored camel-hair overcoat unbuttoned over a navy sweater, his silver hair neatly styled, his polished leather shoes crossed at the ankles.For an older gentleman who had claimed to be a temporary visitor in Savannah, he seemed to spend an improbable amount of time lingering in this exact corner. Yet, when he looked up from his page, his

Sebastian"Find out who used that clearance code, Arthur," I ordered, staring out the tinted window as the town car glided through the oak-shaded squares of Savannah. "I don't care how many administrative favors you have to call in. If someone bypassed standard protocol to inspect sealed matrimonial records, I want a name.""It's not that simple, Sebastian," Arthur said through the phone speaker, his voice edged with caution. "The docket system in that county underwent a server migration two years ago. An administrative override can originate from half a dozen internal desks—a supervising judge, a chief clerk, or an attorney holding an archival token. I've initiated a forensic audit, but it won't resolve by morning.""Keep digging," I said, terminating the call with a curt tap of the screen.I leaned back against the leather seat, my chest tight.Someone else is looking.Why would anyone show an interest in the wreckage of a five-year-old divorce? To the general public and the financi

Graham The private dining room at the Carlyle was bathed in the subdued glow of brass sconces and afternoon light filtering through linen curtains. Across the table, Ethan cut into his dry-aged steak with effortless leisure, looking completely detached from the multi-million-dollar logistics restructuring we were supposed to be finalizing. "You look like absolute hell, Graham," Ethan remarked, pointing his fork across the table. "When was the last time you managed more than four consecutive hours of sleep?" I set down my water glass with deliberate precision. "I sleep when the market closes, Ethan. And right now, the European sector requires constant oversight." "Right. The European sector," Ethan scoffed lightly, wiping the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin. "Or does it have something to do with the fact that Sebastian's private jet landed in New York three days ago and you've systematically ignored four separate dinner invitations from Evelyn?" A cold tightness cla