Jewel Of His Heart: Who Knew Love Could Be So Treacherous?

The dim alleyway was shrouded in shadows, lit only by the weak, intermittent flicker of a streetlamp.

Cathryn Marsh had just reached the edge of the alley when a hand grabbed her arm, yanking her into a dark, suffocating corner.

Two drunkards, their stench thick with the acrid bite of alcohol, leaned unsteadily against the wall. The moment they spotted Cathryn, predatory grins spread across their faces, and they lunged at her, clawing at her clothes.

The overpowering stench and their violent grip sent waves of terror through her, and she twisted and thrashed against them with all her might.

"Help! Someone, help!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation.

The plea earned her a sharp slap, the sound cracking through the air like a whip.

"Shut up, bitch!" one of the men snarled, his tone dripping with malice. "You dared to cross the wrong person, and now you're gonna pay for it."

The other man leered, his voice cold and taunting. "No one's coming to save you tonight, sweetheart. Scream all you want; you're ours now. Be good, and I might even make it worth your while."

......

Suddenly, the low hum of a car engine echoed through the alley. A sleek black Maybach pulled up, its polished exterior gleaming even in the dim light. A window rolled down slowly, revealing a pair of piercing, icy eyes that surveyed the scene with chilling indifference.

The driver leaned forward, his voice calm but questioning. "Should we intervene, Mr. Wheeler?"

The man known as Mr. Wheeler didn't even blink, his expression impassive. "No. Drive on."

Inside the alley, Cathryn's panic swelled. Her torn clothes hung limply from her frame, and the sight of the car spurred her into an even more frantic struggle.

"Help! Please help me!" she cried out, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face.

One of the drunkards scowled, furious at her defiance, and struck her face hard. His grip tightened, tugging at the fabric of her dress.

Just as Cathryn felt the last thread of hope slipping away, the car that had begun to drive off screeched to a halt.

The doors opened, and two tall men stepped out with purposeful strides.

The man in the lead had a lean, elegant frame, his plain white shirt crisp and unadorned by any logos, a stark contrast to his commanding presence.

His cold, noble aura cut through the darkness like a blade, his sharp gaze fixed on the shadowy corner where Cathryn struggled.

Though he couldn't make out her face, he heard the sound of her soft sobs and desperate cries for help.

That voice-it tugged at something buried in his memory.

A flicker of recognition broke through the detached veneer of his eyes as he squinted. "Rylan, grab anything nearby. Make sure they regret this!"

Without hesitation, the man and his assistant, rushed into the corner, their sudden appearance startling the drunkards.

Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps, the drunken men froze, turning to face the intruders.

"Who the hell do you think you are, ruining my fun?" one of them sneered, his bravado tinged with drunken arrogance. "Do you even know who you're dealing with?"

Cathryn, her head pounding from the slaps, forced her eyes to focus-and then froze in shock.

Before her, it was Grayson Wheeler, who was now related to her in a way.

Grayson's usually impassive eyes now burned with a cold, simmering fury, his gaze locking onto her with the intensity of a predator honing in on prey.

The weight of his stare sent a wave of deeper terror washing over Cathryn, leaving her mind blank for a moment.

Freed from the drunkards' grasp, she snatched her purse off the ground and bolted, her heart hammering as she fled deeper into the alley.

Behind her, the sharp sounds of fists meeting flesh and the pained screams of the drunkards filled the air. She didn't dare look back.

She ran as though her life depended on it, her feet carrying her through the maze of the dark alleyway. Finally, she stumbled into a bustling street, the glow of lights and the savory aroma of street food pulling her back to reality.

Leaning against a wall, she gasped for breath, her mind racing with a single thought.

Was Grayson back? He once said he'd be gone for five years. So why was he back after only three?

Did he catch a glimpse of her face just now? It was dark, and she had been hidden in the shadows. Surely, he couldn't have recognized her, right?

But why would someone as cold and detached as him bother to stop and save her?

In her memories, even if someone collapsed in front of him, he wouldn't spare them a second glance. So why, of all people, would he be the one to intervene?

Cathryn shook her head, pushing the thought aside. No, she had already been humble enough in front of him once. She couldn't allow him to see her like this-broken and pitiful.

Straightening her posture, she adjusted her disheveled clothes and forced herself forward, her steps faltering but determined.

Her phone's sharp ring suddenly broke the silence.

"Cathryn, come back home for lunch tomorrow," came her aunt Jenna Wheeler's clipped tone. "Grayson's returned from Asosall, and everyone is expected to attend."

Cathryn stumbled, gripping her phone tightly as she replied softly, "I have classes tomorrow. I'm afraid I won't be able to make it."

Jenna's displeased voice hardened. "Grayson is back to take over the Gale Enterprises. With just one word, he can determine your future. He can set you up with a golden bachelor in no time. What classes are more important than marrying a rich and powerful man?"

Jenna's relentless ambition to climb the social ladder had been clear from the moment she married Andres Wheeler, Grayson's elder brother. Barely in her twenties, she had stepped into the role of stepmother to two teenagers, sparing no effort in molding Cathryn to break into the elite world Jenna so coveted.

Cathryn's frown deepened as she answered firmly, "Aunt Jenna, I really can't go back tomorrow."

Her aunt's voice turned icy. "Cathryn, I'm telling you now-if you don't return tomorrow, I'll go visit your mother's grave and tell her your folly the day after. It's your choice."

The line went dead before Cathryn could respond.

She sighed heavily, continuing her walk with the weight of the conversation pressing on her.

When she finally returned to her rented apartment, she noticed her phone had been on silent. Three missed calls from an unknown number stared back at her.

Hesitating for a moment, she tapped to call back.

"Hello, may I ask who this is?" she inquired cautiously, her voice steady despite her unease.

There was a brief silence before a cold, familiar voice broke through. "So, my number is unfamiliar to you now?"

It was Grayson.

Cathryn froze, her breath hitching. How did he have her number? She had changed it three years ago.

Swallowing her unease, she forced her voice to remain steady. "Sir, I believe you've dialed the wrong number."

Without waiting for a reply, she ended the call, her hand trembling slightly as she placed the phone down.

That night, her sleep was restless, plagued by haunting memories of three years ago. In her dreams, Grayson's piercing, blood-red eyes loomed over her like a predator's, cold and unyielding. No matter how far she tried to run, she couldn't escape.

When morning came, Cathryn woke with dark circles beneath her eyes, the remnants of her nightmares weighing heavily on her.

Her phone buzzed with a string of messages from Jenna, all urging her to dress well and arrive early.

Cathryn sighed, slipping into a light blue dress and brushing on a touch of makeup to mask her exhaustion.

Standing before the mirror, she scrutinized her reflection. Her heart eased slightly when she saw that, aside from the bruises on her legs, there were no other visible injuries.

By the time she reached the Wheeler Mansion, the sun was high in the sky, and it was already eleven.

Pausing at the gates near the security room, she adjusted her dress, her cheeks flushed from the crowded bus ride.

Sweat clung to her, making her hair stick uncomfortably to her forehead. She felt damp, disheveled, and utterly out of place.

Having forgotten to bring tissues, she waved her hands in front of her face, desperately trying to cool down.

As she stood there, a sleek black Maybach rolled smoothly to a stop in front of her.

The tinted window lowered with deliberate slowness, revealing a single hand extended toward her.

Its fingers were long and elegant, the kind that seemed sculpted for precision. A silver ring adorned the index finger, catching the light with a cold, muted gleam.

Between those fingertips was a travel-sized pack of tissues, held out silently toward her.

The gesture exuded a noble elegance that carried an undercurrent of condescending pity.

Cathryn's breath hitched, panic flickering in her chest as her gaze followed the hand upward, locking onto a pair of deep eyes as cold as ice.

It was Grayson.

Her heart pounded violently, its rhythm betraying her composure.

Under the piercing weight of his gaze, an unbearable helplessness surged within her, as though his eyes left no corner for her to retreat or hide. Her trembling hand reached for the tissues, and she quickly lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

Grayson inclined his head with a cool, detached nod, though his gaze lingered a moment too long on her lips-soft, inviting, and unintentionally captivating. A fleeting flicker of desire crossed his otherwise indifferent eyes, an echo of something buried deep within.

For a brief moment, it felt as though time had reversed, pulling them both back to three years ago.