Mervyn let out a laugh—too loud, too pleased with himself—then pulled out his phone.
He shoved the screen into Ryley's face, where a headline burned;
Supermodel Ryley Spotted With a New Bodyguard: New Life, New Boyfriend?
Photos below showed Ryley and Oliver—close, maybe too close.
It was the angle, the lighting, the tension in the air—it told a story that didn't exist.
"Poor Rosie," Mervyn sneered, yanking his phone back. "Good thing she didn't spend her early years raised by a scandalous bitch like you. Clyde must've called you in just to throw your sorry ass out after this!"
Ryley's jaw tightened—not at the gossip, not even the violation—but at the way Mervyn casually dragged Rosie into it.
Still, he swallowed the rage and smiled. A cruel, cold little thing.
"At least I'm still being summoned to the Main Chamber," he said, voice low and venomous as he stepped in closer. "That's something you'll never know—except maybe in your sleep."
