When the Boss’ Lady Became His Sister-in-law

“I know you’re capable,” James sneered at Vincent with a contemptuous glint in his eye. “You managed to put her behind bars five years ago. What’s stopping you from doing anything else? James looked on indifferently as Vincent downed his glass of bourbon in one gulo and stood up to leave the dimly lit room of the old pub.

Alone now, Vincent sat in oppressive silence. Abruptly, he snapped, kicking over the bottles of liquor on the table, his rage turning into a frenzy as he smashed anything within reach.

Five years ago, that damn trial had become Vincent’s worst nightmare.

For five long years, Kristin had been locked away, and he’d been haunted by dreams of her. He saw her in the courtroom, her eyes filled with despair and resignation as she said, “I plead guilty.”

Vincent had lost control, shouting to withdraw the charges, insisting he no longer accused Kristin. He claimed he had given her the money willingly.

But the gavel had fallen, and the judge had pronounced the sentence. All Vincent could do was watch helplessly as the police took her away.

“Vincent, does ruining me make you happy? If so, then I’ll plead guilty.”

“Kristin, you have to atone for your sins.”

“Vincent, I’m not guilty.”

Once, Vincent had been Kristin’s salvation. But eventually, he became her personal hell.

At Rhett’s apartment.

Wrapped in a bath towel, Kristin stood shivering at the bathroom door, glancing around nervously. She stepped onto the bath mat, her bare feet cold against the tile, her head bowed

in anxiety.

Moving into Rhett’s place so suddenly had left her on edge, so much so that she forgot to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom.

Twisting her feet together in a fluster, Kristin felt too apprehensive to disturb Rhett.

Rhett was clad in a silk robe, talking on the phone by the floor–to–ceiling windows to York.

Through the reflection in the glass, he could see Kristin’s discomfort.

His breath tightened, and a scratchy heat built in his throat, his body growing warm.

“Mr. FitzGerald, shall I head back to the office tomorrow? Don’t worry about the shareholder vote. I’ll handle it. Mr. FitzGerald?”

On the other end of the line, York called out several times, but Rhett didn’t respond.

11.1

“Mr. FitzGerald?”

Rhett snapped back to reality, his brow furrowing. “Go to bed. Don’t call me at night unless it’s urgent.”

A bewildered York got reprimanded without understanding why. “Mr. FitzGerald, didn’t you call me?”

Without another word, Rhett hung up.

York, standing in the dim light of Harborside Haven Airport, stared at his disconnected phone.

Lately, Mr. FitzGerald was acting more human than ever, unpredictable, but unmistakably alive. “Mr. FitzGerald…” Seeing Rhett turn to look at her, Kristin wished she could vanish into thin air.

Her nerves made her fair skin flush, resembling a delicate and blooming flower.

“Hmm?” Rhett’s voice was husky, his magnetic tone sending shivers down her spine.

He was wearing a dark grey robe that outlined the contours of his muscled chest…

Already handsome, the dim light only enhanced his devilish features.

Kristin, too nervous to meet Rhett’s gaze, felt like her heart was racing out of control.

She knew her worth. As a contractual wife, she understood her obligations.

“I…” Kristin stammered, unsure how to begin.

“Did you take your medicine?” Rhett approached, his hand reaching out to touch her forehead, his voice deep, revealing no particular emotion yet strangely mesmerizing. This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Kristin nodded.

Relieved she wasn’t feverish, Rhett let out a sigh of relief.

“I… I can…” Kristin began timidly, her hands fumbling with the towel, ready to fulfill her duties.

Rhett grew hotter, his voice rough and low as he spoke. “I won’t touch you tonight, just rest well.”

Kristin looked down, her ears burning even redder.

She always overthought things. Rhett was sober tonight. Did he despise her now?

“I washed thoroughly.” Kristin quivered her voice.

Hanging her head, she wished she could bury it in her chest.

Rhett inhaled sharply, feeling that any further provocation could lead to something uncontrollable…

Holding Kristin in one arm, Rhett said in a resigned tone, “I’m not a monster, you know. You’re still not well.”

the hairdryer, certain that Rhett couldn’t hear her.

Rhett turned off the hairdryer. “Hmm?”

“No… it’s nothing.” Kristin’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. In a panic, she turned to flee

But her towel slipped.

She hadn’t brought a change of clothes.

Her heartbeat raced, tears threatening, Kristin clutched the towel tightly. “I’m sorry…”

It wasn’t intentional.

As Kristin made to run, Rhett shot out his hand, pinning her against the wall, his voice a husky lure. “Beg me, and I might let you go.”

Kristin gripped the towel, her head bowed. “Please… please let me go.”

Rhett chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Get some sleep.”

Kristin, with a racing heart and a flushed face, slipped into bed, contemplating the sweet relief that suffocation might bring.

At the Haywood family’s manor.

Adrienne was in tears, while Hertha was dark with suppressed anger.

“That bastard child of Kristin’s can’t be James‘…” Adrienne cried, clutching Abigail. “Mom, what if James doesn’t believe me?”

“Kristin is cunning, a true vixen.” Abigail spoke with gravity. “Carter despises deceit above all. If that child isn’t James‘, we won’t need to lift a finger. Carter will take care of Kristin for us.”

“Mom, let’s secretly arrange a paternity test. I’ll find a way to get some of James‘ hair, Adrienne whispered.

Hertha glanced at Adrienne. “I can help you get some of Summer’s hair.”