Chapter 14
Three days into our marriage, Oliver took me for a hike to the other side of the island. The brush and trees were too thick for the golf cart or one of the three ATVs in the garage adjacent to the house. We packed lunch, and water for the hike to the opposite beach. It was hot out, but I was game for some exercise.
Oliver strapped on a large backpack while I donned a smaller one holding a couple of beach towels and suntan lotion. "Ready for an adventure?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
"Always," I replied, tightening the straps on my backpack.
We could have taken one of the skiffs docked opposite the boat we arrived in, but what would be the fun in that?
On our way, we passed Terry, one of our security agents who could pass for Vlad's twin—wide, muscular, bald, with a large brow. He nodded as we walked by, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
Oliver led me through the dense brush, and I stopped to admire some peach-colored flowers shaped like a snowball.
"That's called Ixora," Oliver informed me, his hand brushing against the petals.
"They're very pretty," I said, marveling at the delicate blooms.
"This island is full of flowers. We have a couple of mango and papaya trees on the other side," he added.
I looked up, spotting clusters of coconuts hanging from the trees. "I see coconuts up there."
"Yes, plenty of those," Oliver agreed, pulling a handkerchief from the back pocket of his cargo shorts to wipe his face. The humidity was high, and I could feel my skin misted with sweat.
We continued through the woods, with Oliver pointing out various flowers and bushes. Some had fruit on them, and he pulled off two purple, tennis ball-sized ones, sticking them in his pocket.
"What are those?" I asked, curious.
"Passion fruit. We can have them with lunch," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"How much further?" I inquired, feeling the anticipation build.
"Not much. The beach is beautiful and pristine. You'll love it," Oliver assured me, his hand slipping into mine.
We arrived twenty minutes later, and Oliver was right, the sand was pristine and clean except for some seaweed brought up by the tide. We stripped out of our clothes before we had lunch. I wore a more modest bathing suit this time which was dark blue and covered all my parts.
We frolicked in the water and even though it was warm as bath water, it still was refreshing. We went back to the beach and laid down our thick white towels so we could have some lunch. The chef had packed us several containers in insulated freezer bags with ice packs.
Oliver took them out, opening the tops to reveal cubes of assorted cheeses, cured meats, olives, crusty slices of bread, hummus, homemade tortilla chips and an entire container of macrons. I took out a blueberry one and popped it into my mouth before we feasted on our meal. Oliver removed a pocketknife from his backpack and cut up the passion fruit, feeding me slices. It was delicious and I needed to go to the water to wash the juices off my face and hands.
“Are you having a good time?” Oliver asked.
“This is wonderful, but do you think we can go to St. Croix tomorrow?”
He chuckled. “Are you getting bored with me?”
“Not at all. I want to do a little shopping. Last time we were here, I saw some cute little shops I didn’t get a chance to visit.”
“Whatever my bride wants.”
Once we were finished eating, we packed up the leftovers and put them back into Oliver’s backpack then laid in the sun like lazy cats. He reached for my hand and put it to his mouth, kissing the back of it.
“I’m glad we decided to come here for our honeymoon,” I said.
"Me too. It was some feat to get the house ready in time," Oliver said, looking around at the pristine beach and the lush surroundings.
"And you did a lovely job," I replied, squeezing his hand.
"What's more, the house will be here for years to come, even if we have a bad hurricane," he added confidently.
"I don't want to think about this island getting destroyed by weather," I said, shuddering at the thought.
"It won't. I had it constructed with the best. The engineers tell me it will withstand the most vicious hurricane," he reassured me.
"Think of all the fun we can have here with our family. We could celebrate Christmas here," I mused, picturing our future together.
"Would you want to do that instead of staying in New York?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe, though I do love New York during the holidays," I admitted.
"It doesn't matter where we go, as long as we're together," Oliver said, his voice softening.
I laughed. "Mr. Fox, I do believe you're turning into a mush."
"That's your fault," he said with a grin.
He let my hand go, and we lay back to sun ourselves for the rest of the day. The sun's warm rays caressed our skin, and the sound of the waves created a soothing backdrop to our relaxed silence. When the sun started to sink, casting a golden glow over the water, we packed up and began the hike back to the house.
"These are delicious," I said, savoring a bite of the beef kabob. The chef had grilled them to perfection and served them on a bed of fragrant jasmine rice.
Oliver nodded, enjoying his own meal. "Yes, they are. Would you like to go to the lagoon tonight?"
My eyes lit up. "Yes. A thousand times yes."
He leaned in. "Would you like a little taste of our first night?"
I grinned. "Absolutely. You know me so well."
After dinner, we changed into our bathing suits and headed to the lagoon. The night air was warm, and the moon cast a silvery glow over the water. Oliver pulled me into the lagoon, and I straddled his waist as he carried me toward the waterfall. The sound of the water was soothing, and I leaned into him, feeling safe and content.
But then, a sudden, sharp crack echoed behind me. Oliver's eyes widened in shock, and I felt his body tense. A second later, his shoulder sprouted red, blood pouring from a round hole.
"Oliver!" I screamed, my voice cracking with terror.
His mouth dropped open, and he let me go, reaching up to touch the wound. The realization hit me like a punch: he’d been shot. His blood had splattered onto my face, warm and sticky. Another bullet hit the rocks behind me, the crack reverberating through the lagoon.
Panic surged through me as the water around us turned crimson. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Then, I heard a commotion in the woods, the shooter’s attention seemingly diverted.
"We have to get out of here," I whispered urgently, my voice trembling.
Oliver gritted his teeth, his face pale with pain, and nodded. I pulled him along, struggling to keep us both afloat until we reached the shore. My hands shook as I grabbed a towel and pressed it against his wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.
Two more shots rang out from the woods, and the commotion stopped abruptly. My heart pounded in my chest as I heard rustling nearby. Desperate to keep us hidden, I knocked over some torches, extinguishing their flames. The clouds covered the moon, shrouding us in darkness.
"If they can't see us, they can't kill us," I thought frantically, holding my breath as the silence of the night closed in around us.
I hustled Oliver into a grove of palms and could feel old coconut husks biting into my bare feet. I didn’t care, I needed to save us.
“Go without me,” Oliver whispered.
Tears leaked from my eyes. “No, I can’t leave you. You can’t give up.”
“Sweetheart, I’m slowing you down.”
“Please, Oliver, for me. Please,” I begged.
The towel slipped from his hand, and I picked it up to press back on the wound, it was heavy with blood.
"I feel weak. I'm losing too much blood," Oliver groaned, his voice barely audible over the chaos around us.
"Don't you fucking give up on me," I growled, my voice breaking. "Don't you do that," I pleaded, my heart racing with fear.
Oliver leaned against a tree, his body swaying unsteadily. In the distance, I heard screams and several more shots. It was carnage, and we were trapped. Where the fuck was security? I had to get help for Oliver before he died. He collapsed to the ground, and I rushed to his side.
"Ryleigh," he rasped, his eyes filled with pain. "Go."
Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. His blood-soaked hand reached up, his knuckles brushing gently against my cheek. "Go."
"I love you. I'm not leaving you," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.
"Get the hell out of here," he insisted, his strength fading.
Footsteps approached, and I pressed myself against the tree, trying to become invisible.
"Mrs. Fox?" A familiar voice called out.
"Oh, thank God, Trevor, we need help," I gasped, relief flooding through me.
Trevor knelt beside us, his gun drawn. "Shh," he warned, his eyes scanning the woods. "We have to get out of here before Oliver dies. He needs medical attention."
"There are people on this island. It's not safe," I said urgently.
"Oliver?" I shook him gently, but there was no response. His breathing was shallow, his pulse weak and thready.
"If you won't help him, then I’ll do it," I declared, determination hardening my resolve.
Trevor holstered his firearm and lifted Oliver onto his shoulders. I followed him towards the lagoon, the sounds of gunfire echoing in the distance. We were almost at the house when Trevor stumbled, crashing to the ground with Oliver still on his back. Under the harsh lights of our home, I saw blood pouring from the back of his thigh.
A man stepped out from the shadows, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Ryleigh Stewart, we meet again."
“Who the fuck are you?!” I screamed
“Your father knew me well,” he said, his tone coldly amused. “It’s what got him killed.”
As his face was illuminated by the light, it all made sense. This was the man who killed my father, the man Ty had shown me in the video even though it was grainy. It was also the man who had almost gotten to me as I exited Boudoir Fashions and walked into my building.
“What do you want?”
“You to die. If I had known you were in that car years ago, I would’ve ended you.”
I shuddered. “You would shoot a child?”
“You were a witness. I fucked up then but I’m back to end it now.”
He lifted the gun, and I closed my eyes waiting for the bullet to enter my body. I did hear a shot but felt no pain as something made a thud in front of me. My eyes shot open to see Brenda standing there with her gun aimed at the man’s crumpled form.
“Mrs. Fox, are you all right?”
“Brenda please, Oliver and Trevor.”
She came toward us. “I already radioed it in.”
“Where is everyone else?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“I don’t know.”
She knelt, keeping her gun at the ready and bent down to check on Oliver and Trevor. I sat on the ground and pulled Oliver into my lap. His breathing was shallow, and I felt like the life in him was slipping away. The aftermath of that evening is all a blur. I remembered being transported to the hospital with Oliver and Trevor.
Three men were found on Fox Island who were there to kill me. Raphael Caruso, my father’s killer and two men from his brother, Antonio’s crew. They were all dead. Trevor died from his wound, Raphael shot him and hit a major artery. Raquel’s spinal cord was severed when a shot entered her side, and she would never walk again. Vlad escaped with a flesh wound to his arm. Two of the four other agents escaped injury. Our staff was fine, and Jonah got away somehow. We had no idea where he went.
It turned out that the blond waiter who served us on my birthday was a plant. He was paid by the Carusos to tell them the locations of the security staff so they could get to us. He would be tried as an accomplice in Trevor and two other security staff’s murders plus the attempted murder of Oliver, me, Brenda, Raquel and Vlad.
Oliver was in a coma, and a week later, when I had him transported back to New York with full medical staff, he was still unresponsive. Numbness settled over me as I held vigil by his bedside, staying as long as the ICU staff would allow. On the day we arrived home, Henri called.
"Excuse me?" I said, incredulously.
"Mr. Fox put you in charge. You need to make decisions for the company."
"I thought I was only supposed to handle our personal finances."
"No. Mr. Fox wanted you to have control."
"But I don’t know anything about running Fox," I protested, my mind reeling.
"You do, and I’ll help you," Henri assured me.
I shivered. "I can’t even think of that right now. I don’t know when Oliver will wake up. He needs me by his side."
"I’m only conveying to you what he instructed."
"I’m not in the right frame of mind. Can’t we appoint someone in my place until Oliver is well?" I pleaded.
"No, that’s not the way it works. There are things that need your attention since Mr. Fox is... uh... incapacitated."
"Let me get back to you," I said, my voice shaking with frustration and fear.
I hung up and returned to the ICU. Nurses were taking Oliver’s vitals, writing notes on his chart. I sank into the chair beside him.
"You gave me authority to run your company? You’re crazy, Oliver. I need you to come back to me. I can’t do this by myself," I whispered, my voice breaking.
I took his hand in mine, holding it gently. It felt cool, and I noticed dried blood caked under his nails. Despair washed over me. What would happen if he died? The thought was unbearable.
Two days later, I walked into the office of Fox Asset Corporation, taking my place as the interim CEO—the youngest CEO in corporate America at the time. Everyone greeted me with kind words, asking about Oliver's condition, but I knew they whispered behind my back, doubting my ability to run a multibillion-dollar corporation. I had my own doubts, too.
Henri, my right-hand man, got me started. He knew so much about Oliver's schedule and the inner workings of Fox Asset Corp that he should've been the CEO, not me. Following his lead, I spent a month getting up to speed.
I channeled my husband by sitting in his chair, adopting his cool, firm demeanor when it came to business. To my surprise, I realized I had learned more during the year I was his protégé than I thought.
But when it came to handling employees, I couldn't emulate Oliver's way. They started to take advantage of my inexperience, and after a few weeks, I put my foot down. I became a cold-hearted bitch. I knew they hated me, but that was too bad. They could take it up with Oliver when he came back or leave. I was in charge.
I transformed into someone like my brother Finley, barely having enough time to spend with anyone. I ignored my friends, especially Ty. I didn't want to hear anything about my father’s death or Raphael Caruso. It was over, his murder was solved, and I wanted to move on.
Five weeks into my tenure as CEO, Henri asked me about some files he needed for a previous real estate deal. I knew Oliver kept a drawer full of them at the penthouse and promised to look when I got home.
After visiting Oliver, feeding Trouble, and scarfing down a piece of cold mushroom pizza, I headed to Oliver's office. I searched through a hundred files until I found what Henri needed at the back of a wooden cabinet in the corner of the office. Just as I was about to close the drawer, it got stuck.
As I rummaged through the files, trying to get the stubborn drawer to close, my eye caught a folder labeled Leigh Ryerson . I frowned, unfamiliar with the name. Oliver had countless business dealings, many of which I knew nothing about. Curiosity piqued, I pulled out the folder, brought it to his desk, and sat down to flip it open. What I saw made my stomach churn.
Handwritten notes about me. Oliver had meticulously documented details about my father and his connection to Raphael Caruso. My ever-diligent husband had even dated the entries. He knew who killed my father long before Ty had shown him the tape. That explained why he had ramped up security after Caruso approached me at our building.
I read on, discovering that my father had been entangled with Antonio Caruso in a business deal gone sour. Antonio demanded repayment for his lost money. My father was involved in shady dealings, shattering all my illusions about him. Every cherished memory was tainted. Nausea overwhelmed me, and I barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting up my dinner.
Trouble followed me, and I flushed the toilet, sinking to the floor with him in my lap. Tears streamed down my face, soaking into his fur. My entire life felt like a lie. My marriage felt like a lie, and the man I loved had deceived me.
Feeling a bitter resolve, I pushed Trouble off and returned to Oliver's office. There was more to uncover. By the time I finished, I was a wreck. At the back of the folder, I found a plain white envelope labeled Faith . With shaking fingers, I opened it to find an ultrasound picture.
On the back, written in unfamiliar handwriting, were two names: Oliver and Lara. Below that, it said Faith – five months . The pieces clicked into place. Lara's possessiveness, her insistence on their bond—it all made sense now. They had shared a child.
Hate bubbled in my gut as I shoved everything back into the folder and left it on the desk. Oliver had lied to me and shielded me from the truth. I stormed to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of scotch and filling half a tumbler.
Even though it was late September, the warm weather persisted. I went outside to the patio, Trouble trotting behind me. I wanted to hurl the glass across the lawn but instead sank onto the grass, taking a sip. The scotch burned as it went down.
I lay back, looking up at the late summer sky, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. At that moment, I wished for Oliver's death, hoping it would spare me from confronting him. Finishing the scotch, I went back inside, leaving the empty glass on the counter before collapsing into bed, clad only in my panties.
Ty looked at me, arms crossed, his eyes reflecting the weight of everything he knew—every detail of the past year and now, what I had discovered the night before. We had been spending a lot of time together lately; he understood my turmoil like no one else.
"I'm sor—" he began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
"I don't give a fuck. I just want out."
"Ry, I don't like the man much, but he's still in a coma. You can't divorce him," he said, his voice a mix of concern and frustration.
"I don't want to stay married to him, that's for sure."
"Your whole life is attached to him. You live in his apartment, you work for his company."
"I don't need anything from Oliver Fox. I have my inheritance of dirty money. My father was dirty. It makes me wonder how long he was doing business with the Carusos before it all went to shit."
"I thought you said Oliver was handling your investments," Ty interjected.
I clenched my hands into fists. "He was. I'm moving them back to Anders. At least I can trust my stepfather. This destroyed me. I’m not sure I can trust another man in my life."
Ty reached out, gently stroking my arm. "You can trust me. I would never hurt you."
"I know you wouldn’t. You’ve been a good friend to me, and I’m sorry I distanced myself from you," I said, my voice breaking.
“I understand. You were busy with the wedding and your new job. I couldn’t fault you for that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you know about Raphael?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Know how?”
“That he was my father’s killer?”
“I had an idea. I was closing in on the Carusos. Your father’s case is closed. We’ve questioned Antonio as to how much he knows but he lawyered up. His claim is that Raphael took it upon himself all those years ago and he had no idea he killed your father.”
I ground my teeth. “You believe that?”
Tyler shook his head. “Not one bit but unless someone wants to cross Antonio, they ain’t talking. Just be satisfied that your father’s murder is solved. Does your mother know?”
"She knows what happened on that island, but she doesn’t know my father was dirty," I said, my voice heavy with the weight of secrets. "I could never tell her or my brothers. They have too many good memories about him. I’ll keep it to myself."
Ty leaned forward, concern etched in his features. "How are you doing otherwise?"
"You mean between the hospital visits and running my husband’s multibillion-dollar corporation? I’m fine," I replied, sarcasm lacing my words. "I never see my friends or family. I don’t know what to say to them, and frankly, I don’t think they know what to say to me."
"Don’t you want their comfort?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.
"No. I just want it to go away," I said, my voice breaking. "I wish this was all just a bad dream. Sometimes I wake up and look at the other side of the bed and wish things were different. I don’t want to know what I know."
Ty sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have no choice. Do you know where his child is?"
"I don’t," I said, frustration creeping in. "He said he wanted children, so why would he hide his child? I doubt he would let Lara just give her away. Oliver can be self-involved, but he takes care of his responsibilities."
"Maybe the child died," Ty suggested, his voice soft.
I began wringing my hands, staring at the floor. "Do you think you could help me find out?"
Ty hesitated. "I’m not sure what I could do."
"Come on, Ty," I pleaded, looking up at him. "I know you can find out."
He sighed again, but there was determination in his eyes. "I’ll do some checking and let you know. My shift starts in an hour; I have to go."
"I thought you stopped working overnights?" I asked, surprised.
"I did for a while. Now I’m back. I just couldn’t get used to working days. I prefer the anonymity the night provides," he explained.
"You and me both," I mumbled, feeling a strange kinship in our shared solitude.
We both rose from the couch, and I walked him to the door, kissing him softly on the cheek before he opened it.
"I’ll call you tomorrow," he said.
"Maybe we could have lunch at the Iron Horse this weekend? We haven’t done that for a long time," I suggested, a small smile tugging at my lips.
Ty smiled back, a warmth in his eyes. "I’d like that. Talk to you soon."
As he left, I felt a glimmer of hope amid the chaos. Maybe, just maybe, things could get better.