Betrayed Heiress Strikes Back

Chapter 11

Rylee stood before the mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress, her phone pressed between shoulder and ear. Sadie’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and familiar.

“So Daddy Byrd swoops in, signs off your freedom in one day, and now he wants dinner? Sounds like a setup.”

Rylee rolled her eyes, fastening an earring. “It’s not a setup. He said it’s an ‘important matter.’”

Sadie snorted. “Important matter? Please. That man only has two important matters: golf and control.”

Rylee smiled faintly, though her stomach twisted. “Still… I can’t shake the feeling it’s bigger than that.”

Sadie’s tone softened. “Just remember, you’re free now. No Sebastian, no Cecilia, no Maya. Whatever he says tonight, you walk in as your own woman.”

Rylee glanced at the decree folded neatly on her dresser, her reflection staring back with quiet determination. “I know,” she whispered. “But I also know my father doesn’t move pieces without a reason.”

Rylee slid behind the wheel of her Ferrari Roma, the sleek crimson body gleaming under the city lights. The engine purred to life, a low growl that turned heads even before she pulled out of the driveway. Tonight wasn’t about hiding—tonight was about walking into her father’s world with her head held high.

The destination: La Fontaine, one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, known for its glass‑walled wine cellar and chandeliers that glittered like constellations. It was the kind of place where power was measured not in money alone, but in presence.

As she pulled up to the valet, the Ferrari drew immediate attention. Men paused mid‑conversation, their eyes following her with undisguised admiration. Women glanced her way, some with envy, others with grudging respect. A few whispered, their gazes lingering on her dress, her poise, the effortless confidence she carried.

Rylee stepped out, the valet rushing forward, almost stumbling in his eagerness to take the keys. She handed them over with a faint smile, her heels clicking against the marble steps as she moved toward the entrance.

She was a head‑turner instantly. The kind of woman who didn’t just walk into a room—she shifted its gravity. Men felt drawn to her, their gazes magnetic, while women measured themselves against her, some bristling with jealousy, others admiring the quiet strength she radiated.

Inside, the maître d’ greeted her with polished courtesy, already aware of her reservation. “Miss Byrd, welcome. Your father is waiting.”

Rylee nodded, her pulse steady. The decree, Sebastian’s call, her father’s enigmatic promise—all of it lingered in her mind. But tonight, she was no longer the woman who had been dismissed in a courthouse or silenced in a cramped apartment. Tonight, she was Kya Byrd— walking into a new chapter.

The maître d’ led Rylee through the glittering dining room of La Fontaine, past tables draped in white linen and chandeliers that spilled golden light across polished crystal. Patrick Byrd was already seated at a corner table in a private dining room, his posture impeccable, his presence commanding even in the hush of the restaurant.

“Kya,” he said warmly as she approached, rising just enough to kiss her cheek before gesturing for her to sit.

She slid into the chair opposite him. A waiter appeared instantly, menus in hand, and Patrick ordered without hesitation: a bottle of Bordeaux, the chef’s special filet mignon, and a seasonal risotto. Rylee added a glass of wine and a lighter entrée, her appetite dulled by nerves.

The wine arrived first, poured into crystal glasses that caught the light. Patrick raised his, his gaze steady. “To new beginnings.”

Rylee clinked her glass softly against his, the words echoing in her chest. New beginnings. She sipped, the rich flavor warming her throat, but her father’s eyes never left her.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the clink of cutlery and the murmur of other diners filling the air. Rylee tried to focus on the food, but she knew her father well—his pauses were deliberate, his timing calculated.

Finally, he set down his fork, folded his hands, and leaned slightly forward. His voice was calm, but it carried weight.

“How do you feel,” he asked, “about the upcoming wedding with Julian?”

The question landed like a stone in her chest. Rylee’s fork hovered above her plate, her pulse quickening. She had expected talk of business, of family matters, perhaps even of Sebastian. But Julian—her fiancé, the man who had become both her anchor and her enigma—was suddenly at the center of her father’s scrutiny.

She lowered her fork slowly, her mind racing. Did he approve? Was he testing her? Or was this the “important matter” he had hinted at by the pool?

Rylee met his gaze, her voice steady but cautious. “I feel… ready."

Patrick’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes sharp behind the rim of his glass. He sipped his wine, then set it down with deliberate care.

The maître d’ had barely stepped away when Patrick Byrd leaned back in his chair, his presence filling the corner of La Fontaine like a man accustomed to commanding rooms. The Bordeaux shimmered in his glass.

“Julian’s maternal grandfather,” Patrick began, his tone measured, “is Reginald Whitmore. A man of tradition, of legacy. He is the one who decides who inherits, who carries the Whitmore name forward. And he has made his expectations clear.”

Rylee tilted her head, curiosity flickering. “Expectations?”

Patrick’s gaze sharpened. “Julian must marry a decent wife. Untainted. Never married. A woman who can give him an heir within the year. That is the condition Reginald set. Without it, Julian loses his place in the family. And you, Kya, lose everything tied to him.”

Her breath caught.

Never married.

The words pressed against her chest like iron. She thought of Sebastian, of the courthouse, of Cecilia’s cold stare. No one knew—except her family, Sadie, and Julian himself. But if Reginald ever discovered the truth…

Patrick’s voice cut through her thoughts. “That is why Elena was never acceptable. Even before her disgrace.”

Rylee blinked, startled. “Disgrace?”

Patrick’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained hard. “Julian ended things with her because he caught her cheating. There was a video. The man she betrayed him with used it to blackmail her, and the Carneys had to pay him off. That stain will never fade. Reginald would never allow someone like her into their family.”

Rylee’s fork slipped against her plate, the sound sharp in the quiet. Shock rippled through her. Julian had never told her this. When she had asked why he broke things off with Elena, he had only said it was over, that she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. He hadn’t mentioned scandal, betrayal, or blackmail.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “How… how do you know all this?”

Patrick’s smile was enigmatic, his tone calm but edged with steel. “Because I make it my business to know. Influence is not about money alone, Kya. It is about information. And I have no limits when it comes to protecting my family.”

She studied him, torn between awe and unease. Patrick Byrd was a man of boardrooms and golf courses, yes—but also of shadows, of whispered truths gathered from places most men dared not tread. Yet beneath the ruthlessness, he was still her father, the man who had kissed her cheek at the pool, who had expedited her divorce to free her from Sebastian’s grasp. Loving, protective, but unyielding.

Patrick leaned forward, his voice low, commanding. “You must marry Julian quickly. And within the year, you must produce an heir. That is the only way to secure your place. If Elena learns about Sebastian, she will use it. She will expose you. And when Reginald hears, he will see you as tainted. He will demand the marriage be dissolved. That cannot happen.”

Rylee’s pulse hammered. The decree had promised freedom, but now she saw the truth: she was stepping into another cage, gilded and inescapable.

"Should I not marry Julian and let him find someone... more suitable?" She almost choked. "If Mr. Whitmore finds out about--" She couldn't even say 'the divorce', her marriage with Julian would end anyway.

Patrick’s hand brushed hers briefly, a rare gesture of warmth. “I know this is heavy. But understand me, Kya— I do this because I love you. Because I will not let anyone destroy you. Not Sebastian. Not Cecilia. Not Elena. You are my daughter. And I will protect you, even if it means making demands you cannot refuse. You will continue with the wedding.”

Rylee lowered her gaze to the wine glass, her reflection fractured in the crimson liquid. Her father’s words echoed in her chest, binding her tighter than any decree.