Chapter 122

Chapter 122
Claudia's POV

I approached the bedroom door, freezing when I heard Rhett's voice. Not his usual commanding tone or the sharp, cutting remarks he was known for in business circles, but something else entirely—tender and pleading.

"Baby, please stop crying. Just look at me?"

I shook my head in disbelief, goosebumps rising on my arms. This could not be the same Rhett Hayes—Boston's most notorious playboy, the man who terrorized boardrooms and had half the city's eligible women chasing after him.

Yet here he was, practically begging on his knees for Sheryl to just look at him.

"Hell must be freezing over," I muttered to myself.

Unfortunately, Rhett's superhuman hearing caught my comment. The tender voice vanished instantly as he stood, his expression returning to its usual detached coolness.

"Eavesdropping, Claudia?" he asked dryly.

"Please," I scoffed, walking into the room. "I came to check on Sheryl."

The woman in question had stopped crying, though her eyes remained red and swollen.

Sheryl sat up slowly, and I rushed forward to help her, deliberately nudging Rhett aside. "How are you feeling, sweetie? Any pain?"

She shook her head, her eyes deliberately avoiding Rhett. "I don't want to see him right now. Make him leave."

Rhett looked momentarily stunned, clearly not used to being dismissed.

I turned to him with satisfaction. "You heard my girl. She doesn't want to see you."

To his credit, Rhett didn't argue. He simply touched Sheryl's hair gently and said, "I'll get you something to eat," before leaving the room.

Once he was gone, I sat on the edge of the bed. "What's going on, Sher? You're still angry with him?"

"He shouldn't have lied to me," she said quietly, looking down at her hands.

I nodded, understanding completely. That bastard had gone too far this time. Faking his own death without telling his wife? Did he really think so little of her feelings?

"That son of a bitch deserves a slow, painful—" I caught Sheryl's wounded expression and quickly amended, "—but obviously not actually fatal death."

Sheryl sat against the headboard, her face pale under the bedroom lights.

"My dad told me someone was trying to kill him," I explained. "He staged the whole thing to catch them. Used body doubles in the car so the attackers would think they succeeded, then planned to catch them red-handed."

I reached out to smooth her hair. "Maybe you could forgive him? He looked pretty miserable begging for your attention earlier."

Seeing Rhett Hayes, Boston's golden prince who acted like the world owed him everything, practically on his knees for Sheryl's forgiveness was something I never thought I'd witness.

The kitchen downstairs erupted in noise—pots clanging, cabinets opening and closing. I went to investigate, finding Rhett—all six-foot-something of pure male perfection—standing awkwardly in a space he clearly rarely entered. Even in a simple white t-shirt and black pants, he exuded that unmistakable aura of wealth and privilege that seemed coded into his DNA.

"Hey," I called out. "Sheryl says she wants something sweet. Figure it out."

He turned, the kitchen lights highlighting those annoyingly perfect features that had my best friend so smitten. No wonder Sheryl fell for him—the man was criminally handsome.

"Thanks," he said with a slight smile.

"Don't thank me," I pointed a warning finger at him. "If you hurt her again, I'll—"

"You'll what?" he asked, eyebrow raised in challenge.

I glared at him, trying to think of a threat that might actually intimidate a man like Rhett Hayes. "I'll tell my father to put silver handcuffs on your Christmas list."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "My eternal gratitude, Miss Wellington."

Sheryl's POV

I stood on the balcony, gazing out at the night skyline of Boston, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions inside me.

Warm arms suddenly encircled my waist from behind, a solid chest pressing against my back as Rhett rested his chin atop my head. His familiar scent enveloped me—expensive cologne undercut with something uniquely him.

"Why are you up?" His deep voice vibrated through me. "Claudia mentioned you wanted something sweet. Want to try what I made?"

I lowered my eyes. I'd only said that because Claudia kept asking if I wanted food. In truth, I had no appetite.

Maintaining my position, I asked quietly, "What really happened, Rhett?"

His lips brushed my hair. "It's over now. Nothing to worry about."

Even now, he was keeping me in the dark. I pulled away from his embrace and turned to face him. "I know you staged your death. I know it was part of your plan. But why did you have to lie to me too?"

When I'd heard the news of his supposed death, something inside me had shattered. After losing my mother, Rhett was the last person I truly loved in this world. Without him, there would be nothing left tying me to this life.

My world had already been broken once—I couldn't bear another loss like that.

I kept my expression carefully neutral, hiding the hurt beneath.

"I wasn't trying to keep you in the dark," he explained gently. "I was trying to protect you."

Some people always hide behind good intentions while doing things that terrify you.

"How many secrets are you keeping from me?" I demanded. "What exactly are you involved in? Why would someone want you dead? What are you planning?"

"Those men who chased my car before, including that severed finger that was delivered..." The bloody image flashed in my mind, making me shiver. "You told me it was about money. Was this accident about money too?"

"Or are you doing something I'm not allowed to know about? If you really died someday, would I only learn about it from strangers?" My voice cracked despite my efforts. "If today's accident had been real, would I not even get to say goodbye? Or do I have no right to know anything about your life?"

The questions poured out of me, every fear and doubt I'd been harboring since waking up.

Rhett stared at me, his expression inscrutable, those dark eyes revealing nothing of what he was thinking.

Seconds ticked by in silence.

"Forget it," I finally said with a bitter smile. If he wouldn't talk, I wouldn't beg.

I moved to walk past him back into the bedroom.

His hand suddenly caught my wrist, his palm burning hot against my skin.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"I'm seeking revenge," he said quietly.

Four simple words, delivered softly, but they made my spine stiffen.

"There are people who want me dead," he continued. "And people I need to eliminate. I didn't want to involve you, to put you in danger."