Betrayed Heiress Strikes Back

Chapter 12

The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and silver as Rylee guided the Ferrari Roma through the downtown streets. The hum of the engine was steady, a low growl beneath the pulse of traffic, but her mind was far louder.

Patrick’s parting words echoed in her chest: “I took care of the divorce. This will be buried. No one will know. Don’t disappoint me this time.”

She gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles pale against the leather. Freedom had come in a single day, expedited by her father’s influence, but it was not without cost. The decree was more than ink on paper—it was a secret sealed, a past erased. And now, she carried the burden of keeping it hidden.

The streets glimmered with neon signs and passing headlights, but Rylee barely saw them. Her thoughts circled back to Sebastian, to Cecilia’s disdain, to the hollow silence of that first night. Buried, her father had said. Forgotten. But memories did not vanish so easily.

She pressed harder on the accelerator, the Ferrari surging forward, as if speed could drown the weight pressing against her chest. She thought of Julian—his quiet strength, his secrets left unspoken. He knew the truth, but his grandfather did not. Reginald Whitmore’s conditions loomed like iron bars: untainted, never married, an heir within the year.

Her father’s voice lingered, protective yet commanding. Loving, but unyielding.

Don’t disappoint me this time.

Rylee exhaled slowly, the city unfolding before her in a blur of light and shadow. She had escaped Sebastian, but she was not free. Not yet. The cage had only changed shape.

**

The city drive ended at Julian’s penthouse, its glass façade glowing faintly against the night sky. Rylee parked the Ferrari, her pulse still tangled in her father’s words. She hadn’t planned to come here, but her thoughts had carried her straight to Julian’s door.

When he opened it, she froze. Julian stood there with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist, his hair damp, droplets of water trailing down his chest. He blinked at her, equally surprised.

“Kya?” His voice was rough from the shower, confused but steady. “It’s late.”

Rylee’s cheeks burned. “I… I needed to talk.”

Julian hesitated, then stepped aside, widening the door. “Alright. Come in.”

She slipped past him, trying not to stare, though the sight was impossible to ignore. He followed her into the living room, still in the towel, water dripping onto the hardwood floor.

Rylee crossed her arms, exasperated. “Julian, could you please get dressed? I can’t have a serious conversation with you looking like… that.”

He arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Like what?”

“Like you just stepped out of a cologne commercial,” she muttered, averting her eyes.

Julian chuckled softly, the sound rare and disarming. “You came here at midnight, Kya. I wasn’t expecting company. Unless you prefer me like this?”

Her eyes snapped to his, scandalized. “Julian Gray, don’t you dare.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, the towel threatening to slip. “Fine, fine. I’ll get dressed. But you should know—most people would kill for this view.”

Rylee groaned, covering her face. “You’re impossible.”

Julian’s smirk softened into something warmer. “Only with you.” He disappeared briefly into his bedroom, returning in a simple t‑shirt and joggers, his hair still damp but less distracting.

He settled onto the sofa across from her, his expression shifting back to the serious man she knew from the office—but not entirely. At home, there was a looseness in his posture, a quiet humor that peeked through the edges.

“So,” he said, leaning back, “what’s on your mind that couldn’t wait until morning?”

Rylee exhaled, her embarrassment fading into the weight of her father’s ultimatum. “Dinner with my father. He… told me things. About your grandfather. About Elena.”

Julian’s jaw tightened, the warmth in his eyes flickering into shadow. “I see.”

Rylee studied him, torn between frustration and affection. “You never told me about the scandal. About the video. Or the blackmail.”

Julian’s gaze held hers, steady but unreadable. “Because it wasn’t worth repeating. Elena’s mistakes are hers. It had nothing to do with us."

Her heart twisted. He was cold in the office, decisive, commanding. But here, in the quiet of his penthouse, he was different—still serious, but with edges softened, humor slipping through, and a subtle tenderness that made her pulse quicken.

Julian Gray leaned back against the sofa, his damp hair leaving faint marks on the cushion. His eyes, sharp but softened by the late hour, studied Rylee as she sat across from him, her posture rigid, her determination clear.

“You’ve told me about your grandfather’s conditions,” she began, her voice steady. “But if I’m to marry you under those terms, then I have conditions of my own.”

Julian’s brow arched, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Conditions?”

“Yes.” She folded her hands, her tone firm. “First, our marriage will not be announced. It’s not anyone’s business except our families and close friends. Mr. Whitmore will know, of course, but beyond that, it stays private.”

Julian tilted his head, considering. “You don’t want the world to know you’re my wife?”

“I don’t want the world to gossip,” she corrected. “In the office, I’ll remain your fiancée. I won’t wear a wedding ring there. It keeps things clean, professional. No whispers, no distractions.”

Julian’s lips curved faintly, his voice low. “You’re worried about whispers, yet you drive a Ferrari to dinner with your father.”

Rylee shot him a look, half exasperated, half amused. “That’s different. The car is mine. My marriage is ours.”

Julian chuckled softly, the sound rare and disarming. “Fair enough. And your last condition?”

Her gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You won’t interfere with my plans. I will take back everything I gave to Sebastian— down to the last penny. I’ll leave him with nothing. And Cecilia and Maya…” She paused, her eyes flashing. “I’ll put them in their rightful place. But I don’t want it easy. I want to play with them. Toy with them. That’s the revenge I planned the day I walked out of Sebastian’s house and saw him with Maya in his arms.”

Julian’s expression shifted, the warmth fading into something colder, more calculating. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve lived it through,” she replied, her voice sharp. “Every day since that moment.”

For a long beat, Julian said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Very well. I won’t interfere. But know this, Kya—revenge is a dangerous game."

Rylee’s lips curved into a faint smile, her pulse steady now. “I know. And I don't intend to lose."

Julian’s gaze lingered on her, a mix of admiration and warning. In the office, he was cold, serious, untouchable. But here, in the quiet of his penthouse, he was something else: a man who could tease, who could flirt, who could respect the fire in her eyes.

And tonight, that fire burned brighter than ever.

Julian studied her in silence, the faintest curve tugging at his lips. “You drive a hard bargain, Kya. Privacy, no ring in the office, and free rein to dismantle Sebastian, Cecilia, and Maya piece by piece.”

Rylee lifted her chin, defiant. “If your grandfather can set conditions, so can I. This marriage won’t just be about legacy— it will be on my terms too.”

Julian leaned back, his damp hair falling across his forehead, the casual joggers softening his usual severity. “You’re dangerous when you talk like that.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes gleamed with admiration.

“Dangerous?” she echoed, arching a brow.

He smirked, subtle but undeniable. “Yes. Beautiful, determined, and dangerous. A combination that makes men lose everything.”

Rylee rolled her eyes, though warmth crept into her cheeks. “Don’t flirt with me when I’m serious.”

Julian leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m always serious. Even when I flirt.”

The words caught her off guard, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the cold exterior.

Rylee shook her head, trying to mask her smile. “Just remember my conditions. I won’t be paraded around like a trophy, and I won’t be stopped from taking back what’s mine.”

Julian’s gaze lingered on her, steady and unyielding. “Then we’ll play it your way. But Kya—when you toy with Sebastian, Cecilia, and Maya, don’t forget that games have consequences. If you want revenge, you’ll have it. Just make sure you enjoy the victory when it comes.”

She held his stare, her resolve hardening. “I intend to enjoy every moment.”

Julian’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Then I look forward to watching you burn them down.”

The tension between them hung heavy, charged with both promise and danger. Rylee felt the cage of her father’s ultimatum, but here, with Julian, she also felt the spark of freedom—the thrill of plotting her own war.

"Do you have any conditions of your own? Maybe sleep in separate bedrooms?" asked Kya.

Julian’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. He leaned closer, voice low, deliberate.

“Separate bedrooms?” he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue like a challenge. A drop of water slid from his damp hair, tracing the line of his jaw.

Then, with a pause that stretched just long enough to make her pulse quicken, he added—

“No, Kya. My condition is far simpler… and far harder for you to refuse.”

Rylee frowned, her brows knitting. “And what condition is that?”

Julian’s gaze held hers, steady and unyielding, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Don’t fall for me.”

The words hung between them, sharp and intimate, a warning disguised as a dare. Rylee’s breath caught, her heart betraying her with its sudden, uneven rhythm. She wanted to scoff, to dismiss it, but the heat in his eyes made it impossible.

And at that moment, she realized: Julian Gray was not just a man of conditions and legacy. He was a man who could unravel her carefully built defenses—if she let him.

Kya’s lips curved into a faint, defiant smile. “Never,” she whispered, rising from the sofa.

She turned toward the door, her heels clicking against the polished floor, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the echo of her words. But as the door closed softly behind her, Julian’s smirk deepened into a smile.

Because he already knew.

It was only a matter of time before she fell for him. She could not resist him once they moved in together. And the house he had already bought for them—waiting, silent, inevitable—was proof that Julian Gray always planned ahead.