Chapter 165
Chapter 165
Rhett's POV
As we exited the Hayes estate, Jack glanced at me expectantly. "Should I prepare the jet to Italy, sir?"
I checked my watch, calculating the timing. "Yes. Schedule departure for two hours from now." I paused, making a critical decision. "But first, take me to Riverland Medical."
The facility where Cherisse had been recovering for the past two years. Where I'd kept her comfortable, safe, and far enough away from my life with Sheryl. Until she decided that wasn't enough anymore.
---
"No, that's not what I meant! That's not what happened!"
Cherisse scrambled desperately for the voice recorder, her fingers trembling too violently to press the stop button. Frustration overtaking her, she hurled it to the floor with surprising force for someone in her condition, shattering the device into pieces.
"I had found out that Vanessa had recently escaped from the psychiatric hospital and met Sheryl, all orchestrated by Cherisse.
"I didn't mean it like that, Rhett!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.
The damning recording had already played enough. I studied her with detached interest, like a scientist observing a particularly disappointing specimen.
"Cherisse," I said, my voice deliberately calm, "when you coached Vanessa to say those things knowing Sheryl would hear them, did you consider the consequences?"
"No, no, it wasn't like that!" she protested, shaking her head frantically. "I didn't mean to—"
"What was your endgame?" I leaned back in the leather armchair, a cold smile playing on my lips. "To break up my marriage? And then what? I'd marry you instead?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Are you still chasing the same fantasy from six years ago?"
My words fell like ice between us. I could see her body stiffen as the blood drained from her face.
"I kept you in my life out of gratitude because you saved me two years ago," I continued, studying her reaction. "Was that your security blanket? Your justification for this interference?"
I settled deeper into the chair, a predator comfortable before striking. "I must admit, you're clever. Six years ago, you wormed your way into my life as Darren's spy. Now, you've targeted Sheryl's vulnerabilities, manufacturing these misunderstandings to drive her away."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Sarah's shocked expression. Clearly, Cherisse had fed her caretaker a different version of events.
Cherisse looked up at me, her tear-stained face twisting into a bitter smile.
"You think you know everything, Rhett, but do you understand me at all?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Six years! Whatever my reasons were for coming into your life initially, I've spent six real years with you!"
She pounded her paralyzed legs with her fists. "Don't forget, my legs are like this because I saved you! If not for me, you'd be the one blind or crippled! Everything I did regarding Sheryl was because I love you! What right do you have to blame me?"
Her voice rose to a fevered pitch. "I was willing to sacrifice my life for you! What has Sheryl ever done? Was she there during those unbearable nights after you just returned to Boston?"
She was screaming now, her face contorted with rage and desperation. "All she does is argue with you and test your patience! Listen to me, Rhett—I'm the woman who truly loves you! Do you honestly believe Sheryl loves you?"
My composed expression finally darkened. Cherisse's tears gave way to a triumphant smile, sensing she'd struck a nerve.
She continued, her eyes glittering dangerously. "I didn't want to hurt you. But Rhett, does Sheryl truly love you? If she did, how could she have so little trust in you?"
She leaned forward, her voice softening to a desperate plea. "I've never betrayed you, never harmed you. The only person who stands unconditionally by your side is me, Cherisse Cole."
My fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest as I listened to her tirade. When she finished, a smile curved my lips, though it never reached my eyes. Behind me, Jack and Mark exchanged knowing glances—they recognized the dangerous shift in my demeanor.
"I've been far too merciful with you," I said, rising from the chair.
I walked toward her, towering over her wheelchair. "You saved my life once. In return, I spared yours."
Without warning, I brought my polished leather shoe down hard on the voice recorder fragments on the floor.
Cherisse's eyes widened in shock, her face draining of all color as she understood the implied threat.
"Ahhh!" she screamed, collapsing forward in her wheelchair.
The moment I got out, I contacted my people in Italy to find out where Sheryl had landed, then told Jack to prep the private jet.
Sheryl's POV
Snowflakes drifted lazily from the night sky, blanketing Turin in a gentle white coat. It was CioccolaTò. The weather hadn't dampened anyone's spirits at the festival. Fireworks exploded overhead while elderly gentlemen and children twirled sparklers in elaborate patterns. The warm glow of bonfires cast dancing shadows across jubilant faces.
The scene softened my initial impression of Turin after being mugged after landing. For a moment, I felt the warmth of belonging among these strangers.
"Big baby, little baby! Look this way!"
Nearby, a young man adjusted his camera, framing the perfect shot of his wife and their four-year-old daughter. Both beamed with unrestrained happiness—a picture-perfect family portrait.
I watched them for a few seconds, my throat tightening inexplicably. Turning away, I spotted a young couple locked in an embrace, their fingers intertwined as if nothing in the universe could separate them.
The joyful scene only amplified my own isolation and melancholy. I prepared to leave.
"Hey, beautiful lady!" A bright-eyed blonde girl approached, offering me two sparklers. "Fireworks represent wishes and blessings. I noticed you didn't have any, so here—they say wishes made over sparklers always come true!"
I accepted them with a grateful smile. She bounced away, leaving me holding one half-burned sparkler and one unlit. Watching the crowd making wishes upon their flickering lights, I decided to join in.
I pressed my hands together, about to close my eyes when the first sparkler fizzled out. One left, but no lighter. I looked around, hoping to borrow one.
Click.
A flame appeared beside me. A pale, elegant wrist extended into my field of vision, long fingers wrapped around a matte black lighter. The blue-green flame illuminated perfectly manicured nails and strong, familiar knuckles.