Chapter 3
Sheryl's POV
"Whatever," I waved dismissively, sinking onto the sofa. "Make it quick."
The doctor worked efficiently, cleaning and dressing the wound. I winced slightly as the antiseptic stung, but refused to make a sound.
"Just superficial damage, nothing serious," he informed me, packing up his supplies. "Keep it clean, apply this ointment daily, and avoid getting it wet for the next 48 hours."
After showing him out, I stood alone in our cavernous living room. The silence pressed in from all sides.
"Such a minor injury and he sends a doctor. Does he think this will impress me? Make me forget what an ass he is?" I muttered to the empty house. Yet despite my irritation, a small, unwelcome warmth flickered in my chest. I quickly smothered it.
After a shower—carefully keeping my bandaged knee dry—I checked the time. Midnight. Still no Rhett.
"Bastard," I hissed, yanking the covers over me.
In the darkness, Kenneth Hayes' pale face materialized in my memory. Five years ago. Our only meeting. His final days. Those eyes—so like Rhett's—fixed on mine with unexpected intensity for a dying man.
"Sheryl," he'd said, voice barely above a whisper, "I hope you'll marry Rhett... give him the complete family he needs. He's far more fragile than he appears."
I'd agreed. Not just because it was a dying man's request, but because from the first moment I saw Rhett Hayes, something electric had shot through me. Love at first sight—a cliché I'd never admit to anyone, least of all to Rhett himself.
"I may have fallen for him," I turned onto my side, punching my pillow into submission, "but that doesn't stop me from wanting to strangle him half the time." Every day spent with that unfaithful jerk felt like punishment for my feelings.
My phone's shrill ring cut through my brooding. Daniel Quinn's name flashed on the screen. Rhett's personal assistant never called this late unless something was wrong—and that something was invariably another scandal needing damage control.
"What is it, Daniel?" I answered, already dreading his response.
"Mrs. Hayes, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour," his voice carried the tension of someone delivering bad news, "but you might want to check the latest social media updates."
Frowning, I grabbed my tablet and opened the trending news. My stomach dropped. There, in glaring digital clarity, was Rhett with Vanessa, their bodies angled toward each other in what could only be described as intimate proximity. The headline blared: #Hayes Enterprise CEO in Late-Night Rendezvous with a Woman: Marriage on the Rocks?"
"That goddamn son of a bitch!" I nearly hurled the tablet across the room.
"They're at Silver Lane Bowling Club," Daniel continued cautiously. "If this isn't addressed quickly, tomorrow's papers will be... problematic. I'm not in a position to intervene directly with Mr. Hayes, so..."
"I understand," I cut him off coldly. "Send me the address."
I hung up, fury propelling me out of bed. I threw on a white fishtail dress, didn't bother with makeup, and grabbed my car keys. In the garage, I bypassed Rhett's collection of luxury vehicles and chose my silver Porsche. The engine roared to life, perfectly channeling my rage.
Twenty minutes later, I pushed through the doors of Silver Lane, immediately assaulted by cigarette smoke and the thump of bass-heavy music.
The dimly lit interior couldn't hide what I was looking for—Rhett in a corner booth, his aristocratic features and impeccably tailored suit exuding effortless elegance even in this dingy setting. The perfect lines of his strong jaw and broad shoulders were marred only by Vanessa, practically plastered to his side, her garish presence clashing with his refined aura like costume jewelry next to a flawless diamond.
Joel West, Rhett's confidant, spotted me first, nudging Rhett and nodding in my direction. Rhett turned, those dark eyes utterly unreadable as they met mine.
"What brings you here?" His voice carried the chill of a Boston winter.
I took a deep breath, forced my face into a pleasant mask, and approached. "It's late. I was worried, so I thought I'd drive you home."
I felt a pair of eyes lingering on me from a few tables over—some suit with a predatory gaze raking over me like I was tonight's special.
Rhett caught it immediately. His jaw tightened before he turned to the man. "Eyes somewhere else before you lose them." The quiet menace in his voice carried perfectly across the distance.
The man suddenly found his whiskey utterly fascinating.
Rhett turned his attention back to me, irritation evident. "Who sent you hunting for me? Daniel?"
"The tabloids are already running with your latest scandal," I countered, keeping my voice level. "Our stock opens in seven hours. Do the math."
A humorless smile crossed his face. "Touching concern. For Hayes Enterprise or Ross Group?"
"Aren't they essentially the same thing now?" I answered with a slight smile.
I walked over to the lane, picked up a ball, and sent it rolling down toward the pins. Eight fell with a satisfying crash. I grabbed another ball for my spare, knocking down the remaining two pins cleanly.
"There. Game over. Time to go home." I turned back to face them, brushing my hands off with deliberate finality.
"So eager to get me home? Can't sleep without me?" Rhett leaned back in his seat, that familiar mocking smirk playing at his lips.
"Of course. We're married, aren't we? Sleeping alone would be no different from being a widow." I kept my expression perfectly neutral, though my eyes never left his.
His smirk faltered slightly. "Christ, that mouth of yours is like a poisoned blade."
"I wish it actually could cut you." The words came out sharper than I intended, and I saw Vanessa's eyes widen with what looked like genuine surprise at the venom in my voice.
"Oh, Sheryl," Vanessa chimed in with saccharine sweetness. "This is completely innocent. We just decided to catch up over a friendly game. Nothing more."
Her calculated sincerity made my stomach turn.
I slid my phone across the table, screen displaying the damning photo—Vanessa practically draped over Rhett in what no reasonable person would call a platonic pose. I tapped the screen pointedly.
"Is that what you call 'friendly'?'" I said, shifting my gaze to Vanessa. "How creative. So you drape yourself over all your guy friends like this?"
Vanessa's perfect composure slipped for just a second.
"Sheryl, you misunderstood. After all," she purred, glancing at Rhett with a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes, "if there were anything between us, why would we wait? We've known each other forever, haven't we, Rhett?"
Rhett's expression darkened. "Christ, Vanessa. Do you ever shut up?"
The sharpness of his response visibly startled her. Whatever clever retort she'd prepared died as she registered his genuine annoyance.
I couldn't suppress a cold smile. "I've watched women play your game since prep school, Vanessa. If you want him so badly, convince him to divorce me and marry you properly. Until then—" I leaned closer, dropping my voice, "—stay in your lane."
I was beyond tired of these manufactured dramas that required damage control every other week.
"Just remember," I added with deliberate calm, "the Hayes name isn't a costume anyone can try on."
Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "If that tragic incident two years ago hadn't happened, you probably wouldn't even be—"
"ENOUGH!" Rhett's fist slammed the table before he kicked it over entirely. Glass shattered across the floor as bottles and tumblers exploded on impact. "I told you to shut up. Are you fucking deaf as well as stupid?"
The entire club went silent, all eyes on our corner.