Second Chances Denied: From Dull Housewife To Comic Icon

They would stay at the Bradley Mansion tonight? For a split second, Rylee's heartbeat faltered, caught off guard.

In the past three years, she and Alec had been sleeping in separate rooms, and a night at the Bradley Mansion meant one thing—sharing a room with him.

Once, that idea would have filled her with shy excitement.

Now she wanted no surprises, no repeat of anything she couldn't control.

She scrambled for a lifeline. "I… I left all my skincare at the villa. Staying here might be inconvenient…"

Maggie offered a warm smile, unbothered. "We can have someone bring it over, dear, or you can pick up a new set."

Rylee froze, her excuse collapsing in front of her.

Alec's gaze slid toward her, cool and sharp. She looked genuinely hesitant, almost delicate in her discomfort—performing it a little too convincingly.

Hadn't she been the one urging Maggie to make him stay here tonight, all to orchestrate a chance to get close to him again?

With every word, Alec's revulsion twisted a little deeper. "Grandma, she and I aren't..."

Maggie cut him off with a firm wave of her hand, saying, "If you're too busy to think about children, maybe your uncle should take over as CEO. How does that sound?"

Her words struck with the weight of a gut hit.

Alec's jaw tightened, shadows gathering across his face. "I'll follow your arrangement, Grandma."

There was a quiet triumph in the way Maggie smiled, pleased with the outcome. "That's more like it."

An uneasy pressure pressed in around Rylee, leaving her breath tight and her pulse unsteady. Despair curled up in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

Once dinner ended, they made their way upstairs to the second floor. Alec shut the bedroom door with a sharp click and stepped in close, pinning her between his body and the wall.

"Rylee," he muttered, his stare glacial. "You talk about divorce and at the same time use my grandmother to trap me here? Impressive. What's wrong? That desperate to end up in my bed?"

Rylee steadied herself, the weight of every past misunderstanding pressing down on her.

Her lips quivered as she retorted, "Alec, why the hell are you doing this to me?"

He answered without hesitation, his tone sharp with icy contempt, "Because you never do anything without a hidden agenda."

Color drained from Rylee's cheeks as the memory of that hidden photo album flickered through her mind.

She mustered a fragile, bitter smile. "I see."

For years, she had clung to the naïve hope that if she just cleared up the misunderstanding—that she had never drugged him—he might someday soften toward her.

Yet the truth landed heavily now: Alec had never carved out even the smallest corner of his heart for her.

Accepting that, she knew she had to release every lingering illusion before they destroyed her.

Without offering so much as a backward glance, Alec strode into the bathroom.

Rylee slipped into the adjoining bathroom to shower, letting the warm water wash the ache from her limbs.

By the time she stepped back into the bedroom, a faint trail of steam drifting behind her, Alec was already lounging in a bathrobe by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Fresh from his shower, he looked impossibly composed—an effortless vision of cool, breathtaking allure.

Years of drawing polished, impossibly handsome leads made her instinctively catalog beautiful features, and Alec—annoyingly—fit every criterion. For a split second, she almost saw him as a reference sketch for her next male protagonist.

Alec's cool stare flicked toward her, slicing through the thought.

Rylee jerked her gaze away and fussed with her long hair, pretending to smooth out tangles while her pulse thudded in her ears.

A soft knock broke the silence before a servant stepped inside carrying a tray.

Two glasses of dark brown tonic were placed on the table, their murky surface releasing a bitter herbal scent that made her temples tighten.

In a measured gesture, the servant dipped forward politely. "Maggie asked me to make sure you finish these before I take the glasses away."

Rylee stared at the glasses, dread sliding down her spine. There was clearly no escaping this.

After they drained the glasses, a wave of scorching warmth ripped through Alec, leaving him charged with raw, unfamiliar energy.

Color crept across Rylee's cheeks in response.

The servant gathered the empty glasses and slipped out, and the soft click of the door sealed them into a heavy, breathless quiet.

Trying to head off yet another misunderstanding, Rylee spoke up first. "I'll take the sofa tonight," she offered, her voice small but steady.

She crossed to the cabinet and stretched onto her toes to search for a quilt.

Her small frame shifted lightly as she reached, and the soft hem of her nightdress edged higher, revealing the smooth line of her delicate thighs.

Alec's gaze darkened. The image from the previous night blindsided him—her warm legs locked around his waist, her breath unsteady against his skin.

Heat punched through his chest.

Damn it!

What had his grandmother put in that tonic? The effect had hit him like a spark to dry tinder.

He pushed abruptly to his feet and strode to the counter, filling a glass with cold water.

When Rylee turned back with the quilt in her arms, she caught him gulping the water hard.

She tucked her chin, said nothing, and made her way toward the sofa with quiet steps.

Alec tracked her movements with a cool, unreadable stare, waiting to see just how long she planned to keep up her little act.