When The Tables Turned の小説・ストーリー

The trees outside looked lifeless, frozen in the chill of winter. Not a single leaf remained on their branches. Inside the mansion, flowers bloomed vibrantly, a stark contrast to the dead landscape beyond. After the lavish luncheon, Colin drove to the cave where I was imprisoned. He stood outside, his voice cold and commanding. "Norah, have you realized your mistake yet? Just apologize, and I'll let you out."

After all, I now had a man who genuinely put his heart into preparing something special for me, just to create something uniquely for us. The only thing I needed to do was say whether I liked it or not. I didn't need to compromise, nor did I have to give it away to someone else. Upon hearing my words, George seemed to freeze on the spot. Like he had lost his soul, his eyes gradually dimmed. "Mary, can we really not start over? Please give me one more chance! I promise to change. Do you remember our time at university? All our shared—" I mercilessly cut him off. "I already said it was too late. Nothing you say will change that, so please leave."

“What are you doing here?” I looked at Gordon completely dumbfounded while he asked what I was doing under the table. I thought he was going to stop at flipping foods, I didn't know he was going to flip the table as well. It was a very large table, but thanks to super strength, he was able to flip it over like it was nothing. I almost screamed when he carried the table and flipped it over but I covered my mouth. However, in the end, he still found me here. What am I going to say now? I just got busted and in a very bad way.

Elliot stormed up to the 38th floor and poked Joanna on the forehead as he scolded her. "My dear boss, can you please stop being so soft-hearted and playing the saint? You always end up getting stabbed in the back! It's the classic story of the snake and the farmer." Joanna nodded sincerely, accepting his criticism. "You're right. I won't do it again." "Promise me," Elliot demanded, his tone firm. Joanna nodded again. "I promise."

Jane's cheeks, once flushed with color, suddenly went pale as she locked eyes with me, teeth clenched in disbelief at my audacity to call her out in front of everyone. "Thinking about it now, you've been riding my coattails for far too long, taking what's not yours. It's time I took it all back! "Do you even deserve it? "Get lost! Don't ruin my wedding day!" … Stung by my words, Jane spun around to escape, but her mother's grip was unyielding, anchoring her in place.

Then, with a sudden violent movement, he gripped the edge of the table and flipped it. Candles toppled, wax spilling like tears. Flowers scattered, their petals crushed under broken plates. The stew seeped across the stone floor, dark and heavy like blood. My carefully prepared evening shattered in an instant. I stood frozen, my heart in pieces among the debris. He didn’t even look at me. He just turned away, his broad back retreating into the gloom of the mansion. His shadow stretched along the wall, distorted, monstrous, until it disappeared into the darkness.

Out here, the game stopped being something I just watched from a distance. Now I sat at the table. Funny how things shift when luck turns. One moment everything feels within reach, then it slips away without warning.

Within minutes, the room transformed into a battlefield. Accusations flew across the table. Responsibility shifted from one side to another. Everyone suddenly had someone else to blame. Estella sat quietly. Listening. Observing. Remembering names. Faces. Reactions. People who seemed too nervous. People who became defensive too quickly. People who appeared frightened rather than angry. One by one. Exactly as planned. The trap wasn't meant to destroy Orion. It was meant to reveal who couldn't afford for Orion to succeed. And today, several people were exposing themselves beautifully.

Quiet. Finally, my back hit the table leg. I shifted again, nudging it with my side, then my hip. Another inch. Then I leaned just enough to shove it backward with my elbow. It scraped. Too loud. I froze. Waited. Nothing. Okay. One more shove. The table tilted. The lighter clattered, bounced then fell. I twisted my hands blindly behind me, searching, praying. My fingers grazed metal. Got it. It felt heavier than I expected. I didn’t waste time. I flipped the lid, sparked it.

Sweet Jesus, a sentence has never sounded so sexy. “And the tables turn,” he murmured, moving my hand away. “Tell me, Gina. Are you as easy to turn on as you used to be?” “I dare you find out,” I breathed. He turned his face into my cheek and I felt his lips curve against my skin. “I think I already did.” “Excuse me, Mr. Stone?” the guy behind the bar said. “Yes?” George stood and looked at him as if he hadn’t just made me clench my—thankfully already closed—thighs together.