Chapter 167

Chapter 167
Sheryl's POV

Before he could say anything, I fled from Rhett as fast as my legs would carry me and rushed back to my rented apartment. The command had been clear—stay away. I needed space. I needed to breathe without the suffocating weight of his presence.

Now, freshly showered, I sat on the small couch in the warm glow of the lamp, half-heartedly toweling my damp hair. Try as I might, I couldn't stop picturing his face and those red eyes of his.

Even in our brief encounter, the changes in him were obvious. He looked worn around the edges, dark circles shadowing those usually imperious eyes. Eyes that had seemed dimmer, softer somehow. Less like the arrogant businessman who commanded rooms and more like...

I sighed heavily into the quiet apartment. What was I doing feeling sorry for him? He'd made his choices.

Turning toward the window, I caught my own reflection staring back at me—large eyes with deep-set lids that used to sparkle with life. Now they seemed flat, colorless. When had that happened? When had I lost the ability to feel genuine happiness?

I couldn't deny that Rhett's sudden appearance had stirred something in me. Hatred? Resentment? Longing? Whatever it was, it had disrupted the carefully constructed calm I'd built since walking away. They say time heals all wounds, but I wondered how much time I needed before I could look at him as a stranger—someone whose glance wouldn't send my thoughts spinning wildly in all directions.

Just as I was about to get up and finish drying my hair before bed, footsteps sounded outside my door.

This apartment wasn't anything special—one bedroom, one bath, decent size and light, but the walls were paper-thin. Every footfall in the hallway might as well have been inside my living room.

The steps outside paused, hesitant. I assumed it was probably Aiko, the Japanese tourist from next door who'd shyly knocked yesterday to borrow some water. Maybe she needed something again but was too embarrassed to knock.

I crossed to the door and pulled it open without thinking—and froze.

That familiar scent of mint and cedar hit me before I fully registered the tall figure standing there. Rhett, still in just his black shirt, a cigarette between his fingers, looking equally surprised that I'd opened the door.

I slammed it shut immediately, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I leaned against the door, telling myself to ignore him, to go to bed and pretend I'd seen nothing. But then my brain caught up with what my eyes had noticed—he wasn't wearing his coat anymore. Just that thin black shirt in the cold corridor of an unheated building.

Cursing my weakness, I opened the door again.

The surprise in his eyes melted into something warmer, more dangerous. A hint of victory in his smile made me regret my decision instantly.

"Miss me already?" he asked, extinguishing his cigarette.

"Why are you here?" I demanded, ignoring his question as I frowned at him.

"Bad neighborhood," he replied, his eyes traveling over my face. "Couldn't leave you alone here."

I glanced pointedly at his thin shirt. "Go home, Rhett. Stop bothering me."

He made no move to leave. "I'll stay right here. Won't disturb you. Pretend I don't exist."

I stared at him in disbelief. How was I supposed to ignore a six-foot-two man camping outside my door? Especially when that man was my soon-to-be ex-husband?

His eyes flickered to my wet hair, his brow furrowing slightly. He started to lift his hand toward me, then dropped it.

"Go dry your hair and get some sleep," he said softly. "Don't catch cold."

He began to pull the door closed, and something in his quiet concern made me step back and open it wider.

"Come in," I said, immediately regretting it when I saw the satisfaction flash in his eyes.

Rhett walked in without hesitation—not at all like someone who hadn't planned on coming inside. I realized I'd been played by my own soft heart.

He surveyed the small apartment with undisguised distaste, his lips thinning as he took in the modest surroundings.

"I'm only letting you in to talk," I clarified, moving past him to sit on the couch. "So we don't disturb the neighbors."

The message was clear: say your piece, then leave.

But Rhett settled beside me on the couch, close enough that his scent enveloped me, making my heart race traitorously. I'd forgotten how much I'd missed that smell.

"The staff at Pine Grove say my mother keeps asking for you. She wants to play with you."

I felt a twinge at the mention of Ophelia. Rhett knew I'd taken the old doll his aunt had given me, knew I cared about her.

"She misses you," he said softly, studying my face. Then, his voice dropping to a husky whisper: "Sheryl, I miss you too. So much."

I stood abruptly. "Stop this. Just go."

Before I could move away, strong arms encircled me from behind. One hand spanned my waist, the other curved over my shoulder, trapping me against his chest. His chin rested on my shoulder, his warm breath sending shivers down my neck.

I grabbed the hand on my shoulder, trying to pry it loose, when something hot splashed onto my skin. A tear. His tear.

My breath caught. I froze.

"Sheryl..." His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable.