6 Months As My Brother-in-law's Mistress のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Chapter Twelve Preston’s POVThis was what real power felt like.I stood dead in the center of the Drake Hotel’s Grand Ballroom, swirling a glass of Dom Pérignon, letting the golden glow of old-money luxury wash over me.Every corner of the hall was dripping in opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings like frozen waterfalls, throwing light over more than three hundred of Chicago’s finest. Federal judges, venture capitalists, managing partners, and old-line socialites moved through the room in an endless sea of white. White silk gowns trailing across the floor, crisp ivory dinner jackets, matching satin lapels, shimmering silver masks.It was a vision of untouched purity, and I was standing right at the center of it.Across the floor, the senior partners from my firm—men who usually treated junior associates like glorified help—were raising their glasses to me with nods of newfound respect. News of my private two-hour closed-door meeting with Sebastian Greene had already

Chapter Fourteen Addie’s POVWhoever said revenge was best served cold was an idiot.Cold makes you numb. Cold makes you patient, quiet, and polite, the kind of person who sits still while the world keeps taking from you. No, this right here—watching the two people who tried to put me in an early grave choke under three million dollars’ worth of chandeliers—was burning, scalding, five-alarm hot. And God help me, I wanted to bathe in every second of it.For three years I had played the good little housewife. I ironed Preston’s designer shirts, smiled through his passive-aggressive insults at country-club dinners, and pretended not to notice the faint traces of vanilla perfume lingering on his cuffs. I spent the last seventy-two hours lying on an ambulance stretcher, coughing on asphalt smoke, listening to my own husband debate whether pulling my feeding tube would speed up his inheritance payout. And now look at him. Standing up there on that stupid velvet platform, shivering like a

Chapter SixteenAddie’s POVThe sour smell reached me before he even spoke.It was bourbon and sweat, the exact odor that used to drift into our apartment late at night, carrying the reality of bad decisions and another woman’s sheets.Preston stood in the opening of the booth, his chest rising and falling beneath his light jacket as his hands balled into fists. He looked at me on the sofa as if I were responsible for everything falling apart around him.He barely glanced toward the small side counter where Sebastian stood. Preston simply closed the distance, leaning down into my space to pull the same domineering routine he had relied on for years."Do you understand what you just did out there?" Preston whispered through his teeth, stepping so close his breath hit my face. "You made a scene in front of hundreds of people. You were supposed to be resting, Addie. Staying home until the concussion cleared."I kept my gaze level.A dutiful wife. The expectation was almost impressive in

Chapter Eighteen The conversation across the main floor of the Drake ballroom moved at a rapid pace. Three hundred guests who spent their lives observing formal protocol huddled over drinks, watching the perimeter with intense focus. Groups of women in pale evening gowns leaned toward one another, their voices hushed beneath the music. "Did you catch the way he stood beside her?" "Why would Preston’s wife wear black to a formal birthday reception?" "Is Sebastian arriving with his sister-in-law right in front of his wife?" Near the long table holding gifts, Darcia struggled to maintain her composure. She had retreated to the lounge minutes earlier to fix her makeup, applying dark lipstick with unsteady hands and using cold water on her wrists to steady her nerves. Now back in the center of the hall, she found herself surrounded by acquaintances who offered polite smiles while tracking every detail for the morning papers. "Darcia, are you feeling well?" Chloe Dupont asked, tiltin

Chapter TwentyAddie's POVWatching Preston's face crumble on that terrace was better than any drug.For five years, that man held all the cards. He decided when I spoke, what I wore, when I was allowed to feel good about myself, and when I needed to sit down and shut up. He made me feel tiny. He spent years convincing me that outside our little apartment, I was nobody.And then, in five seconds flat, I turned his own world into a cage.Seeing his eyes dart toward those two security guards—watching the panic wash all the cockiness out of his features until he looked like a terrified kid who just got caught stealing—was poetry. His fists were shaking so violently in his pockets I could hear his watch clinking. He didn't say another word. He just turned on his heel, practically tripping over the hem of his own trousers, and bolted through the side exit toward the valet before anyone from his law firm could see him sweating.Good riddance, you pathetic coward.By the time the gala finall