That particular young man was infamous for his creative cruelty, volatile and unpredictable.
But Lucy Stephens would do whatever it took to climb. No line she wouldn't cross.
The next morning, I'd just finished a run in my private gym when Brett appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Henson, Mr. Farley is here. He's waiting in the reception room."
I grabbed a towel and blotted the sweat from my neck. My eyes cooled.
That was fast.
Sylvester stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wearing a simple white shirt tucked into black trousers. Gone was the cutting edge he usually carried. In its place was something softer, almost gentlemanly.
The moment he heard footsteps, he turned. His fingers curled at his sides, an unconscious tell.
No trace of yesterday's man who'd pressed a gun to his own temple. Right now, he looked almost... cautious.
He said my name. His voice was still raw.
I dropped into a single-seat armchair and crossed my legs.
"What else could you possibly want, Mr. Farley? Yesterday's performance wasn't enough?"
He swallowed hard. "That's not why I'm here. I came because there are things I need to tell you."
I shot him an impatient glance.
Sylvester looked like a man steeling himself for something enormous.
"Rose, you... you're reborn too, aren't you?"
My hand froze mid-pour. I looked up at him.
It made sense, though. From the moment I'd bolted on our wedding night, my behavior had been nothing like my previous life. It wasn't surprising he'd figured it out.
"So what if I am?"
I set the glass on the table. It landed with a deliberate clink.
"What are you trying to say?"
Sylvester walked over and settled onto the sofa across from me. He continued without waiting for an invitation.
"Matriarch Farley never truly trusted the Henson family."
"You were too young and too capable. The resources and connections your family controlled made her uneasy. She was afraid that one day you'd slip beyond her control, maybe even turn around and threaten the Farleys. So from the very beginning, I was the bait she dangled."
He pulled a pocket watch from his jacket. It was old, silver, simple in design, its surface etched with fine scratches.
"This belonged to my birth mother. She was an ordinary woman, a secretary for Matriarch Farley. She was eventually moved to a care facility on the outskirts of the city. The official story was that she'd passed away from illness."