Deep Inside のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

The silence inside the house was thick enough to choke on. Ava stood frozen by the wall of windows, the New York news on her phone as she saw the search of his name and behind her like a thousand judging eyes. Rhys Darby leaned against the marble kitchen island, no longer just the dangerously attractive stranger who haunted her steps.Now, she knew his name. was not just Rhys Darby but THE RHYS DARBY.Rhys Darby. Billionaire. Tech mogul. CEO of Darby Innovations, the same man plastered on Forbes covers, whispered about in scandalous gossip columns, and envied in every elite circle that had once felt galaxies away from Ava’s modest life."You…" Her voice cracked. "You're him. Rhys Darby."He didn’t deny it. Instead, he stepped forward with slow, deliberate intent, like a predator who had no interest in rushing the kill."Why me?" Ava whispered, every nerve alive and burning. "Why the hell would a billionaire stalk me?"His dark eyes drank her in like she was water in the desert. He exh

Bridget Kennedy was the kind of woman who walked into a room and made it impossible not to notice her. Tall, statuesque, with wavy chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders, emerald eyes sharp and alive behind gold-rimmed glasses. Every inch of her bespoke designer dress screamed power and privilege. She was the heiress to a sprawling fortune, raised among marble pillars and silver spoons.John Batista was exactly the opposite.Dirt-streaked hands, faded jeans, and a tired smirk that came from years of scraping by. His world was the cramped apartment he shared with three cousins and a mother who worked two jobs. He was used to being invisible, overlooked—until that fateful day.It happened in the little café tucked between the gleaming office towers downtown. Bridget was there early, laptop open, reviewing contracts with an intensity that could scorch glass. John was behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, thinking about the rent overdue.She looked up just as he accide

The first time I saw Liam Grayson again, he was barefoot on my parents’ back porch, beer in hand, shirt clinging to him like sweat and memory.I was twenty-five, freshly back in my hometown for the summer, and everything smelled like honeysuckle and danger.He turned when he heard the screen door slap. “Well, well,” he said, slow and warm. “If it isn’t little Rae Callahan.”I hated that nickname—Rae. It made me feel twelve again. But the way he said it, like heat sliding into honey, made me shiver.“Hi, Liam.” I smiled tightly. I wasn’t little anymore, and I damn well wasn’t twelve.He looked like sin and sunshine, black hair tousled from the lake wind, forearms cut from labor, a five o’clock shadow that made my knees weak. He was thirty-two now, older than me by a solid seven years, but more dangerous than ever. My brother’s best friend. My childhood crush. The man I used to spy on from the staircase when he stayed over, shirtless, laughing with Ryan like the world didn’t burn behind

It started with rain.Not the kind that softly kissed sidewalks and made poets sigh, this was the kind of rain that punished glass, made traffic crawl, and turned neon lights into watery smears on the windows of Hotel Vellum. She’d chosen it for the anonymity, for the way it wrapped itself around her grief and said: stay here, nobody will ask you why your eyes are swollen.Her name was Nina Delare, and her engagement had ended exactly four hours ago.She still wore the dress she’d planned for the rehearsal dinner, sleek, black satin, slit high at the thigh, backless. Now it clung to her like a memory she couldn’t peel off. Mascara bled under her eyes, but she didn’t fix it. There was no one left to impress. No groom. No apologies. Just silence.She walked into the bar beneath the hotel, all smoked glass and velvet couches, and ordered a dirty martini. Then another. And when she looked up, he was watching her.He sat at the far end of the bar, alone, coat draped over the stool beside h

The rain had returned.It hummed softly against the hotel window, a gentle percussion that filled the silence between them. Nina stood barefoot near the glass, wrapped in one of the plush robes Callum had offered her. Her coffee had gone cold. She hadn’t taken a sip.Behind her, he was quiet. Still in bed, still watching her with the kind of focus that made her skin prickle, even fully covered.“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmured.She didn’t turn. “It’s morning.”“Mm. Unfortunately.”“We were supposed to be done by now.”He sat up. “Are we?”Her grip tightened around the ceramic mug.“I don’t know what this is,” she said.“It doesn’t have to be anything.”His voice was gentle. She could hear the hesitation in it, the way he was already bracing himself for her to walk. She couldn’t blame him. That had been her plan, too.But now she’d shared a bed. Shared her body. And maybe more terrifyingly, shared something fragile, unspoken. A desire to feel again.She finally turned to face hi