Chapter 8

Sheryl's POV

I pulled into Glamour Realm's parking garage, checking my appearance in the rearview mirror before heading inside. The bags under my eyes were barely concealed by makeup. Last night with Rhett had left me exhausted, but nobody at work needed to know that particular detail.

The elevator doors opened directly onto our floor, and I strode toward my office with practiced confidence. Appearances matter in this business, especially when you're the youngest creative director the company has ever appointed.

"Good morning, Ms. Ross." Amy appeared at my door moments after I'd settled in, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. My assistant's smile looked forced, and I couldn't blame her after yesterday's disaster.

"Morning, Amy. Thank you." I accepted the coffee—black with just a hint of caramel, exactly how I like it. "How are you holding up after last night? I'm still furious about what happened with Luxe Gems. That bastard James Peterson had got what he deserved after you left."

Amy's smile faltered. "I'm okay, really. Just a little shaken still." She fidgeted with her notebook. "I should have been more careful around him."

"None of that was your fault," I said firmly. "Peterson is the only one responsible for his disgusting behavior."

Before Amy could respond, Tom from the project team appeared in my doorway, his expression grim. Amy tensed beside me.

"Ms. Ross, I'm sorry to interrupt." He hesitated, clearly the bearer of bad news. "Luxe Gems just called. They're... terminating all potential collaborations with us."

I kept my expression neutral. "I understand. Thank you for letting me know."

"It'll be okay," I reassured Amy, squeezing her shoulder. "Mr. Donovan will understand once he hears what happened."

"Oh, will he now?"

I suppressed a groan at the familiar voice. Megan Price leaned against my doorframe, her designer glasses perched on her nose and her expression dripping with fake sympathy. As head of one of the design teams, she'd been gunning for my position since day one.

"Trouble in paradise, Sheryl?" She practically purred. "Word is Mr. Donovan is on his way up. Something about an 'urgent matter.' I'm sure it has nothing to do with losing our biggest potential client this quarter."

I was preparing a cutting response when the office suddenly went quiet. Employees straightened, conversations halted, and Megan's smug expression faltered as Mr. Donovan himself rounded the corner. His silver hair and impeccable suit commanded attention as always.

"Ms. Ross," he said, his expression unreadable. "A word in private, please."

The others quickly dispersed, though Megan lingered a moment longer, practically salivating at the prospect of witnessing my downfall. Mr. Donovan's stern look finally sent her scurrying away.

Closing the door, Donovan settled into the chair across from me with surprising ease.

"I've heard about the Luxe Gems situation," he began, his tone measured.

"Sir, I can explain—"

He held up a hand. "No need. That's not why I'm here. James Peterson has always been problematic. We're better off without that collaboration."

The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. "Thank you for understanding."

"What I'm here about is a new opportunity." His eyes lit up with genuine excitement. "Hayes Enterprise is developing a luxury retail space downtown. It will be dedicated to high-end jewelry. They want you to lead the design team and create the premiere collection."

I nearly choked on my coffee. Hayes Enterprise? Rhett's company?

"They've asked for you specifically," Donovan continued, misreading my shock as pleasant surprise. "This could be the most prestigious project we've taken on this year."

My mind raced. Rhett and I had an unspoken agreement to keep our professional lives separate. What game was he playing now?

"I'm honored, of course," I managed to say. "When would they need the proposals?"

"A month. I'll have all the specifications sent to your team today." Donovan stood, straightening his jacket. "And Sheryl? About Megan and the others—I expect them to give you their full cooperation. This project is priority one."

After he left, I sank back in my chair, thoughts swirling. Why would Rhett deliberately insert himself into my professional life? Was this some power play? Another way to control me? Or maybe just to torment me further after last night's encounter?

I pushed those questions aside and dove into work. If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that immersing myself in projects is the best way to escape troubling thoughts. By the time I looked up, the office had emptied and night had fallen.

---

Traffic crawled through downtown Boston as I headed home. The dashboard clock read 7:32 PM when my phone rang, an unfamiliar number lighting up the screen. I connected it through the car's Bluetooth.

"Sheryl speaking."

"Sheryl, it's Elizabeth," came a warm, cultured voice.

Rhett's aunt? Why would she suddenly call me? I gripped the steering wheel tighter. I'd only met Elizabeth once, when she flew back from overseas for Rhett's grandfather's birthday celebration. She'd seemed a genuinely friendly member of the Hayes family.

"Elizabeth, hello. This is... unexpected."

A soft sigh came through the speakers. "I'm calling about Rhett. Word gets around, you know, even when families try to keep things quiet."

My stomach tightened. So the Hayes family knew about Rhett's... extracurricular activities. The women. The nights away from home.

"I'm not calling to judge or interfere," Elizabeth continued quickly. "I just thought you should know some things about Rhett that might help you understand him better."

The traffic light turned green, and I accelerated, my curiosity piqued despite myself.

"When Rhett was eight years old, Kenneth sent him to Italy. Alone." Her voice carried a hint of old anger. "He stayed there until he was twenty, essentially raising himself. His father visited perhaps once a year, and they were virtual strangers to each other."

I'd had no idea. Rhett never spoke about his childhood.

"I'm not excusing his behavior," Elizabeth clarified. "What he's doing is wrong, and you deserve better. But Rhett grew up without knowing what family means. He's rebellious and difficult because he learned early that people leave or betray you."

"And his mother?" I found myself asking. "He never mentions her."

Elizabeth went quiet for a moment. "That's another tragedy altogether. When Rhett was six, his mother developed a severe mental illness. Memory loss, cognitive regression—she hasn't recognized him since. She's been in Pine Grove Retreat ever since."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. I'd assumed his mother had died or abandoned the family. I never imagined she was still alive, confined to a mental institution all these years.

"Does he visit her?" My voice sounded strange even to my own ears.

"Sometimes. It's too painful for him." Elizabeth sighed. "And they have kept this private. That's better for everyone."

After we hung up, I drove the rest of the way home in a daze. The imperious, arrogant, seemingly invulnerable Rhett Hayes suddenly appeared in a different light. The boy was sent away at the age of eight. The child whose mother no longer recognized him.

It didn't excuse his behavior—nothing could justify how he'd treated me—but for the first time, I felt I glimpsed the wounded soul beneath that perfect, controlled exterior.

And despite everything, that realization stirred something unexpected within me. Something dangerously close to compassion.