Chapter 168

Chapter 168
Sheryl's POV

"I know you're upset about Cherisse..." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "I swear to God, before our marriage and during it, you're the only woman I've ever been with. You're the only woman I've ever loved."

His tears fell hot against my skin as he whispered, "And you'll be the only one for the rest of my life."

I stood rigid, my mind reeling. His words made no sense. What did he mean, the only woman he'd been with? I could name over a hundred women he'd been linked to since our marriage. The tabloids had documented every one.

The heat from his body burned through my clothes. I could feel his heart hammering against my back, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

I broke free, stumbling away, turning to face him with wide, disbelieving eyes. His were red-rimmed, glistening with tears. I couldn't tell if his words were truth or manipulation.

He seemed to read my doubt. "It's late," he said with a sad smile. "Get some rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

I retreated to my bedroom like a coward, slamming and locking the door behind me, not even bothering to worry about him having no bedding for the too-small couch.

I told myself Rhett was playing me again, using his charm and good looks to manipulate me. The most handsome men are always the best liars—every movie and TV show tells you that. When they look at you with those beautiful eyes, they're calculating how to deceive you. When they cry, it's to soften your heart, to make you vulnerable.

Especially a man like Rhett Hayes, forged in the ruthless fires of corporate warfare. Manipulation and strategy were second nature to him. If he wanted to fool you, it would be effortless.

"Liar," I hissed through clenched teeth.

Rhett's POV

I settled into an uncomfortable half-lying position, one leg on the couch, the other touching the floor. After days without proper sleep, surrounded by the familiar scent of her perfume lingering in the apartment, my eyelids grew heavy.

Just as I was about to drift off, an unmistakable sound broke the silence—a rhythmic thumping against the wall, accompanied by a woman's passionate moans from the next apartment.

My eyes snapped open. I glanced toward the closed bedroom door, my throat suddenly dry.

Sheryl must have heard it too. I could picture her lying in bed, eyes wide open, listening to the same performance filtering through the thin walls. I wondered if she was thinking of me, if she remembered how we'd once made those same sounds together.

The neighbor's enthusiasm continued unabated, punctuated by banging furniture. I lit another cigarette, trying to distract myself from the torturous soundtrack and the images it conjured of the woman just behind that bedroom door.

My phone lit up, and I answered it before the ring could disturb Sheryl.

"Evening, boss," Joel's voice came through.

"It's three in the morning. You called to say good evening?" I kept my voice low.

"Shit, forgot about the time difference between Boston and Italy," he laughed. "But I've got news you need to hear."

"Go ahead."

"Darren Hayes is dead. Seen the news?"

I hadn't had time for news lately. Joel sent several links to my phone.

"Police report says his charity organization was involved in illegal transactions. They're investigating deeply now. Darren was being transferred between detention facilities when his transport vehicle crashed and exploded. The official statement says he died in the accident."

I scanned the articles Joel had sent, frowning. "Dead?"

"Yeah. Blown to bits, apparently."

"There's something else," Joel continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Remember that thing you asked me to look into for your wife? About her friend's brother?"

"What about it?" I asked impatiently.

"The kid was definitely shipped overseas through that charity organization, disguised as an exchange student. He wasn't alone—about twenty other kids and a group of women went with him. Guess where they ended up?"

"Just tell me," I growled.

"Italy," Joel emphasized. "Where you are right now."

Italy? I extinguished my cigarette. "Where exactly?"

"Don't know the specific city. This involves international jurisdiction, so the police are moving carefully. The public statement only mentions investigating the charity."

"Got it," I said, preparing to end the call. Sheryl might be sleeping, and I didn't want the noise to wake her.

"Wait," Joel interjected. "Did you find her? Sheryl?"

I made a soft affirmative sound.

"You did?" his voice rose in excitement, then he winced. "Fuck, that hurts."

I caught the pain in his voice. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing much. Just got roughed up by some of Darren's former employees. They needed someone to blame now that their boss is in custody—or was, I guess."

I'd forgotten about that. Joel talked tough but couldn't take a punch.

"I'll arrange some security for you."

"No need," he protested. "I'm a grown man. Having bodyguards would just make me look weak."

I chuckled. "At least you're self-aware."

"Enough about me. What about you and Sheryl? Did you apologize? Did she forgive you?"

I glanced at her closed door. "Not yet. These things take time."

"Did you try my method? Crying, making a scene, threatening something dramatic? She might soften up if you show some vulnerability."

"Watch less TV drama," I advised, ending the call.

The passionate noises next door finally ceased. I checked the time and smirked. Only half an hour?

In the bedroom, I could sense Sheryl wasn't sleeping either. She'd probably heard fragments of my conversation. Eventually, the apartment fell silent, and I heard her breathing even out as she drifted off to sleep.

I remained awake, staring at the ceiling, planning my next move. I couldn't keep this standoff going much longer. The stakes were too high.

What if, in the process of waiting her out, she truly stopped loving me?

That thought kept me awake until dawn began to break over the Italian horizon.