Beg no more married to his enemy のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Chapter 42: Elena’s POV ​The sun was barely up on Monday morning when the sound of raised voices echoed down the hall outside my bedroom. ​I threw on my dark robe and walked out into the corridor. At the end of the hallway, right near the entrance to the ground-floor garden suite, two of my grandmother’s private shift nurses were standing by the door, holding their heavy medical bags. ​Victoria stood directly in front of them, dressed in a sharp beige linen suit, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Marcus stood a few feet away with a tray of morning coffee, his face tense as he tried to keep his composure. ​"I don't care who signed your entry passes," Victoria was saying, her voice crisp and completely dismissive. "You are rolling heavy metal equipment carts through the main residential hall at seven in the morning. This is a private estate, not a suburban public clinic. You will pack your things and wait outside near the service gate until ten." ​"Mrs. Vance, Mrs. Obi

Chapter 44: Elena’s POV ​By Tuesday morning, the humiliated silence from the guest wing made the entire estate feel like a pressure cooker. ​I spent the early hours in the ground-floor garden suite, sitting by the window while my grandmother rested quietly in bed. Her breathing was steady, her color improving each day thanks to the round-the-clock care from her private medical team. The room was peaceful, filled with the soft morning sunlight filtering through the garden glass. ​At nine o'clock, I stepped out into the hallway to get a glass of warm water from the kitchen. ​The moment I reached the foyer, I saw two men in grey delivery overalls carrying heavy wooden crates through the side entrance. Standing near the archway was Victoria, dressed in a formal ivory suit, a clip board resting in her hands as she directed them toward the garden suite corridor. ​"Take those crates straight down to the end of the hall," Victoria instructed, her voice cold and loud enough to echo ag

Chapter 46: Elena’s POV​By one o'clock in the afternoon, the garden suite had turned into an official observation zone.​Two state social workers sat on folding chairs right outside my grandmother’s door, logging every nurse shift, every medication dose, and every person who stepped into the hallway. They weren't aggressive, but their presence was a heavy, suffocating blanket over the quiet atmosphere we had worked so hard to build.​In Carter’s ground-floor study, papers covered the massive mahogany desk.​Carter stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his phone pressed to his ear, his voice quiet and dangerously sharp as he spoke to his chief legal counsel.​"I don't care what court clerk you have to call in the central district," Carter said into the phone. "I want the original certified copy of Mrs. Obi’s guardianship filing from 2011 on my desk by tomorrow morning. Offer whatever rush fee is necessary."​He listened for a moment, his jaw tightening, before hanging up and setting

Chapter 48: Elena’s POV​The state regional care facility smelled like stale bleach and industrial floor wax.​It was an ugly, towering concrete building on the outskirts of the district, far away from the quiet, private comfort of the Vance estate. High fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh, pale glow over crowded waiting rooms and grey, scuffed linoleum corridors.​I practically sprinted through the double glass doors of the intake ward, Carter close behind me, his phone still pressed to his ear as he barked orders at his legal team.​"I don't care about visiting hours!" I said, slamming my hands onto the reception desk. The middle-aged clerk behind the desk barely blinked, looking up at me over her reading glasses. "My grandmother, Mrs. Obi, was brought in by Adult Protective Services an hour ago. Where is she?"​"Name and patient ID?" the clerk asked mechanically, her fingers hovering over a dusty keyboard.​"Mrs. Obi!" I repeated, my voice cracking with sheer desper

Chapter 50: Damian’s POV​The air inside the private airfield lounge smelled like old smoke and wet carpet.​I sat in a leather chair near the back window, swirling two fingers of warm scotch in a glass while I waited. Outside on the tarmac, a private jet had just landed in the heavy rain. Its engines whined down to a low whistle against the dark sky.​The heavy door to the lounge clicked open.​Richard—Chloe’s father—walked into the room first. He looked stressed from the long flight, but his dark grey suit was pressed sharp, and he held his chin up like a man who still believed money could fix anything.​Right behind him was Chloe.​She wore a plain black raincoat, her blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked thinner than she did six months ago when the police arrested her for fraud and attempted murder, but her face was just as cold and sharp.​"Look at you," I said, leaning back in my chair. "You look pretty good for someone who was supposed to spend fifteen years