They would stay at the Bradley Mansion tonight? For a split second, Rylee's heartbeat faltered, caught off guard.

In the past three years, she and Alec had been sleeping in separate rooms, and a night at the Bradley Mansion meant one thing—sharing a room with him.

Once, that idea would have filled her with shy excitement.

Now she wanted no surprises, no repeat of anything she couldn't control.

She scrambled for a lifeline. "I… I left all my skincare at the villa. Staying here might be inconvenient…"

Maggie offered a warm smile, unbothered. "We can have someone bring it over, dear, or you can pick up a new set."

Rylee froze, her excuse collapsing in front of her.

Alec's gaze slid toward her, cool and sharp. She looked genuinely hesitant, almost delicate in her discomfort—performing it a little too convincingly.

Hadn't she been the one urging Maggie to make him stay here tonight, all to orchestrate a chance to get close to him again?

With every word, Alec's revulsion twisted a little deeper. "Grandma, she and I aren't..."

Maggie cut him off with a firm wave of her hand, saying, "If you're too busy to think about children, maybe your uncle should take over as CEO. How does that sound?"

Her words struck with the weight of a gut hit.

Alec's jaw tightened, shadows gathering across his face. "I'll follow your arrangement, Grandma."

There was a quiet triumph in the way Maggie smiled, pleased with the outcome. "That's more like it."

An uneasy pressure pressed in around Rylee, leaving her breath tight and her pulse unsteady. Despair curled up in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

Once dinner ended, they made their way upstairs to the second floor. Alec shut the bedroom door with a sharp click and stepped in close, pinning her between his body and the wall.

"Rylee," he muttered, his stare glacial. "You talk about divorce and at the same time use my grandmother to trap me here? Impressive. What's wrong? That desperate to end up in my bed?"

Rylee steadied herself, the weight of every past misunderstanding pressing down on her.

Her lips quivered as she retorted, "Alec, why the hell are you doing this to me?"

He answered without hesitation, his tone sharp with icy contempt, "Because you never do anything without a hidden agenda."

Color drained from Rylee's cheeks as the memory of that hidden photo album flickered through her mind.

She mustered a fragile, bitter smile. "I see."

For years, she had clung to the naïve hope that if she just cleared up the misunderstanding—that she had never drugged him—he might someday soften toward her.

Yet the truth landed heavily now: Alec had never carved out even the smallest corner of his heart for her.

Accepting that, she knew she had to release every lingering illusion before they destroyed her.

Without offering so much as a backward glance, Alec strode into the bathroom.

Rylee slipped into the adjoining bathroom to shower, letting the warm water wash the ache from her limbs.

By the time she stepped back into the bedroom, a faint trail of steam drifting behind her, Alec was already lounging in a bathrobe by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Fresh from his shower, he looked impossibly composed—an effortless vision of cool, breathtaking allure.

Years of drawing polished, impossibly handsome leads made her instinctively catalog beautiful features, and Alec—annoyingly—fit every criterion. For a split second, she almost saw him as a reference sketch for her next male protagonist.

Alec's cool stare flicked toward her, slicing through the thought.

Rylee jerked her gaze away and fussed with her long hair, pretending to smooth out tangles while her pulse thudded in her ears.

A soft knock broke the silence before a servant stepped inside carrying a tray.

Two glasses of dark brown tonic were placed on the table, their murky surface releasing a bitter herbal scent that made her temples tighten.

In a measured gesture, the servant dipped forward politely. "Maggie asked me to make sure you finish these before I take the glasses away."

Rylee stared at the glasses, dread sliding down her spine. There was clearly no escaping this.

After they drained the glasses, a wave of scorching warmth ripped through Alec, leaving him charged with raw, unfamiliar energy.

Color crept across Rylee's cheeks in response.

The servant gathered the empty glasses and slipped out, and the soft click of the door sealed them into a heavy, breathless quiet.

Trying to head off yet another misunderstanding, Rylee spoke up first. "I'll take the sofa tonight," she offered, her voice small but steady.

She crossed to the cabinet and stretched onto her toes to search for a quilt.

Her small frame shifted lightly as she reached, and the soft hem of her nightdress edged higher, revealing the smooth line of her delicate thighs.

Alec's gaze darkened. The image from the previous night blindsided him—her warm legs locked around his waist, her breath unsteady against his skin.

Heat punched through his chest.

Damn it!

What had his grandmother put in that tonic? The effect had hit him like a spark to dry tinder.

He pushed abruptly to his feet and strode to the counter, filling a glass with cold water.

When Rylee turned back with the quilt in her arms, she caught him gulping the water hard.

She tucked her chin, said nothing, and made her way toward the sofa with quiet steps.

Alec tracked her movements with a cool, unreadable stare, waiting to see just how long she planned to keep up her little act.

Alec downed the cold water, though the chill did nothing to steady the heat surging under his skin.

He nudged the air-conditioning lower and shrugged out of his robe, leaving only a pair of fitted shorts clinging to his hips.

Rylee's breath hitched when she caught the full view of his sculpted muscles, the dim light carving sharp shadows along his torso.

A rush of warmth flooded her cheeks, and she tore her gaze away, curling into the corner of the sofa as if the cushions could shield her from him.

With the lights dimmed, the room softened into a muted glow, and she heard the mattress dip as Alec settled onto the spacious bed.

For all the years they'd been married, tonight marked the first time she had ever shared a room with him.

Sleep refused to come. Rylee shifted restlessly, unable to quiet her racing thoughts.

Her phone suddenly lit up, the glow sharp in the darkness—Rory Murray, Claire's brother, had sent a message.

He came from a line of formidable attorneys, each one sharper in court than the last, and he was no exception.

Rylee had already passed him every scrap of information she'd pieced together about the incident from the night before.

Was it possible he'd finally uncovered something significant?

She tapped the notification, and the haze clouding her thoughts lifted in an instant.

"Rylee, the one who drugged you was Saul Smith—the CEO of Smith Group. Do you want to deal with him yourself? I can send you the address."

Her response came swift and certain. "Stay put. I'm coming."

She pushed to her feet, tugged open the wardrobe with a quiet sweep, and slipped into fitted black casual wear.

Tucking her hair beneath a baseball cap and pulling a mask into place, she slipped out the door like a shadow.

Moments after she disappeared down the hall, Alec's eyes snapped open.

Out on the road, her car tore through the night, the engine roaring as Rylee pressed the accelerator all the way down toward an abandoned factory on the outskirts.

Inside the dim factory, a stout middle-aged man and several of his henchmen lay bound on the cold floor, ropes digging into their limbs, the place littered with debris.

A tall man stood over them, his presence dark and imposing, eyes sharp enough to cut.

The stout man's body trembled uncontrollably. "Who on earth put you up to this? I swear—I never laid a hand on Mrs. Bradley's drink!" he babbled.

Rory's jaw tightened, fury flaring across his features as he stepped forward to deliver another blow.

Before his fist landed, the metal door slammed open.

Rylee strode inside, her quiet, obedient facade nowhere in sight. She reached for a discarded metal pipe, testing its weight before moving toward the stout man.

The factory rang with his ragged screams as she hit him with the pipe.

With her gaze blazing, Rylee barked out the demand. "There's no damn reason for you to come after me. Why the hell did you drug me? Spit it out."

Saul coughed up a mouthful of blood, panic twisting his features. "Mrs. Bradley, please—have mercy! I swear I didn't drug you, and I never laid a hand on you last night! It was..."

One of his bound henchmen lurched forward, lowering his voice in a frantic whisper. "Mr. Bradley made it clear—we're not to say a word, no matter what."

Torn between conflicting fears for two people, Saul collapsed into a miserable wail. "I'm innocent, I really am!"

Rylee's lashes lowered as suspicion sharpened inside her. Something about the exchange felt off.

Her gaze locked on the meddling henchman.

She caught the way Saul's gaze faltered, the truth trembling on his lips—right before the henchman cut in.

Rylee tilted her chin at Rory. "Hold him for me."

Rory signaled his men, and two of them stepped in, pinning the henchman to the filthy floor.

Closing the distance, Rylee slipped her fingers to his collar and lifted a miniature camera free.

She straightened and turned to Saul, a glacial smile curving across her mouth. "Mr. Smith, are you planning to run another little stunt?"

Meanwhile, in the Bradley Mansion, Alec sat rigidly before the glowing monitor, the live feed spilling across the screen.

Then the image shattered into static.

The final frame froze on Rylee's soft, taunting smile.

Beneath Alec's steady gaze, a storm began to coil.

Was this really the same Rylee he thought he knew?

He once believed she would always swallow every slight without a word.

Yet tonight shattered that illusion—he had never truly seen Rylee for who she was.

Growing up beside her had made him arrogant enough to think he knew everything about her.

Jaycob's call cut through his disbelief.

"Mr. Bradley, who knew Mrs. Bradley would be bold enough to quietly bring Rory on board—and unleash payback this savage! She even caught the man we planted, though he managed not to expose your identity."

Alec felt a strange, simmering irritation rise in his chest.

Rylee hadn't turned to him at all—she had gone to Rory instead.

Unbelievable.

Had she gotten daring enough to pretend he no longer mattered?

He answered with a low command, "Jaycob, get over there and pull Saul and his group out. If Rylee tries to stop you, tell her you're acting on my orders."

Jaycob barreled into the factory with his men, boots scraping across the concrete.

Saul lay crumpled in the corner, his face so mangled it was hard to tell where the bruises ended and the blood began.

Jaycob froze for a beat, shaken by this brutal, unfamiliar edge to Rylee.

Tension thickened as Jaycob and Rory squared off, their crews glowering at each other like two packs on the verge of tearing into a fight.

Jaycob cleared his throat and stated, "Mr. Bradley told me Mr. Smith is one of our partners, so let's not take this any further."

Rylee let out a low, amused breath, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Jaycob, I called Alec for help this morning and he never showed. Now he's suddenly interested? Tell me—does a business deal mean more to him than I do?"

Left scrambling for a response, Jaycob just stared in silence.

Rory pieced the situation together, fury darkening his expression. "Has Alec lost his damn mind?"

Dropping his gaze, Jaycob answered through a tight jaw, "Mrs. Bradley, Mr. Bradley made it clear—no one's supposed to get hurt over a petty mess like this."

Rylee felt something inside her collapse. A hollow little laugh slipped out—mocking herself for ever expecting more.

In Alec's world, she wasn't worth as much attention as a mediocre business deal.

She stood motionless as Jaycob escorted the battered Saul and his henchmen away, her expression drained of warmth.

"Rory, could you put together a divorce agreement for me? I'm not asking for a cent. I just want it done as fast as possible."

Rory's fury ebbed into something steadier. "Rylee, you've always known exactly what you want, but this time? Let me give you one piece of advice. Don't just walk away—take what's rightfully yours. Got it?"

She answered with a soft nod, "All right."

Worry flickered openly across Rory's eyes.

He lifted a hand, meaning to smooth a reassuring palm over her long hair, but she'd already turned, walking away before he could touch her.

"Rory, I'll wait for your update," she called over her shoulder.

His hand dropped uselessly to his side, a sharp ache tightening in his chest.

He told himself it was fine—tomorrow would give him another chance.

...

From the balcony, Alec watched a pair of headlights slice through the distant dark.

The car barreled up the drive at an audacious speed, and then whipped into a flawless drift that sent gravel skittering across the pavement.

A flicker of surprise crossed his features.

Never in his wildest thoughts had he pictured Rylee behind the wheel like that.

And it wasn't just her driving—she had tracked down Saul and orchestrated retaliation under the cover of night.

How had he ever convinced himself she was dull, forgettable, and incapable?

Her car rolled to a stop outside the house. Rylee jumped out the moment the engine quieted, sprinting toward the entrance with fluid, athletic grace.

His gaze lingered on the slim outline of her figure as she moved.

This Rylee pulsed with life—sharp, vivid, unpredictable.

How many versions of her had he failed to see?

With a sharp crash, the door flew inward.

Rylee strode inside, breath still quick from the run. From outside, she had already spotted him on the balcony.

Alec slipped his phone into his pocket and turned, wearing that cool, untouchable expression he always used as a shield. "Why are you wandering around at this hour? As long as you're in the Bradley Mansion, stay in line and don't make a mess of anything."

Drawing a steady breath, she bit down on her lip, forcing back the surge of anger and disappointment clawing at her chest. "We'll be divorced before long—so stop pretending my life still has anything to do with you."

The door closed with a thud before her footsteps vanished into the bathroom for yet another shower.

When she finished, she curled up on the sofa without a word, her back firmly angled away from him.

Alec crossed the room toward the massive bed, but his gaze slipped toward the quiet woman lying on the cushions, lingering on the delicate curve of her ankle peeking from beneath the blanket.

Angry red scratches streaked across her skin, still oozing faint threads of blood.

A sharp, unwelcome sting cut through his chest at the sight.

Barely above a whisper, his voice reached for her. "Rylee."

She didn't so much as flinch.

Irritation tightening his jaw, he crossed the room and caught her arm.

The sudden pull nearly sent her tumbling off the cushions.

How could she weigh so little—like someone surviving on nothing but scraps and scars.

He caught her around the waist before she fell, steadying her narrow frame against him.

Startled, Rylee clutched at his shirt, her eyes wide and shaken. "What the hell are you doing?"

Only then did Alec feel the bite of his own impatience, the rough edge in the way he'd grabbed her.

Regret clawed at his chest for a brief second—then he let her slip from his grasp. "If you're hurt, deal with it. Make sure Grandma doesn't see this—she'll jump to all the wrong conclusions."

Rylee followed the direction of his gaze and noticed the scrape along her ankle.

It wasn't the sort of thing she ever bothered with.

By then, Alec had already grabbed the medicine kit and dropped it onto the carpet with a dull thud. "Get it cleaned up," he said, voice clipped.

The chill in his tone nicked at her far deeper than the wound itself.

He never sounded like that with Claire… so what was she still clinging to?

She lowered her face, letting the shadow hide her disappointment, and quietly pulled out the iodine to dab at the cut.

Alec shifted into a lazy sprawl across the sheets. "Three minutes. After that, lights off. Don't keep me awake."

Heat flared in her chest, and she snapped, "Zoie, turn off the lights."

"On it, ma'am. Lights going off now," Zoie, the smart system, chimed sweetly.

Alec bit back the urge to roll his eyes.