Chapter 6
Sheryl's POV
I woke to sunlight filtering through the curtains, my body immediately registering a soreness that brought last night flooding back. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I discovered I was wearing clean silk pajamas—definitely not what I'd had on before passing out.
When I peeled back the collar, a trail of purple marks decorated my skin like a necklace, disappearing beneath the fabric. Lovely.
The other side of the bed was empty and cold. Of course Rhett hadn't stuck around.
I stared at the ceiling, letting reality settle over me like a heavy blanket. What exactly was I to him? The physical attraction was obvious enough—my body could certainly attest to that. But beyond that? Was there anything deeper than lust keeping me chained to this marriage?
He refused to even discuss divorce. If it was just about sex, why not let me go and find someone else to warm his bed? Someone who actually wanted to be there?
Sighing, I dragged myself to the sink, hoping that splashing cold water on my face might wash away the confusion.
Ten minutes later, I made my way downstairs in a shirt that conveniently hid the evidence of last night's activities. Rhett was already at the breakfast table, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, scanning his tablet. The sunlight caught in his dark hair, highlighting those few strands of silver at his temples. Damn him for looking so good after everything.
"Good morning," he said, looking up. His voice gave nothing away.
I slid into my chair and immediately noticed the small white pill sitting on an empty plate, a glass of water positioned beside it.
"What's this?" I asked, though I already knew.
Rhett put down his tablet with deliberate precision. "Morning-after pill."
"I'm not taking that." I pushed the plate away. "Do you have any idea what these hormones do to a woman's body? You should have thought about protection before going at me last night."
His lips curled into an amused smirk. "You deliberately provoked me. I wasn't exactly thinking straight."
"Then you should get a vasectomy if you can't control yourself," I snapped. "Or is that too much to ask of the mighty Rhett Hayes? Since you can't afford children."
He let out a short laugh. "Can't afford it? Sweetheart, you could birth an entire kindergarten class and I'd still have enough to put them all through Harvard. Twice." He took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. "The Hayes fortune isn't the issue here."
"Then why can't we have a baby?" I challenged, immediately regretting how vulnerable the question sounded.
His expression shifted, amusement giving way to something colder, more calculated. "Don't be childish, Sheryl. Don't think for a second you can trap me with a pregnancy. I've made myself clear—divorce isn't an option. Ever."
"You don't want me or a child, but you won't let me go," I said quietly. "What kind of twisted game is that?"
"Who says I don't want you?" His eyes darkened. "I think I demonstrated quite thoroughly last night exactly how much I want you."
"That's differ..." Before I could finish, he snatched the pill from my plate and popped it into his own mouth. In one fluid motion, he was out of his chair, his hand firmly gripping the back of my neck as his mouth crashed down on mine. I felt the pill being pushed between my lips, sliding toward my throat as his tongue followed. I struggled against him, but it was too late—the bitter taste already dissolving as I swallowed involuntarily.
"You bastard!" I gasped when he finally released me.
"Just making sure," he replied, calmly returning to his seat as if he hadn't just force-fed me medication. "Better safe than sorry."
"Trust me," I hissed, "I'd starve before I'd bring your child into this mess."
My phone rang, cutting through the tension. My father's name flashed on the screen, and I hesitated before answering.
"Sheryl." His voice was crisp, businesslike as always. "I'm hosting a small gathering for my birthday this Saturday. I expect you to be there."
"Dad, I'm swamped with an important project—" I started, feeling the familiar mix of resentment and hurt bubble up.
Ever since Mom died, he'd never been there for me—not really. It was always his second wife, Christine Mitchell, and her children who got his attention, his affection. I was just the inconvenient reminder of his first marriage, the one he'd rather forget. Why should I pretend to be the dutiful daughter when he'd never bothered to be a real father to me?
"Timothy's been asking about you," he interrupted, hitting my one weak spot with sniper precision. "He misses his big sister."
My resistance crumbled at the thought of my five-year-old half-brother—the only person in my father's house who seemed genuinely happy to see me. Every visit, he'd run to me with joy, wrapping his little arms around my legs and looking up with those innocent eyes.
"Fine," I sighed. "I'll be there."
"Good. Let me speak to Rhett."
"He's not here—"
But Rhett was already beside me, smoothly taking the phone from my hand. "Robert, good morning. Yes, we'll both be attending. Looking forward to it." He hung up before handing my phone back.
I glared at him, grabbing my bag and standing. "I'm leaving."
"Wait, you haven't had breakfast yet. Eat first, then go. The car will be out front in fifteen minutes," he replied, already back to his tablet. "Mark will drive you to Glamour Realm."
"I'm not hungry. You've already given me enough to digest."
He glanced up. "Such as?"
"Your audacity, for starters. Oh, and I should thank you."
His eyebrow arched slightly. "For what?"
"For showing me what rock bottom looks like in human form."
I stormed out of the dining room, desperate for some space to breathe. As I stepped outside into the crisp morning air, I tried to collect myself.
I headed straight for the garage, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Among his collection of sports cars, I picked the most eye-catching one—a stunning emerald green beauty that practically screamed for attention. As I backed out of the garage, I caught a glimpse of him standing at the window.
Good. Let him watch me leave in his car.