Rhys

When Rhys saw Hermione arrive at the registry in that backless dress, silk clinging to her in all the right places, he nearly lost his composure.

She was breathtaking.

It took every ounce of restraint he possessed to tear his gaze away from her body and focus on the marriage proceedings instead of dragging her to somewhere private and reminding himself exactly why he hated her.

She looked nothing like the drunken, fragile woman he had seen the night before. He doubted he would ever witness that kind of vulnerability from her again.

This was Hermione Windsor after all. Once the most celebrated socialite in the capital. Even now, despite her tainted reputation, she was still known for her gracefulness and polish.

Every smile from her was measured. Every step flawless. Every word chosen with precision, as though elegance had been carved into her bone. This was why most women hated her so much. They were jealous.

It was precisely what made her dangerous, no one knew what she was truly thinking.

He had fallen for that illusion once. Never again.

Now that she was free from the clutches of her father, and had no reason for shameless desperation anymore, he couldn’t help but wonder what came next. Surely, it was time for her to reclaim her former glory.

Now, seated at the highest floor of one of his many restaurant chains overlooking the city, Rhys lazily swirled a glass of wine, eyes fixed on the skyline beyond the window.

“What’s on your mind?” Dean, his best friend and business partner, asked, studying him. “You’ve been unusually quiet since you got here.”

They were supposed to be discussing a business expansion, yet this was the third time Rhys had zoned out.

“I’m a man of few words. Isn’t that why you always said?” Rhys replied casually.

Dean wasn’t convinced.

“Today is that woman’s wedding. Is that what’s bothering you? The fact that she’s marrying Cole Sterling?”

The corners of Rhys’ lips curved faintly. As if he would ever allow her marry that bastard.

Dean continued, reclining on his seat.

“If you hate her that much and against her happiness, why don’t you go object the wedding instead of sulking here like a—”

A phone rang, interrupting him. Both of their phones lay untouched on the table, but the ringing continued.

Dean watched, stunned, as Rhys reached into his pocket and pulled out an old phone, one Dean had mocked relentlessly for years. It was outdated and battered, but Rhys always kept it charged because it held one number. Hermione Windsor.

Dean’s eyes widened.

In all the years he had known Rhys, he had never once seen that phone ring… until today.

Rhys ignored Dean’s shocked expression and answered calmly. “Yes?”

“I’ve arrived.” Hermione’s voice came through.

Rhys pressed his lips together before asking, “Do you like it?”

“Like what?”

“The house.”

He had spent years designing that mansion, every corner tailored to her comfort. He wanted her settled and secured before he unraveled what he had installed for her.

“It’s beautiful.” She replied.

Satisfied, Rhys ended the call without a goodbye.

Dean stared at him like he had lost his mind.

“Was that Hermione Windsor?”

“Huxley,” Rhys corrected flatly.

“…What?”

“She’s Hermione Huxley now.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “You married her?” He spluttered. “How is that possible? Isn’t she supposed to be walking down the aisle with Cole right about now?”

Rhys shrugged. “It didn’t work out.”

Dean let out a chuckle as realization dawned on him. “Don’t tell me you’re the reason Adriana suddenly returned to the capital. You knew those two had a thing, didn’t you?”

Rhys took a slow sip from his wine.

“I might’ve nudged things along. But whatever Cold did, he did it himself. I didn’t tell him to crawl back to Adriana.”

“But you were counting on it.”

“Whatever.”

If Hermione ever discovered that he had orchestrated the collapse of her wedding, he wondered how she would react. Would she scream? Curse him out? Or would she thank him for saving her from a lifetime with a spineless coward?

Cole Sterling has never been faithful to Hermione. He was merely using her as a path to greatness and she was too desperate to see it. He had never cut ties with Adriana.

Rhys had merely accelerated the inevitable.

He could’ve exposed Cole long ago, but timing was everything. He had waited for the moment when Hermione would have no escape, when her despicable father would force her hand. And it worked. Now, she was his.

Dean clapped his hands together. “You’re terrifyingly thorough, Rhys. I didn’t think you’d actually pull this off. So what do you plan on doing with her?”

Hermione was difficult. But she was his now.

“Anything I see fit.”

“Don’t you hate her?” Dean asked, unease lacing his voice. “Is this some kind of revenge? A marriage is a lifelong commitment. Are you sure you want to gamble with something like that?”

Rhys exhaled slowly. Dean had been his friend for a few years now, ever since college abroad. He’d never told Dean what had truly happened between him and Hermione. No matter how much Dean pressed, all Rhys ever said was that Hermione Windsor was a menace.

Dean, on the other hand, hadn’t questioned it much despite his curiosity. The tabloids hadn’t painted Hermione in a flattering light either. They labeled her a man-chaser, so he didn’t really have high opinions towards her. It made him wonder why Rhys was so… fixated on her.

“I can divorce her whenever I want,” Rhys said calmly, a cold smirk curling his lips. “This marriage is nothing more than a game.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.

“I just haven’t decided how I want to play it yet,” Rhys continued, voice eerily even. “Should I make her fall in love with me first, then ruin her? Or let her wither away in the west wing of my mansion, starved of attention? I could even cut her off from the world entirely and watch her break.”

A chill ran down Dean’s spine. He couldn’t tell if Rhys was joking, and judging by the serenity on his face, he wasn’t.

“Every day, you give me more reasons not to offend you,” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t want you to end up regretting your decision.”

Rhys’s smile sharpened, devoid of warmth.

“Oh, trust me. I won’t.”

He turned his gaze back on the skyline with a satisfied look. Let the games begin.