Mockery Turned Majesty: Her Rise After Divorce

Driven by impulse, Jase hurried after Rena.

"Have you lost your mind, Jase?" Cassie snapped, grabbing him before he could take another step. "You're the CEO of Bailey Group. You really think you should be chasing after her?"

His movements stalled. He stood there for a beat, eyes fixed on the dense, lightless night outside the open door. "But…"

Cassie folded her arms across her chest, her face dripping with disdain. "But what? With no money to her name, where exactly does she think she can go besides here?"

A deep frown carved into Jase's face as a flicker of uncertainty tightened his jaw.

Where else could Rena possibly go?

Everything in her life had always circled back to this house—back to him.

No friends waited for her, no circle to fall into.

By the end of it, she would come back on her own.

...

Along the coastal highway, a sedan tore through the darkness at full speed.

Cool night air poured through the half-open window, tangling Rena's long hair into wild strands that lashed across her cheeks.

Resting on the passenger seat was a photograph, once ripped apart and now carefully pieced back together.

A jagged tear split straight across Clara's soft, tender smile.

One hand stayed firm on the steering wheel while her fingertips traced the rip across the photo with aching care.

Scenes from five years earlier rose in her mind with brutal clarity, each one sharper than the last.

At the time, she had been serving with a joint task force, moving through blood and chaos to treat the injured.

Then someone inside her own family sold them out to outside enemies, and Clara's sudden disappearance had forced her to abandon her post before her mission was over.

While chasing down the faintest clues about where her mother might have gone, she was ambushed without warning.

Bleeding heavily and barely clinging to life, she saw Jase appear through the chaos and pull her out of danger.

Once she regained consciousness, he spent the rest of his money buying the medicine she needed to survive.

In that hazy moment, he leaned close and assured, "Don't be afraid. They're gone now. I'll keep you safe."

Because of those words, she had truly believed she had finally found a harbor where her battered heart could rest.

Because she owed him her life, and because she had mistaken gratitude for love, she buried her real identity and became the perfect, devoted wife, all while secretly continuing the search for Clara.

When Jase said he wanted to build a business and start a pharmaceutical company, she quietly sent him an unpublished biopharmaceutical patent she and Clara had created together under complete anonymity.

By handing over full usage rights, she had let him build everything on that foundation, while he foolishly believed it was all just a stroke of luck.

What he never realized was that the document in his hands carried the weight of years—half a lifetime of relentless research and sacrifice shared between her and Clara.

And in the end, what did it amount to?

The very man who rose on Clara's life's work had stood there without a word, watching his family rip Clara's photograph to shreds, hurling vile insults.

A hollow, bitter laugh slipped from her lips.

How absurd it all was!

For five long years, she had poured her devotion into that household, only to realize she had been tending nothing more than a house full of ungrateful parasites.

With the debt of her life finally repaid, there was nothing left tying her to them. Now, she would walk away.

But before she did, she would make sure none of them escaped unscathed.

Up ahead, the road stretched lonelier and lonelier, until a weathered sign by the roadside whipped past her window. "Private property. Trespassers will be dealt with accordingly."

After turning off the engine, Rena braced herself against the side of the car and exhaled deeply, letting some of the tension drain away.

Then a faint, pitiful sound made her head snap up.

"Meow—"

Right in the middle of the road, a tiny white kitten, filthy with mud, shivered there like a helpless ball of fur.

Just ahead, in the opposite lane, a Lincoln came tearing toward it, no more than thirty feet away.

Without thinking, she shoved off the ground and lunged forward, sweeping the kitten into her arms.

On the rough asphalt, Rena dropped to her knees, curling protectively around the trembling little creature.

When she lifted her head, damp strands of hair clung to her cheeks, and a sheen of cold sweat had already formed across her brow.

The Lincoln's gleaming black bumper halted less than an inch from her knee.

Had the driver been even half a second later, her body would have been thrown clear across the road.

Rena tightened her gaze and fought to smooth out her ragged breathing, forcing her pounding heart back under control.

When she pushed a hand against the ground and tried to rise, a fierce stab tore through her ankle, and a low grunt slipped from her lips as she dropped back down.

A severe sprain had taken hold of her ankle.

Just then, the car door swung open.

From the driver's side, a tall man stepped out.

His face stayed buried in the night at first, but as he stepped into the dim streetlight, it slowly revealed his features.

That face looked almost unfair, as though God had sculpted it with painstaking care and then cruelly thrown it into the depths of despair.

A straight, striking nose cut down the center of his face, his deep-set eyes shadowed beneath sharp bone structure, while his skin held the bloodless pallor of someone who had gone too long without sunlight.

Set beneath it all, his pale, thin lips pressed into a hard line that carried nothing but cold indifference and the exhausted contempt of a man long sick of the world.

The man came to a halt in front of her, towering over her as his shadow fell across her face.

Without a word, he abruptly extended his hand.

Rena's gaze dropped to the hand suspended before her, but she made no move to take it.

Trusting help from a stranger had never come naturally to her.

Seeing her remain still, the man drew his brows together in faint irritation.

Instead of waiting any longer, he crouched down, slid one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, then scooped her up with the kitten still tucked in her arms.

The sharp jolt that ran through Rena made her entire body go rigid. Almost immediately, she twisted in his hold and demanded, "Who are you?"

Curled against her, the kitten seemed to catch her alarm too, wriggling restlessly as it let out thin, frantic cries. "Meow, meow—"

Waylon Brooks lowered his eyes to her, his voice flat and icy as he said, "If you want to stay alive, don't move."