Chapter 7
Rhett's POV
I watched Sheryl speed towards the west in the green Ferrari, the engine's roar gradually fading into the distance. A bitter smile crept onto my face. Good for her—let her live like this around me. The less she knows, the fewer burdens she carries, the better.
Turning around, I climbed the marble staircase to my second-floor study. Pushing open the heavy oak door, I walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of Oakridge Estate's grounds. A black Bentley was slowly approaching through the main gates from the east, its sleek body gleaming in the morning sunlight.
Darren Hayes. My ever-meddling uncle.
I let out a cold laugh and unbuttoned my shirt halfway, deliberately exposing the love bites from last night. I tugged at my collar to make it look even more disheveled, then ran my fingers through my hair, ensuring it looked sufficiently tousled—like I'd just rolled out of bed after a night of passion.
Walking to the liquor cabinet, I poured myself half a glass of whiskey, gently swirling the amber liquid before leaning against the windowsill to await my uncle's visit.
Within five minutes, Martha's voice echoed from downstairs: "Mr. Hayes, your uncle has arrived."
I sauntered down the stairs with deliberate slowness, swirling my whiskey glass, feigning the appearance of someone freshly awakened. Darren stood in the center of the living room, his tall, lean male secretary Alex Hudson hovering behind him.
"Good morning, Mr. Rhett Hayes," Alex said with practiced politeness.
"Rhett, look at the state of you." Darren frowned, impeccably dressed in a gray tailored suit, his tie meticulously knotted, every inch of him exuding calculated precision. "It's nearly noon."
"Good morning, dear uncle," I drawled, intentionally stretching out my words. "Didn't expect you'd have time to check on me today."
"As your uncle, I'm naturally concerned about you." Darren's gaze swept over my disheveled clothes and unbuttoned shirt, his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. "Where's your wife?"
I shrugged with affected nonchalance. "Who knows? Probably at a friend's place."
"Rhett," Darren sighed, "you should pay more attention to Sheryl. You've been married for barely two years, and you're already bringing other women home..." His eyes were pointedly fixed on the marks on my chest.
"What's the problem?" I raised an eyebrow. "You seem awfully concerned about my marriage and... quite interested in Sheryl. If you like, I can divorce her and give you a shot."
"Rhett, cut it out!" He grew serious and visibly annoyed.
"Mr. Hayes has quite a sense of humor. Please understand Mr. Darren Hayes's sincere care about you and the company," Alex said with a nervous but diplomatic smile.
I chuckled and glanced at Alex. "Good secretary you've got there."
Darren composed himself. "Your affairs with these women are damaging the company's reputation," he said bluntly. "Don't forget—you're the heir to Hayes Enterprise. Everything you do reflects on us."
I laughed coldly. "The company? Don't you have that covered? Aren't you running it beautifully?" I moved to the sofa and sat down, placing my whiskey glass on the coffee table. "Honestly, I've been thinking... perhaps I should consider giving you full control of the company. After all, you understand Hayes Enterprise better than I do, and you certainly love it more."
The moment those words left my mouth, I caught the flash of shrewd ambition in Darren's eyes—that near-predatory gleam. But he quickly masked it, adopting a businesslike expression.
"Don't talk nonsense, Rhett. Hayes Enterprise was left to you by your father. You are the rightful heir," Darren said seriously. "I'm only managing temporarily until you're ready to take over. I have no such ambitions, nor do I want what isn't mine."
Such sanctimonious bullshit. I scoffed inwardly while maintaining my poker face.
"By the way," Darren pulled several tabloids from his briefcase and tossed them onto the coffee table, "take a look at these."
I glanced down at photos of Vanessa and me at the bowling club last night. In one, we were clinking glasses, her body pressed against mine. The headline blared: "HAYES HEIR IN LATE-NIGHT INTIMATE ENCOUNTER WITH MYSTERY WOMAN: MARRIAGE IN CRISIS?"
"Vanessa Clark, 24, daughter of an auto repair shop owner in South Boston," Darren said with unmistakable contempt. "Rhett, this has to stop. You should associate with more... respectable people befitting your position."
"If it's just for fun, why be so particular?" I answered carelessly.
"The union between the Hayes and Ross families isn't some trivial matter!" Darren raised his voice. "Robert Ross is our business partner. Your marriage to Sheryl stabilized the commercial alliance between our families. If you continue this reckless behavior, you'll not only hurt Sheryl but also affect the company's stock price and future development."
I silently studied him, fully aware of the true meaning behind every word he spoke.
"Fine," I finally conceded, feigning resignation. "I'll be more careful."
Darren seemed surprised by my compliance but quickly reverted to his serious demeanor. "Remember your position, Rhett. You are the Hayes family heir and the future leader of Hayes Enterprise. Your every action impacts the family's reputation and the company's future."
"I know, uncle," I smiled, though my eyes remained cold. "I've never forgotten that."
After seeing Darren and his secretary off, I returned to my study and watched their car leave from the window.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Daniel.
"Mr. Hayes," he answered on the second ring.
"Daniel, why wasn't this latest tabloid story handled?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm. "These photos shouldn't have made it to print."
There was an uncomfortable pause. "Well, sir, normally Mrs. Hayes handles these matters, but last night when I called her about it, she... declined to intervene."
"She declined?" I repeated slowly. "What exactly did she say?"
Daniel hesitated, clearing his throat. "I'm not sure I should—"
"What. Did. She. Say?" Each word was a chip of ice.
"Her exact words were, 'He wants to make an ass of himself? Be my guest. I'll grab the popcorn.'"
Something hot and dangerous flared inside me. In one swift motion, I kicked the nearby ottoman, sending it crashing into the bookshelf. Several leather-bound volumes tumbled to the floor.
"Sir? Are you alright?" Daniel's voice sounded tinny and distant from the phone.
"Handle it now," I snapped, ending the call and tossing the phone onto the desk.
I paced the study, hands clenched into fists. So Sheryl wanted to play hardball? She thought her little act of defiance would rattle me? Fine, it did rattle me. But I wasn't stupid enough to let her walk away from me.