Chapter 158

Chapter 158
Rhett's POV

Her words cut deeper than any knife. Worse than talk of divorce—this was her rejecting not just our future, but our entire past. Everything we'd built.

My throat tightened as I leaned down to press my lips against hers, trying to silence whatever might come next. Her lips were dry, unresponsive, but she didn't push me away.

"Tell me what you want, Sheryl," I whispered against her mouth. "Anything. Just tell me."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her pale lips.

"I don't want anything anymore." The unspoken addition hung in the air: Including you.

Silence filled the room as we reached an impasse. No matter what I said, she refused to open her eyes, refused to look at me. Eventually, I stopped trying.

"That's okay," I finally said, stroking her cheek. "Take your time."

She turned away, burying half her face in the pillow.

I spent the rest of the night watching her sleep from the armchair, unmoving, unwilling to leave her side even as dawn broke through the curtains. My phone vibrated—Anthony with the preparations for Alex.

I stood, muscles stiff from the night's vigil, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"I need to handle something. Rest. Tell Martha what you want to eat when you wake up."

As expected, she gave no response. I lingered a moment longer, memorizing the curve of her face, before forcing myself to leave.

---

The private estate outside Boston sprawled across acres of manicured lawn, now glistening with morning dew. The black Audi pulled through the gates precisely at eight, just as instructed.

Alex emerged in a crisp black pantsuit, flanked by two security men—additional protection I'd suggested after a "security concern" was "discovered" near the Ross Group headquarters. A concern I had manufactured, of course.

From my position on the veranda, I watched her approach. Alex and Darren were apparently stupid enough to move against my wife.

"Mr. Hayes," he greeted, professional as always.

I gestured to the chair across from me, cigarette dangling unsmoked between my fingers. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Of course. Your message sounded urgent." His composure was impressive. Not a hint that he'd orchestrated anything against my family.

"Indeed." I tapped ash from my cigarette. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Mark appeared, dragging the little person—now without her wig and childish clothes—into Alex's line of sight. The man's eyes widened for just a fraction of a second before his mask of professionalism slipped back into place.

"This enterprising actress lured my wife out of a secure location yesterday," I explained conversationally. "Quite clever, really. Who would suspect a child?"

The bound woman made muffled noises behind her gag, eyes locked desperately on Alex.

"When questioned, she gave up her employer rather quickly." I stood, moving to tower over Alex. "She claims it was you."

Alex didn't flinch. "Mr. Hayes, I've never seen this woman before. And even if I had that kind of death wish, I would never move against Mrs. Hayes."

His denial was perfect. Measured, reasonable, appropriately outraged. The little person struggled harder against her restraints, eyes pleading with Alex.

"I'm inclined to believe you," I said smoothly. "You're my uncle's right hand. Why would you risk everything to target my wife?"

I paused, stepping closer. "Still, someone tried to harm what's mine. That requires... demonstration."

I snapped my fingers, and one of my men approached with a small tactical knife.

"Prove your loyalty," I said, offering him the blade. "Show me how you'd deal with someone who threatened the Hayes family."

He had two choices - either refuse to kill the little person and be implicated by her testimony, landing him in prison, or silence her permanently...

But neither option left him a way out.

Alex took the knife without hesitation, studying its edge. After a moment's consideration, he walked toward the bound woman, whose eyes now bulged with terror.

I returned to my car, sliding into the backseat as Alex raised the knife.

"Make the call," I told Anthony, who immediately dialed the police.

Within minutes, sirens pierced the morning quiet. I watched through the tinted windows as Alex turned, knife still in hand, face draining of color as police cars flooded the entrance.

I lowered my window just enough to catch his eye, offering a small wave goodbye as realization dawned on his face.

Sometimes justice requires careful staging. And no one stages a scene better than a Hayes.