THE BILLIONAIRE WHO THREW AWAY HIS VIRGIN WIFE のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

Elena’s povI was packing up at my desk when my phone rang with a number I almost recognized. Marcus Voss. I stared at the screen for a second, then answered.“Elena.”“Marcus.” My voice stayed even. “I thought we were done with these calls.”“This isn’t about checking on you.” He sounded tired. “I need to ask you something directly, and then I’ll leave it alone.”I sat back down. “What is it?”“The folder from that night. The clinic form. The hotel records. The messages. Did Alexander ever have any of it independently verified? Before he used it. Or after.”The question landed harder than I expected. “Why are you asking me that?”“Because I asked him the same thing this morning. He dismissed it. Said the documents were consistent and he didn’t need a second opinion. But the way he shut it down didn&rsqu

Elena’s povI was in the kitchen helping Mom unload groceries when the sound stopped me cold.Someone in the building’s hallway laughed, a short, low, controlled sound that cut cleanly through the thin walls. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even close. But it was enough.The bag of apples slipped from my hands and hit the floor.Mom turned quickly. “Elena?”I couldn’t answer right away. The kitchen was still the kitchen. The light was still ordinary. But for a few seconds I was back in the penthouse living room, still in the wedding dress, watching Alexander close the black folder with that same controlled finality. His voice from that night rose up without permission.I don’t need you to explain away clear evidence.This marriage is finished.I pressed my palm against the counter and forced a slow breath in.Mom stepped closer. “What is it?”&ldqu

Elena’s povThe room was already half full when we arrived. Low lighting. A long table with wine glasses and a cheese plate that looked exactly as unimpressive as Daniel had promised. People stood in small clusters, talking in the easy, slightly loud way that came with networking events.Daniel glanced at me near the entrance. “Still good?”“Still good,” I said. “For now.”“If that changes, we leave. No discussion.”“I know.”We moved into the room. Daniel didn’t steer me or announce me. He simply walked at my pace and let me choose where to stop. The first few minutes were the hardest. My shoulders stayed tight. I scanned faces out of habit, half expecting someone who might recognize my name from the old public story. No one did.A woman in a gray blazer approached us with a polite smile. “Daniel. You actually came.”&

Elena’s povWe were at the café again on Tuesday, the one with the uneven tables and the decent coffee. The late-afternoon light came in through the front windows in long, dusty strips, catching on the glass pastry case and the metal edge of the counter. Somewhere behind the espresso machine a low hiss of steam rose and faded. The place smelled like roasted beans and warm sugar. The conversation had been easy for the first half hour, work, a delayed project on his end, the fact that the library heating system still clicked after eight. Then the quiet stretched a little longer than usual, and I knew if I didn’t say something now, I would keep carrying the unspoken weight between us.I set my cup down. The ceramic was still warm against my fingers.“Can I tell you something without it becoming a long conversation?”Daniel looked up. His expression stayed open, patient. The light from the window cut across the side of his face. “Yes.”I held the words for a second, checking that I sti

Elena’s povI was scrolling through my phone on the train home when the thought arrived without warning.I hadn’t searched his name in a week.I lowered the phone and stared at the dark reflection in the window. The city moved past in broken lines of light. For months the habit had been automatic, late at night, early in the morning, in the empty space after a difficult day. A quick search. A glance at whatever the public version of his life was doing. Proof that the world had kept turning without me in it. Or proof that it hadn’t. I was never sure which one I was looking for.Tonight I realized the impulse had simply… stopped.I opened the browser history on my phone and scrolled back. Seven days. No search for his name. No quiet check of business headlines. No late-night look at the old article that still used the word amicable. Nothing.The train slowed into my station. I put the phone away and walked home with the realization sitting lightly in my chest, like something I was sti