Chapter 10
Rylan stood at the top of the steps, jaw locked so tight it ached, watching Natalie’s sporty SUV disappear down the road. Every instinct screamed at him to go after her, but he stayed rooted to the spot, fists curling until his knuckles whitened.
She thought she knew what had happened. She thought she’d seen enough to judge him. And damn it, she was wrong. The sheer injustice of it roared through his veins, hot and relentless.
Forget her. The thought was sharp, almost convincing. If she wanted to jump to conclusions, fine. Let her. He didn’t need a woman who bolted at shadows.
Except… it was a lie, and he knew it.
He needed her. Wanted her. Not in the casual, fleeting way he’d wanted other women—Natalie had dug her way into his thoughts, his skin, his blood.
The only way to shake her loose was to have her.
To pull her into his arms, into his bed, and prove to both of them that this thing between them wasn’t some passing spark.
She had disrupted his world, and he didn’t like it. Last night, surrounded by women who would have happily followed him home, he’d felt nothing. Not even curiosity. No one came close to matching her laugh, her fire, the way she could meet his gaze without flinching.
With a slow, controlled breath, Rylan turned and walked back inside. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing him in with his decision. He was going to make this right—on his terms.
Monica was sprawled across his suede sofa, filing her nails as if she’d been born there. Her bright smile when she looked up made his irritation sharpen into something lethal.
“So?” she chirped.
“So?” His voice was a blade—sharp, cold. She actually blinked at the tone.
“What the hell were you thinking, Monica?”
“What do you mean?” She tossed the nail file onto the coffee table, feigning innocence. “I just thought we could go look at rings together. Engagement rings,” she added, smiling like she’d just delivered a gift.
His stare could have cut stone. “Engagement rings?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “You must be out of your mind.”
Her smile faltered, then she tried to recover, pouting as she stood. “Come on, Rylan. We’re perfect together. I just thought—”
“There is no ‘we,’ Monica.” The words were steel, final, and without mercy. “There hasn’t been a ‘we’ for months.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he stepped in closer, his shadow falling over her. “I came back here to meet with a colleague, and I find you here—spinning lies about a relationship that doesn’t exist.” His tone dripped with contempt. “Get out. Now.”
“But Rylan—” she started, wobbling in her heels as he grabbed her bag and thrust it into her arms.
“Goodbye, Monica.” The door slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the empty house like a judge’s gavel.
For a long moment, the only sound was the tick of the wall clock and his own measured breathing. His hands flexed once, twice, as he forced himself into calm.
“You’re getting soft,” a deep voice drawled from the kitchen doorway.
Rylan’s head snapped up. Max stood there, leaning lazily against the doorframe like a man with nowhere to be—yet his eyes gleamed with a predator’s amusement. Even at rest, Max radiated the kind of quiet danger that made people instinctively step out of his way.
“Sorry about that scene. I had no idea that Monica was so…insane,” Rylan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. The gesture did nothing to ease the tight coil in his chest.
Max smirked, pushing off the frame with unhurried precision. “She’s persistent,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door Monica had just been shoved through.
“Too persistent,” Rylan snapped, the words clipped enough to cut.
Max’s smirk deepened, his gaze sharp with knowing humor. “Women like her always are. They build their own fantasies and bulldoze reality to fit them.”
Rylan’s frown deepened, his patience fraying. “Thanks for the insight.”
Max chuckled—a low, rolling sound that grated on Rylan’s mood. “Anytime. Enjoy cleaning up the mess. We’ll have that drink another time.”
With that, Max strode out the front door, leaving behind a faint shift in the air, the way a storm leaves humidity in its wake.
Rylan exhaled through his nose, scanning the room like a battlefield. Monica was an annoyance. Natalie leaving? That was a wound. And if he didn’t cauterize it fast, it would fester.
He turned toward the kitchen, his mind already shifting into problem-solving mode. Max’s jab was dismissed instantly—Rylan didn’t get soft. Not for anyone. But when something mattered, he didn’t quit until it was his.
Malik and Aaron, two of his bodyguards, were waiting by the island—Malik with a mug of coffee, Aaron mid-call. Rylan’s gaze cut to Malik first. “How the hell did Monica get into my house?”
Malik set the mug down slowly, as if testing Rylan’s mood. “We’re looking into it now.”
“That’s not good enough,” Rylan bit out. His voice was low, but it carried an edge of steel. “She was on my damn sofa talking about engagement rings. I want to know how she got past the front gate.”
Aaron ended his call and stepped forward. “She slipped in with the cleaning crew. We’ve confirmed it.”
Rylan’s jaw flexed. “And no one stopped her?”
“She timed it perfectly,” Aaron said. “Waited until the crew was inside, slid in just as they were unloading. No one saw her.”
Rylan’s fist hit the counter. The sound was sharp, final. “Unacceptable.”
“Agreed,” Aaron replied. “From now on, every outside worker gets screened. No exceptions. No one enters without direct clearance from you or me.”
“And the gate codes?”
“Already being changed,” Malik said. “Upgraded system, full logs. This won’t happen again, Your Highness.”
“Make sure it doesn’t,” Rylan said flatly.
Malik hesitated, then said, “She didn’t break anything—except maybe your pride.”
Rylan’s glare could have pinned him to the wall. Malik’s mouth twitched but he didn’t push further.
“She’s gone,” Malik added. “We’ll make sure she stays away.”
Rylan nodded once, but his mind had already moved on. Monica was a closed file. Natalie wasn’t. And losing her wasn’t an option.
“Review the cameras, every angle,” he ordered, turning toward his office. “If there’s anything else off, I want to see it.”
“Understood,” Aaron said, already pulling out his phone.
Rylan shut the office door behind him, the quiet settling like a challenge. He’d handled Monica. Locked down security.
Now, there was only one mission left.
Find Natalie.
Fix this.