Jaycob barreled into the factory with his men, boots scraping across the concrete.
Saul lay crumpled in the corner, his face so mangled it was hard to tell where the bruises ended and the blood began.
Jaycob froze for a beat, shaken by this brutal, unfamiliar edge to Rylee.
Tension thickened as Jaycob and Rory squared off, their crews glowering at each other like two packs on the verge of tearing into a fight.
Jaycob cleared his throat and stated, "Mr. Bradley told me Mr. Smith is one of our partners, so let's not take this any further."
Rylee let out a low, amused breath, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Jaycob, I called Alec for help this morning and he never showed. Now he's suddenly interested? Tell me—does a business deal mean more to him than I do?"
Left scrambling for a response, Jaycob just stared in silence.
Rory pieced the situation together, fury darkening his expression. "Has Alec lost his damn mind?"
Dropping his gaze, Jaycob answered through a tight jaw, "Mrs. Bradley, Mr. Bradley made it clear—no one's supposed to get hurt over a petty mess like this."
Rylee felt something inside her collapse. A hollow little laugh slipped out—mocking herself for ever expecting more.
In Alec's world, she wasn't worth as much attention as a mediocre business deal.
She stood motionless as Jaycob escorted the battered Saul and his henchmen away, her expression drained of warmth.
"Rory, could you put together a divorce agreement for me? I'm not asking for a cent. I just want it done as fast as possible."
Rory's fury ebbed into something steadier. "Rylee, you've always known exactly what you want, but this time? Let me give you one piece of advice. Don't just walk away—take what's rightfully yours. Got it?"
She answered with a soft nod, "All right."
Worry flickered openly across Rory's eyes.
He lifted a hand, meaning to smooth a reassuring palm over her long hair, but she'd already turned, walking away before he could touch her.
"Rory, I'll wait for your update," she called over her shoulder.
His hand dropped uselessly to his side, a sharp ache tightening in his chest.
He told himself it was fine—tomorrow would give him another chance.
...
From the balcony, Alec watched a pair of headlights slice through the distant dark.
The car barreled up the drive at an audacious speed, and then whipped into a flawless drift that sent gravel skittering across the pavement.
A flicker of surprise crossed his features.
Never in his wildest thoughts had he pictured Rylee behind the wheel like that.
And it wasn't just her driving—she had tracked down Saul and orchestrated retaliation under the cover of night.
How had he ever convinced himself she was dull, forgettable, and incapable?
Her car rolled to a stop outside the house. Rylee jumped out the moment the engine quieted, sprinting toward the entrance with fluid, athletic grace.
His gaze lingered on the slim outline of her figure as she moved.
This Rylee pulsed with life—sharp, vivid, unpredictable.
How many versions of her had he failed to see?
With a sharp crash, the door flew inward.
Rylee strode inside, breath still quick from the run. From outside, she had already spotted him on the balcony.
Alec slipped his phone into his pocket and turned, wearing that cool, untouchable expression he always used as a shield. "Why are you wandering around at this hour? As long as you're in the Bradley Mansion, stay in line and don't make a mess of anything."
Drawing a steady breath, she bit down on her lip, forcing back the surge of anger and disappointment clawing at her chest. "We'll be divorced before long—so stop pretending my life still has anything to do with you."
The door closed with a thud before her footsteps vanished into the bathroom for yet another shower.
When she finished, she curled up on the sofa without a word, her back firmly angled away from him.
Alec crossed the room toward the massive bed, but his gaze slipped toward the quiet woman lying on the cushions, lingering on the delicate curve of her ankle peeking from beneath the blanket.
Angry red scratches streaked across her skin, still oozing faint threads of blood.
A sharp, unwelcome sting cut through his chest at the sight.
Barely above a whisper, his voice reached for her. "Rylee."
She didn't so much as flinch.
Irritation tightening his jaw, he crossed the room and caught her arm.
The sudden pull nearly sent her tumbling off the cushions.
How could she weigh so little—like someone surviving on nothing but scraps and scars.
He caught her around the waist before she fell, steadying her narrow frame against him.
Startled, Rylee clutched at his shirt, her eyes wide and shaken. "What the hell are you doing?"
Only then did Alec feel the bite of his own impatience, the rough edge in the way he'd grabbed her.
Regret clawed at his chest for a brief second—then he let her slip from his grasp. "If you're hurt, deal with it. Make sure Grandma doesn't see this—she'll jump to all the wrong conclusions."
Rylee followed the direction of his gaze and noticed the scrape along her ankle.
It wasn't the sort of thing she ever bothered with.
By then, Alec had already grabbed the medicine kit and dropped it onto the carpet with a dull thud. "Get it cleaned up," he said, voice clipped.
The chill in his tone nicked at her far deeper than the wound itself.
He never sounded like that with Claire… so what was she still clinging to?
She lowered her face, letting the shadow hide her disappointment, and quietly pulled out the iodine to dab at the cut.
Alec shifted into a lazy sprawl across the sheets. "Three minutes. After that, lights off. Don't keep me awake."
Heat flared in her chest, and she snapped, "Zoie, turn off the lights."
"On it, ma'am. Lights going off now," Zoie, the smart system, chimed sweetly.
Alec bit back the urge to roll his eyes.
