Chapter 135

Chapter 135
Sheryl's POV

The text message from Rhett came in the afternoon: "Dinner tonight? I'll have Mark pick you up. I'll meet you at the restaurant."

I agreed, feeling a flutter of anticipation. After everything that had happened with Robert, I needed this—a few hours of normalcy with my husband.

By seven o'clock, I'd chosen a soft blue-gray ensemble—a fluffy cardigan over a long dress. As I stepped outside, Mark gave me a concerned look.

"Mrs. Hayes, are you feeling unwell today?"

I wasn't sick, just exhausted. Putting on that performance for Robert had drained me more than I'd realized. But the thought of dinner with Rhett had brightened my mood considerably.

"I'm fine," I smiled, sliding into the car. "Is Rhett already at the restaurant?"

"Mr. Hayes arrived a few minutes ago," Mark confirmed, pulling away from the estate.

We'd barely made it down the driveway when Jack's phone rang. He answered quickly before passing it back to me.

"Mrs. Hayes, it's Mr. Hayes."

Before I could even speak, I noticed Mark turning the car around, heading back toward the estate. My stomach sank.

"Sheryl, are you there?" Rhett's smooth voice came through the speaker.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, but something's come up. Mark will take you back home."

Another canceled dinner. I was about to respond when I heard a woman's voice in the background.

"Mr. Hayes, Miss Cole is still unconscious. I had no choice but to call you!"

Of course. Cherisse Cole. Again.

I hung up, a bitter smile playing on my lips. Why had I expected anything different?

---

Night had fallen completely by the time I settled into a lounge chair by the pool. No stars peppered the ink-black sky tonight. The warm lights around the pool cast rippling reflections on the water's surface, illuminating my face in shifting patterns.

I heard a car pull into the driveway but didn't move. Minutes later, footsteps approached from behind, and a suit jacket landed gently across my shoulders. It carried his distinctive woody cologne. Rhett ruffled my hair and crouched beside me.

"What are you doing out here? Aren't you cold?"

I kept my eyes fixed on the pool. "How's Cherisse?"

"You heard her, then?" he asked.

I almost laughed. Sarah had practically shouted into the phone. Did he think I was deaf?

When I didn't respond, Rhett sensed my mood. "I got a call from Sarah after I landed. She said Cherisse was unconscious with a high fever."

In the dim light, his black shirt made his chiseled features look even more pronounced. His dark eyes sought mine as he explained, "I couldn't ignore it. Not in that situation."

"Of course not," I turned to face him with a cold smile. "She saved your life, after all. How could you possibly ignore your life-saving benefactor when she's ill?"

I'd already guessed he'd have a reasonable explanation, one I couldn't logically argue with. Objectively, I understood. But subjectively? I couldn't help but mind.

I didn't know how long this would continue or what Rhett meant when he'd previously said "not for long." How much longer would I have to share my husband with his past?

Rhett took my hand between his, rubbing it gently. "Are you angry?"

"Wouldn't you be?" I pulled my hand away. "Rhett, you've canceled our plans for Cherisse again."

The last time had been on my birthday. I'd sat alone in a restaurant until midnight.

"I was wrong," he admitted, reaching for my hand again, but I moved it away.

The white kitten in my lap, which had been sleeping, opened its eyes and twitched its ears, apparently unaware of the tension. Catching Rhett's scent, it prepared to leap toward him.

I held it back. "Whose side are you on, his or mine?" After all, I'd been the one feeding and caring for it these past few days, yet the moment Rhett returned, the little traitor wanted him.

Rhett mistook my irritated question to the cat as one directed at him—asking whether he preferred me or Cherisse. He looked at me, dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "You, of course."

I glanced at him briefly, assuming he was responding to my question about the cat. I stroked the fluffy creature in my lap, my emotions a tangled mess.

I'd had so much to tell Rhett tonight. I'd missed him desperately and couldn't wait to see him. I wanted to tell him everything about my mother, to share my hurt, my confusion, my plans.

But the moment I heard Sarah's voice on that phone call, everything I wanted to say evaporated. All that remained was a bone-deep weariness—not physical fatigue, but an emotional exhaustion so complete that even speaking felt like too much effort.

When I wouldn't let him hold my hand, Rhett wrapped an arm around my waist and looked up at me. "I'm sorry. You can take it out on me however you want."

After a moment, I met his gaze. "Rhett."

"Yes?"

"Send her away," I said seriously. "Any city, any country—I don't care. Can you do that?"

My expression made it clear I wasn't joking or just being petty.

Rhett studied my eyes for a long moment before shaking his head. "Not now. I can't."

I stared at him for two seconds, then laughed softly as I stood up. "What was I expecting?"

His jacket fell to the ground. I didn't spare it a glance.

Seeing me leave, Rhett rose to his full height, his imposing figure blocking my path. "Sheryl, she won't come between us. I promise."

"I know." I looked up at him. "The biggest obstacle isn't Cherisse—it's that life debt you can't seem to repay."

As long as that debt existed, he and Cherisse would remain connected. Whenever she needed anything, he would respond.

I couldn't decipher Rhett's feelings for Cherisse. Sometimes he seemed indifferent; other times, deeply concerned. The relationship was too complex and ambiguous—like a splinter I could neither push in nor pull out.

I was tired of guessing, tired of questioning. I just wanted Rhett to send her away, as far as possible, to remove her from our lives completely.

But he couldn't do it.

So be it.