ASHES OF HER MERCY のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

SARAPHINA’S POVThe Gala of Whispers​The chandelier in the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel hung like a fortress of frozen tears, casting sharp, blinding light over three hundred of Manhattan’s elite. Everyone was smiling, but their eyes were icy, deliberate gaze that didn't leave me. ​I stood near the edge of the polished marble dance floor, my fingers tightening around the stem of a crystal champagne flute until my knuckles turned white. My silk gown, a deep jewel-toned crimson that Lucian’s personal stylist had chosen for me three hours prior, felt less like high fashion and more like a gilded velvet straitjacket.​"Look at her,” one of the women whispered from a few feet away, "Standing there like she actually belongs in the Vance dynasty."​"It’s pathetic, really," another replied, not even bothering to lower her voice. "Lucian hasn't spoken a single word to her all evening. Everyone knows it’s a business arrangement. A favor to his uncle."​I swallowed down the lump forming in

​SERAPHINA’S POV ​ Rejected Devotion​​The smell of freshly brewed espresso did nothing to warm the arctic chill of the penthouse dining room.​It was seven in the morning. Outside the floor to ceiling windows of the Upper East Side high rise, Manhattan was buried under a blanket of grey autumn fog. Inside, the only sound was the faint, rhythmic ticking of the antique tall clock in the foyer and the rustle of the Financial Times in Lucian’s hands.​He sat at the head of the dark marble table, impeccably tailored in a slate grey suit, his black tie knotted with mathematical precision. His raven hair was styled cleanly, not a single strand out of place. He looked every bit the dark king of New York real estate flawless, untouchable, and completely unreachable.​My fingers tightened around the edge of the leather binder resting in my lap.​For two months, while Lucian spent his late nights at the office or attending private medical consultations for Chloe, I had buried myself in the stud

SERAPHINA’S POV The Silence of the CondemnedThe silence in the penthouse wasn't an empty space. It was a physical weight, dense and suffocating, pressing down on my chest until every breath felt like inhaling liquid lead.Outside, the rain had turned into a relentless, grey sheet, battering the floor-to-ceiling glass of the living room with rhythmic cruelty. Inside, the shadow of the man I had spent three years trying to reach hovered over me, dark and absolute.Lucian didn't take back the pen. He held it out between us, the cold silver barrel catching the dim, stormy light of the room.I looked at his hand. The strong, long fingers. The pale skin over his knuckles. The gold wedding band he still wore on his left ring finger, a hollow meaningless metal ring that held no warmth, no vow, no truth.I didn't reach for the pen. I didn't reach for the paper. I simply stood there, my hands falling limply to my sides, my spine holding its rigid, practiced angle.I stopped fighting.The frant

Seraphina Vance’s POV ‘The Bloodline Trap’​The smell of antiseptic hit my throat before my eyes could make sense of the fluorescent glare above me. It was sharp, chemical, and suffocating.​I pressed my back against the cold glass panel of the observation gallery, staring down into the intensive care unit of St. Jude’s Private Wing. Inside, wires crisscrossed over the frail chest of Chloe, my half-sister. The rhythm of the heart monitor was jagged, spiking with short, frantic beats that set off red warnings on the overhead screens.​"She collapsed forty minutes ago," my father’s quiet voice echoed behind me.​Harrison Vance didn't touch my shoulder. He stood two paces back, his hands clasped behind his tailored coat, staring at the glass as if he were inspecting a failing investment rather than his dying daughter.​"She was stable yesterday, Harrison," I said, my voice barely a whisper above the low hum of the medical machinery. I was nervous and didn't trust him, so my tummy twisted

​Seraphina Vance’s POV ‘Price of Admission’​The glass doors of the penthouse study clicked shut behind the guards, sealing the room in a heavy, unnatural silence. Outside, the city stretched toward the horizon, an ocean of flickering yellow streetlamps and crawling headlights under a charcoal sky. Inside, the only light came from the marble fireplace and the green glow of a banker’s lamp on the glass desk.​Lucian was standing by the huge glass windows, his back to me. His tailored jacket was gone. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled twice over his forearms. He held a crystal tumbler, but he wasn't drinking.​My knees were shaking from the sedative still lingering in my bloodstream, but I refused to sit. I pressed my back against the heavy mahogany trim of the door frame, using it to keep myself upright. My hand throbbing where the nail had split during my attempt at the rotary phone, an attempt that had yielded nothing but Chloe’s laughing voice on the ot