From Trash To Treasure: Masked Heiress

Jerome pulled a document from his briefcase. He slapped it onto the coffee table.

"Sign this. The Miles family cannot accept a loose woman."

Joette began to cry. "It is a misunderstanding! Pringle is lying!"

Ivy watched her mother's tears. Her jaw tightened. She hated weakness. She hated that these people made her mother cry.

Upstairs, Braylon heard the words "loose woman."

His eyes darkened. He pushed himself off the bed. The stitches pulled tight, burning like fire. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself.

Downstairs, Ivy picked up the pen. She didn't care about the engagement. Jared was a bore and a coward. She prepared to sign.

The front door burst open.

Two men in black suits marched in. Douglas and Clay. They were huge, taking up space with efficient violence.

"Intruders!" Pringle shrieked. "Call the police!"

Douglas didn't look at her. He looked up the stairs.

Everyone turned.

Braylon stood at the top of the landing. He was shirtless. The bandages wrapped around his torso were stark white against his tan skin. His hair was messy. He leaned heavily against the railing, his face pale and slick with a thin sheen of sweat. He looked like a ruin, but a magnificent one.

Cleora stared. Her breath hitched.

"Who is this man?" Jerome demanded.

"See!" Pringle pointed a shaking finger. "That is the man she was hiding! A criminal!"

Douglas and Clay ran up the stairs. They didn't tackle him. They stopped three steps below him and bowed their heads.

"Sir," Douglas said.

Braylon waved a hand. He leaned heavily on the banister. He looked down at the group in the living room. His gaze landed on Ivy.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

"Honey," he rasped. "Why are these people bothering us?"

Ivy froze. The pen hovered over the paper. She looked up and glared at him.

Jared took a step back. The man on the stairs radiated power. It wasn't just physical; it was the way he looked at them-like they were insects.

Braylon walked down the stairs. It was a slow descent, each step a visible, agonizing effort. He reached the bottom and walked to Ivy.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. He leaned his weight on her.

To everyone else, it looked like a possessive embrace,but Ivy knew he was about to pass out.

Braylon looked at Jerome.

"You want to annul the engagement? Good."

He reached into the pocket of the pants Ivy had found for him-an old pair of her father's sweatpants.

He pulled out a folded piece of thick, cream-colored paper that Douglas had slipped it to him.

He tossed the check onto the annulment papers.

"You don't deserve her anyway," Braylon said. "Now, get out."