Chapter 15
"I want you to fuck me," I whispered, my voice husky with desire.
Ty pulled back abruptly, his eyes widening as he searched my face. A flicker of conflict passed over his features before he shook his head and moved away, putting distance between us. The sudden absence of his warmth left me feeling cold and rejected.
We had just finished lunch at the Iron Horse and returned to the penthouse to talk. In Ty, I felt a kinship that made me forget, if only for a moment, about the husband who had betrayed me. The kiss we shared ignited something within me, a raging fire of desire that threatened to consume us both.
Ty ran a hand through his hair, his voice strained as he spoke. "No. I was stupid. We shouldn't even be kissing. You're married."
I took a step towards him, desperation coloring my tone. "But I won't be soon enough."
He held up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. "Oliver could come out of the coma at any time. I don't want you using me for revenge."
"It's not revenge," I insisted, my heart pounding. "I like you. It's over with Oliver."
Ty's expression softened slightly, but he stood his ground. "He had his reasons for keeping that information from you."
Anger flared within me, hot and sudden. "I'm not a fucking child. I could've handled it," I spat, my fists clenching at my sides.
"I can't tell you what his motives were for doing what he did," Ty said softly. "He was protecting you."
I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "His brand of protection could've gotten us both killed. Why are you standing up for him? You never liked him."
Ty's brow furrowed. "I never said I didn't like him."
"You weren't very friendly to him after I got engaged," I pointed out, my eyes narrowing.
A faint blush colored Ty's cheeks. "I was jealous. You know I have a thing for you."
I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "And I'm offering myself to you."
Ty's resolve seemed to waver for a moment before he shook his head firmly. "Not like this. When you're free, we can talk."
"I am free," I insisted. "I'll be free soon."
Ty's expression turned serious. "You don't know that. I didn't want to tell you this at lunch, but I found out the information you wanted."
My heart skipped a beat. "About his daughter?"
Ty nodded solemnly. "Lara Harvin miscarried in her fifth month. They couldn't save the baby, and she almost lost her life."
The news hit me like a punch in the gut. "Holy shit," I breathed, suddenly feeling unsteady on my feet.
"That could be the reason why Oliver didn't want to tell you," Ty suggested gently. "It's painful."
I glanced at my watch, desperate for an escape from the sudden onslaught of emotions. "I need to stop by the hospital. They expect me in the afternoons on the weekend. I have to keep playing the part of the concerned wife even though I don't give a shit."
Ty's eyes filled with sympathy. "I wish things were different for you."
"Me too," I murmured, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"Do you want me to wait for you?" Ty offered. "We could take a cab together."
I nodded, grateful for his support despite the awkwardness between us. "Yes. Let me get a sweater. The hospital still has the air conditioner on."
As I moved to retrieve my sweater, I couldn't shake the feeling that my world was spinning out of control. The revelation about Lara and the baby, combined with my conflicted feelings for Ty and Oliver, left me feeling more lost than ever. I wondered, not for the first time, how I had ended up in this mess and if I would ever find my way out.
I sat by Oliver's bedside, the rhythmic hiss of the respirator filling the sterile air. My eyes traced the steady rise and fall of his chest, a mechanical breath that had become achingly familiar over the past two months. The nurses had just finished their rounds, their hushed voices and the clatter of keyboards drifting from the front desk.
Seizing the moment of relative privacy, I leaned in close, my voice barely above a whisper. "I hate you for what you've done," I hissed, the words bitter on my tongue. "You hid so much from me and for what? So we could almost lose our lives?"
Tears stung my eyes, hot and unwelcome. I angrily swiped at them, determined not to let my mascara betray my weakness. As I blinked away the moisture, I noticed Oliver's fingers twitch. I held my breath, dismissing it as another false alarm – it had happened before, cruelly raising my hopes only to dash them again.
But then his fingers moved again, this time a deliberate bend that sent my heart racing. My gaze snapped to his face just as his eyelids fluttered open. Our eyes met, and a single tear slid down his cheek, leaving a glistening trail on his pale skin.
I leapt to my feet, adrenaline surging through me as I rushed to the nurse's station. Grabbing the nearest nurse by the sleeve, I practically dragged her back to Oliver's bedside. "He's awake," I stammered, my voice trembling with a mixture of shock and relief.
The nurse's expression shifted to professional urgency. "I need to call the attending," she said, her tone calm but making no room for argument. "Can you sit in the waiting room while we assess Mr. Fox?"
I hesitated, reluctant to leave now that Oliver had finally opened his eyes. "Yes, but why can't I stay here?"
"We need room to work," she explained gently but firmly.
My eyes flicked back to Oliver's. He watched me intently as I left the room, unable to speak around the tubes in his throat. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us as I retreated to the waiting room.
The stark white walls and burnt orange chairs of the ICU waiting area felt oppressive as I sank into a seat. I made my way to the small coffee station in the corner, my movements automatic as I prepared a cup. The bitter liquid scalded my tongue, but I barely noticed, lost in thought.
Had Oliver heard what I said? That I hated him? If he had, his expression gave nothing away. It had been over two months since he collapsed in my arms, blood leaking from him. What would he say when he could finally speak? Would he offer explanations, or more lies?
Time crawled by, each tick of the clock echoing in the quiet room. After what felt like an eternity, the nurse reappeared, gesturing for me to follow her back inside. Dr. Shu, the attending physician – a tall, imposing man with thick black hair and penetrating dark eyes – pulled me aside, his expression grave.
As he began to explain Oliver's condition, I steeled myself for whatever news was to come.
“He’s alert and our preliminary check indicates his brain function is normal. We’ll need to do further testing but for now, he should rest. We haven’t removed the respirator. I prefer to leave it in at least another day while we assess his respiratory function.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Yes, but now that he’s awake, you can only stay for fifteen minutes at a time.”
“Thank you, Dr. Shu.”
I walked to Oliver’s room. He was sitting up in bed and his tired eyes brightened when he saw me.
“You finally woke up.”
He wrote with his finger in the air, and I shook my head. I didn’t have any idea what he meant. I pulled my phone out from my pocket and scrolled to my electronic notepad, handing him the stylus. His hand was shaky, but he managed to write out How long on the screen.
I met his eyes. “Have you been out?”
He nodded. “Two months.”
Oliver’s eyes opened wide, and he just stared at me then looked down at the screen and began to write. I looked at his words. “FA Corp.”
“I’m running the business.”
He smiled and I thought about how I would tell him that he wasn’t getting back control of his company, and I was leaving him. His eyes fluttered and shut. The stylus slipped from his hand which I caught as it slid down the sheet. I took the phone from his other hand and tucked the stylus in the bottom then shoved it back in my pocket.
I sank into the plush couch in my living room, the phone feeling heavy in my hand as I dialed my mother's number. The events of the day swirled in my mind, a chaotic mix of relief and dread.
"Oliver's awake," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, laden with unspoken emotions.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line before my mother's concerned voice came through. "When?" she asked, urgency coloring her tone.
I closed my eyes, remembering the moment Oliver's gaze met mine. "This afternoon. I was there visiting."
"How is he?" The worry in her voice was palpable.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Everything seems fine, but they need to do testing tomorrow. The doctor said he'll keep the respirator in until then."
There was a pause before my mother asked softly, "And how are you doing?"
The question hit me harder than I expected. "I'm okay, I guess," I replied, my voice cracking slightly.
"What's the matter besides the obvious?" she pressed, her maternal instinct kicking in.
I stood up, pacing the room as emotions threatened to overwhelm me. "Everything, nothing. Things are so different than they were before we were attacked. How am I supposed to forget what happened on our honeymoon?"
My mother's voice softened. "You're not, just like you don't forget what happened to your father. It just fades. You've had a lot of trauma in your life, and for that, I'm sorry. I wish I could shield you from it all."
Tears pricked at my eyes. "Thanks, Mom. You did your best."
She cleared her throat. "Why don't you come visit us tomorrow? We can have brunch and take it easy."
I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. "I can't. I want to spend some time with Oliver, and I need to speak with the doctor about how we move forward."
"Then why don't you come during the week, take some time off?"
Frustration bubbled up inside me. "I can't do that either. We have a few projects that need my attention."
"Ryleigh," my mother's voice took on a stern edge, "you're going to burn out. You've been running at full speed since this happened. Your brothers and Sadie told me they haven't seen you for weeks."
I clenched my jaw. "There's nothing to see."
A dull ache began to throb behind my eyes, and I pinched the bridge of my nose.
My mother continued, relentless. "They miss you, and you haven't seen Teagan since you came home."
Something inside me snapped. "What do you want from me?" I shouted, my voice echoing in the cavernous apartment. "I'm dealing with a lot of shit right now. I'm learning everything on the fly at Fox, I have Oliver to take care of, and my own crap to sort out."
"Have you talked to a therapist?" she asked gently.
I let out a bitter laugh. "Therapist? I don't have time, and it won't help."
"It helped when you were a child."
"In case you didn't realize, I'm not a child anymore. I'm an adult," I spat, anger and frustration boiling over.
"But you're still fragile," she insisted.
The word 'fragile' hit me like a slap. "You think so? Would a fragile person take care of what I have and be fine? I can't discuss this with you. I have some work to finish."
"Ryleigh, I just want to help," my mother pleaded.
I felt a twinge of guilt but pushed it aside. "I know, but there's nothing you can help with. Goodbye."
I hung up the phone as she protested, cutting off her words mid-sentence. Slumping back against the couch, I felt the weight of my solitude pressing down on me. The silence of the apartment was deafening, amplifying the chaotic thoughts in my head. So many decisions needed to be made in the coming weeks. Decisions that would change my life forever.
That night, I slept horribly, tossing and turning so much that Trouble abandoned me for his own bed. I couldn’t blame him. At 2 a.m., I found myself sitting in the dark, sipping scotch. Alcohol had become my solace over the past few weeks, a way to calm my nerves and lull me to sleep. I knew the danger of leaning on it too much, but I was desperate.
By 2:30 a.m., I managed to drift back into a restless sleep. My dreams were vivid and terrifying, always circling back to Raphael Caruso aiming the gun at me. The memory of the cold steel glinting in the house lights, the anticipation of the bullet tearing through me—it always jolted me awake, whimpering or screaming, my skin slick with sweat. Tonight was no different, and by 5 a.m., I gave up on sleep.
I took a quick shower and pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt. I needed to go over some items for the next day. I avoided Oliver’s office, the scene of my recent discovery still too fresh, too raw. The hatred I felt would only make my upcoming visit to his bedside more difficult.
Oliver had no idea what my plans were. What kind of monster would I be to tell a man just waking from a coma what I intended? He would find out when he tried to reclaim his company. I had already taken the power of attorney document to Xander Wilder, a corporate lawyer at Keene, Ashburn, and Wilder. He and his colleague, Jacob Keene, confirmed it was only reversible when I relinquished control in writing.
Clearly, Oliver hadn’t anticipated me finding the damning information I did. The betrayal that had sown seeds of hate for the man I once considered my soulmate. I had no intention of giving his company back. It was mine now, a form of restitution for all his lies.
I worked at the dining room table with Trouble at my feet until it was time to dress for the office. Since taking over, my wardrobe had changed drastically. No more fun, flowing dresses or tight skirts. Now, it was business suits, usually in dark colors, with blouses buttoned to the neck. I felt no need to expose my skin or give the men in the office any ideas.
The routine was a bitter comfort, a fa?ade of control over a life that felt like it was spiraling. Every visit to Oliver would be an exercise in restraint, hiding my contempt behind a mask of concern. He would lay there, oblivious, and I wondered how long I could keep up the charade.
“Henri!” I bellowed, my voice echoing through the office. That poor man must’ve despised me, but he appeared at my door, a stack of folders in hand, his expression carefully neutral.
“Yes, Mrs. Fox?”
I sighed and frowned. “I think I prefer Miss Stewart.”
Henri raised an eyebrow. “You’re not using your married name? You have for weeks.”
I set my mouth in a hard line. “And now I’ve changed my mind. I prefer to be called Miss Stewart.”
“Very well,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Can I help you with something?”
I tapped my Mont Blanc pen on the desk. “Where is Mark Fulbright? I’ve called his office several times.”
“He’s coming in late today. He called earlier.”
“Why?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the air.
I read an email and began to type a reply as I waited for him to answer me.
“He had a family emergency.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And that would be?”
“His granddaughter is in the hospital.”
I stopped typing on my laptop, my eyes narrowing as I focused on him. “Why wasn’t I told? Teagan is my niece.”
“I left a note on your laptop.”
I glanced at my desk, seeing the stack of messages I’d swept aside without reading. “Damn it!” I cursed, jumping up and grabbing my coat. “Which hospital?”
“Lenox Hill,” Henri replied, his voice calm.
At least it would save me a trip since Oliver was there too. I hurried out of the building, hailing a cab. Though Vlad and Brenda were still contracted to Oliver, I often preferred the anonymity of a cab. If I traveled, they would accompany me.
I texted Sadie and Finley on my way, not expecting a response, but one came promptly, letting me know they were in the emergency room. I asked the driver to drop me at the entrance and rushed inside, scanning the room until I spotted Mark, Sadie, and Finley with the doctor. Sadie and Finley looked exhausted, and Teagan fussed while a young female doctor examined her.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice edged with worry.
Sadie, tearful, replied, “She had a very high fever and wouldn’t stop crying.”
The doctor looked up, her face kind. “Your baby has an ear infection, not uncommon.”
“That’s all?” Finley asked, his voice a mix of relief and frustration.
“Yes. We’ll treat it with antibiotics. She should be fine.”
Sadie leaned against Finley, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed.
Mark looked up at me, his face lined with worry. “I’m sorry about not coming in this morning. Sadie was hysterical when she called.”
“I was not,” Sadie said, pouting.
“Yeah, you were,” Finley countered, a teasing smile on his face.
“I’m just glad Teagan is all right. I was worried.”
“She’ll be fine,” the doctor assured as Teagan fussed in Sadie’s arms.
“Mark, I need to speak to you when I get back to the office. While I’m here, I might as well visit with Oliver.”
“Shit, I completely forgot to ask how he was,” Finley said, his face flushing with guilt.
“He’s awake.”
Everyone stared at me, eyes wide. “When?” they asked in unison.
“Just yesterday. He’s still on the respirator, though.”
“So he can’t talk?” Mark asked, concern etched on his face.
I felt horrible that I couldn’t feel the same way they did, feel the same concern for Oliver they did. But they didn’t know what I knew and what my husband hid from me. The betrayal ate at me like bacteria.
“Not until they remove it. Doctor Shu said maybe today, depending on how stable he is.”
I tried to sound positive, but inside, I couldn’t care less if Oliver ever got off that respirator. The thought of having to talk to him again filled me with dread.
“If everything is good here, I’m going upstairs.”
“We should visit,” Mark said.
“Give it a few days. Let him acclimate to everything.”
“Will do. You let us know,” Finley said.
I said my goodbyes, kissed my niece’s soft head, and took the elevator to the ICU. The nurses let me in, and when I entered Oliver’s room, he was sitting up without the respirator. Tubes still connected to his arms, and two drip bags hung above him. He gave me a weak grin, but I remained stoic.
“They took it out?” I asked, eyeing the scar on his chest revealed by his loose gown, a stark reminder of that horrible night.
“This morning,” he replied, his voice rough and raspy. He saw me looking at the scar and quickly covered it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Like I got run over by a truck.” He coughed, and a nurse came in.
“Can he have something to drink?” I asked.
“He can, but slow sips,” she warned.
I poured him some water and handed him the cup, resisting the urge to throw it in his face. It was ridiculous to think that way about a man who had just escaped death, but I hated him. I didn’t want to be here, but I would bide my time.
Oliver took a few sips, his hand shaky. He had lost much of his muscle tone from lying in bed for two months. I took the cup and placed it on the table by his bedside, my mind already drifting back to Fox Asset Corporation.
"You look beautiful," Oliver breathed, his eyes drinking in the sight of me as I stood awkwardly by his hospital bed.
I met his gaze, my voice ice-cold. "You don't."
The slight smile on his face crumbled, replaced by a deep frown that etched new lines into his pale skin. What the fuck was wrong with me? I couldn’t stop the venom that was oozing from me even though I knew it was wrong.
"I'll get back in shape," he said, his tone defensive as he shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. "It's only temporary."
I glanced at my watch, eager for an escape. "I have to go. I have a couple of conference calls today and a meeting with our contractor."
Oliver's eyes gleamed with a hint of his old pride. "I trained you well," he said, attempting a weak chuckle. "I might have to be your protégé when I come back."
"You just might," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion.
I turned away, reaching for my coat that I'd removed before stopping in the ER to see Teagan. As I slipped it on, Oliver's voice stopped me.
"Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?"
I froze, my back to him. "Oh shit, is that today?" The words came out harsher than I'd intended.
"Ryleigh, I'm sorry this happened," Oliver said, his voice cracking slightly. "I ruined everything."
I took a deep breath, steeling myself before turning back to face him. "There's plenty of time to talk. Happy birthday," I said flatly. "I need to go."
Oliver's eyes pleaded with me. "Don't I at least get a kiss?"
Reluctantly, I leaned in, barely brushing my lips against his dry, pale cheek. The closeness made my stomach churn, but I fought to keep my expression neutral.
"I'll see you later," I said, already stepping towards the door.
"Tonight?" Hope flared in Oliver's voice. "You'll come back?"
I paused, my hand on the doorknob. "I'm not sure. I have dinner planned with Ty."
It was a lie, but I knew the mention of Ty would sting. Oliver's distrust of him was well-known, and a part of me - a part I wasn't proud of - wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt me. As I left the room, guilt and vindictiveness warred within me. I knew it was horrible to want to cause pain to someone who'd already been through so much, but the raw ache of betrayal still throbbed in my chest.
I walked down the sterile hospital corridor, my heels clicking against the tile, each step carrying me further from Oliver and closer to a future I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
I arrived back at the office just in time for my first conference call. Handling it with the precision Oliver would have admired, I navigated the discussion seamlessly. The second call didn't go as smoothly, but I managed to gain the upper hand with one of our distributors trying to raise prices on circuitry with no clear reason why.
When I finished, I decided to get myself a cup of coffee. I could’ve asked Henri, but I prided myself on my self-sufficiency and wanted it made to my liking. As I neared the kitchen, I heard three men talking in hushed tones about me. I paused at the doorway to listen.
“What a fucking cunt. I hope Fox recovers soon. This company is going downhill,” one man sneered.
“She’s got more brass balls than Fox ever had. Doesn’t she realize that treating the staff the way she does won’t win any fans?” another grumbled.
“She’s young. Oliver must have been thinking with his cock when he gave her the power to run this company. What the hell was he thinking?” a third voice chimed in.
“He was definitely thinking with his cock. One thing I have to say for Mrs. Fox, she is one hot number,” the first man added with a lecherous tone.
I backed away from the door and bumped into Mark, who gave me a sheepish look. The hallway leading to the kitchen was separated from the cubicles, so the staff didn’t see me.
“I need a cup of coffee. Come with me,” I said, my voice tight.
Mark nodded, and we walked into the kitchen together. The three men—Tim Stoddard, Bryan Durvan, and Todd Cook, all executive vice presidents—greeted us and quickly left as we entered.
“We should talk,” Mark said quietly.
“I think so. Do you want coffee?”
“No.”
I made myself a cup of coffee, even though I no longer wanted it. Mark followed me back to my office, closing the door behind him. I settled into my chair, feeling the weight of the words I had just overheard.
“Did you hear them?” I asked, looking up at Mark.
“Yes. I’ve heard it before. They don’t think you should be heading up Fox Asset Corporation.”
“What else do they think?” I pressed.
He drew in a deep breath. “That you’re unfit and a bitch.”
I winced at the harsh words, even though they were milder than what I had just heard.
“I am a bitch, I’ll admit it, but I’m far from unfit. We’re doing fine with me at the helm,” I retorted, my tone sharp.
“We are, but the employees still aren’t happy,” Mark pointed out.
I leaned back in my chair, sipping my coffee and contemplating his words.
“You think I give a shit if they’re happy? They don’t give me support; they give me headaches. Those three bozos are overpaid and lazy. I should fire their asses.”
He shook his head. “You can’t start making big changes. I agree that they’re asses but upsetting the corporate structure could have negative effects on the company. Wait until Oliver gets back and have a talk with him.”
“I think he would agree with me if I fire them, but I’ll take your advice,” I said, my fingers tapping the edge of my coffee cup.
Mark nodded thoughtfully. “Henri said you wanted to discuss something with me.”
I set the cup down and leaned forward. “I have some figures on the latest project we’re planning in Brooklyn.”
“Bring them in so we can go over them. I want this project to run smoothly,” I said, my tone firm and resolute.
Mark grinned, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “You really channel Oliver when you sit in that chair.”
My eyes narrowed, and I felt a growl rise in my throat. “I couldn’t be more different than Oliver.”
Mark’s smile faltered, and he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I took a deep breath, trying to rein in my irritation. “Get the figures so we can discuss them,” I ordered, my voice cold and precise.