Chapter 131

Chapter 131
Sheryl's POV

The clock was approaching eleven, and anxiety gnawed at my insides. Where was Rhett? I paced the study, glancing repeatedly at my phone. What if something had happened to him? What if Kenneth's killers were still out there, plotting against ?

My mind conjured increasingly dark scenarios. I was about to call him when the sound of tires on gravel caught my attention, followed by headlights briefly illuminating the study windows. Relief washed over me instantly.

I hurried downstairs, my bare feet padding against the hardwood floors. All the lights were on throughout the house—I'd turned them on one by one as the night grew later, as if brightness could somehow keep my fears at bay.

Rhett stood in the doorway, his eyes warming as they landed on me. I was still in my white silk robe, loosely tied at the waist, my hair half-dry and cascading over my shoulders. I could feel his gaze taking me in, and despite everything we'd been through, I still felt a flutter when he looked at me that way.

"You're back so late," I said, the worry lines between my brows finally relaxing. "I thought something had happened."

"Were you worried about me?" His long fingers touched my forehead, gently smoothing away the remaining tension. "What could possibly happen to me?"

As he moved closer, I caught an unfamiliar scent—his usual cologne and tobacco notes were there, but underneath was the unmistakable fragrance of shower gel.

"You showered before coming back?" I asked, studying him. He was wearing a simple black shirt, the top buttons undone as usual, revealing a glimpse of his chest.

"Such a keen sense of smell," he teased, playfully pinching the tip of my nose. "Maybe I should call you my little bloodhound."

I sniffed deliberately. "Coming home this late after showering somewhere else? You weren't out fooling around, were you?"

His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer as he breathed in my scent. "Is that really what you think of your husband?" he asked, his amber eyes meeting my suspicious gaze with amusement.

"Well, you are the man with over a hundred rumored girlfriends," I replied with a teasing smile.

His eyebrows immediately knit together. "Sheryl, are you asking for trouble?"

I laughed and tried to step away, but his arms held me firmly. He hugged me tight, his hand running through my damp hair before lowering his head to inhale deeply, his eyes closing in contentment.

"I got something on my clothes at my grandfather's, so I changed. Nothing escapes that nose of yours, does it?"

With my chin resting on his shoulder, I couldn't help but smile. "Rhett," I said softly.

"Hmm?" His response was lazy, relaxed.

When I didn't continue, he kissed the top of my head, his eyes half-lidded. "What is it?"

My hands rested at his trim waist, feeling the heat of his skin and the firm muscles of his abdomen through the thin fabric of his shirt. I fingered the edge of his shirt, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's already late... do you still want to try for a baby?"

His lips curved into a smile as he realized what had been on my mind. In one smooth motion, he swept me up into his arms.

Startled by the sudden movement, I wrapped my arms around his neck, meeting his playful gaze.

"Since you brought it up, absolutely," he said, his smile turning mischievous as he carried me toward the stairs.

"Sheryl."

"Yes?"

"You've gotten lighter again."

"No, I haven't. I ate a lot for dinner."

"Then eat more tomorrow."

As he carried me up the stairs, I rested my head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent. Despite the fresh soap smell, something was off—there was the faintest trace of antiseptic, like from a hospital. But before I could dwell on it, his lips found mine, and all questions vanished from my mind.

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Darren's POV

The black Mercedes glided smoothly along the wide avenue as I sat in the backseat, my phone pressed against my ear. The call wasn't going well.

"Running away, Darren?" The middle-aged man on the other end asked bluntly.

I adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on my nose. "That's a harsh way to put it. I'm simply taking a vacation."

"A vacation that requires moving assets?" He laughed coldly. "You really think I don't know what you're planning?"

I glanced at the tablet Alex handed me, scanning the dense list of information displayed on the screen.

"My physical absence from Boston doesn't affect our partnership," I said smoothly. "You maintain our interests domestically, I open doors internationally. This massive market will belong to us both."

The man's voice grew serious. "You can leave, but not now."

My eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"There's something you don't know," he continued. "Kenneth Hayes didn't just collect evidence back then. He had a list he never handed over. Your name is on it. So is mine. And his. If this list ever surfaces, it becomes our death warrant."

I frowned, tossing the tablet back to Alex. "Why am I just hearing about this now?"

Alex couldn't hear the other party, but he could see my growing displeasure. My body language had shifted, tension radiating from me as I processed this potentially devastating information.

"Because I haven't found it yet," the man replied with a mocking laugh.

"If you haven't found it, maybe it doesn't exist," I countered.

"Real or not, we need to know for certain!" His voice rose slightly. "We've been laying groundwork for years. If this list exists, everything we've built crumbles. We'll have money we won't live to spend."

I considered this for a moment. "If that's the case, could his son have it?"

"I'm not certain, but you need to find it—by any means necessary. Once that list is destroyed, we're in the clear." He paused thoughtfully. "As for Rhett, difficult as he is, he's not unmanageable. Find his weakness, and trust me, he'll hand over everything he has."

"Understood," I replied, my expression darkening. "I'll handle it."

"By the way, that last batch of kids we sent overseas worked out well. The boss over there wants another shipment. Young, beautiful women."

The line went dead. I tossed the phone to Alex with undisguised irritation. "What a headache."

Alex, noticing my foul mood, asked, "Should I cancel tonight's dinner with George Wright?"

"That old man may be retired, but he still holds Hayes Enterprise shares," I said, pushing my glasses back up my nose. "We need him to hand those over. The dinner stands."