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.

Grayson's memory traveled back to that cicada-filled summer day three years ago.

The shy look in Cathryn's eyes and the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to her temples blended seamlessly with the memory of that afternoon.

For three years, she had invaded his dreams every night, leaving him restless, burning with desire.

Grayson ran his fingers over the spot where Cathryn had touched him, feeling a heat spread through him, and even the air around them seemed charged with tension.

But he quickly turned away, keeping his expression cold and distant. "Go inside," he said, his voice steady.

Cathryn exhaled in relief and hurried away.

She didn't see the way Grayson's eyes, hungry and predatory, followed her every move.

Once inside the mansion, Cathryn realized it wasn't just the family gathered there-Grayson's old acquaintances, those from the upper echelons of society, had also arrived.

Each of them commanded respect, but it was Grayson who stood out as the most formidable of them all.

Cathryn had witnessed their absurd antics more than once and braced herself to avoid them at all costs.

But Jenna, who carried herself like the lady of the house, was not about to let her off so easily.

"I'm busy. Take these drinks to Grayson and his friends."

Cathryn had no choice but to comply, reluctantly stepping into the room where Grayson waited.

Inside, the air was thick with opulence and laughter.

In her light blue dress, Cathryn stood at the doorway, feeling like prey among a pack of predators, all eyes turning to her.

Even in the dim light, her smooth hair and red lips stood out, exuding an effortless allure that drew attention.

Her delicate skin, glowing in the soft lighting, made her seem ethereal.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, someone let out a mocking laugh.

"Grayson, your new family member has certainly grown up. She's looking rather captivating."

Grayson hadn't expected Cathryn to walk in either. His brow furrowed slightly as he swirled his wine, his eyes cold and unreadable.

"She's been living with my family for a few years. Not my family member exactly."

His voice was so detached, as if he were discussing the weather, coldly severing any connection with Cathryn and distancing her from the family.

Cathryn's heart sank, her fingers tightening around the tray as if it could anchor her.

Grayson, as always, knew exactly how to wound her with his words.

She refused to meet his gaze.

Even though she stood while he sat, she felt as if he were looking down on her, stripping away any sense of dignity she had left.

Under the weight of the scrutinizing and disdainful stares, Cathryn placed the drinks on the table. "Here are your drinks."

Grayson's eyes drifted down her slender legs, and a slight, almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes followed. His voice, cold as ice, cut through the room. "Who let you in? Get out."

The room's occupants watched Cathryn closely, anticipation in their eyes, eager for the spectacle to unfold.

Cathryn felt exposed, as if every inch of her was being torn apart by their gaze.

She bit her lip until it nearly bled, quickly retreating outside after setting the tray down.

Behind her, laughter and cruel comments followed.

"Why so heartless? She's quite the beauty, don't you think? A little tenderness wouldn't hurt."

"Let her stay for a drink. We don't have any girls to keep us company anyway."

Cathryn's fingertips trembled with the realization. To Grayson and his group, she was nothing more than a bar girl to be discarded.

She didn't wait to hear more, swiftly turning and leaving the room.

Inside, Grayson paused, his fingers lightly gripping his wine glass, a faint, knowing smile curling at the edges of his lips. "If you're looking for women, this isn't the place for it. The bar's your best bet-plenty to choose from there."

The man, oblivious to the rising tension, continued, "She's not even part of your family. Having her drink with us is a step up for her. Nice legs, straight and slender. I bet they'd look even better wrapped around my waist."

Grayson chuckled, though the sound was void of humor, and he said nothing.

But the ice in his gaze deepened, a flicker of hostility seeping through.

In one swift movement, he stood, grabbed a wine bottle from the table, and brought it crashing down on the man's head.

The bottle shattered against the man's skull, red wine mixing with blood as it spilled onto the floor in a gruesome pool.

Silence filled the room, everyone frozen in shock.

Moments later, someone hesitantly stood, their voice shaky. "Grayson, you..."

Grayson casually adjusted his collar, his tone oddly calm. "Such good wine, and it still couldn't keep him quiet. Disappointing."

His voice was as unruffled as if he were commenting on the weather, completely detached from the violence that had just unfolded.

"But, he came to celebrate your return. Why would you..."

Grayson took a napkin, carefully wiping his fingers one by one. His face remained impassive, but the coldness in his eyes made the air heavy with dread.

"On my family's territory, not even an ant can be disrespected."

His gaze sliced through the man, sharp and unforgiving. "Get out."

The man, dazed and bleeding, stood frozen, unable to lift his gaze, blood trickling down his face.

Though they were all part of the elite social circle, Grayson was their pinnacle-someone no one dared provoke.

The man didn't even attempt to wipe the blood from his eyes, trembling as he stammered, "I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Grayson tossed the napkin aside and left the room, his silence hanging heavily in the air.

The chill radiating off him was far more menacing than the violence he had just displayed.

Someone helped the injured man to his feet, murmuring quietly, "Just go out the back door. Don't make his mood worse today."

Cathryn lay on the bed in her small room for a while, planning to leave.

But as soon as she stepped out, she froze, her eyes locking with Grayson's as he descended slowly from the top of the staircase.

Her heart skipped, and she instinctively wanted to retreat back into her room, but it was too late-Grayson had already noticed her.

She gripped the door handle with one hand, her other clutching her purse tightly, unsure of whether to move forward or retreat. She hesitated, leaning against the door awkwardly, and greeted Grayson softly.

Grayson's gaze landed on her cowlick, his steps deliberate and measured as he made his way toward her.

Cathryn felt a sudden urge to step back, but his eyes held her in place-cold, distant, as though he were looking right through her.

The weight of his gaze made her feel small, unworthy.

In that instant, time seemed to rewind, carrying her back ten years.

It was another sweltering summer when Jenna had brought Cathryn into the living room of this mansion.

Jenna's stepchildren, Jerald Wheeler and Dina Wheeler, their sneers sharp and cruel, had pointed at Cathryn, calling her a little enchantress before unceremoniously tossing her luggage out the door.

Jenna's sobs echoed in Cathryn's ears as she stood there, her dress hem clutched tightly in her hands, feeling utterly abandoned.

Then a clear, cold voice cut through the chaos, freezing everything in its path.

"Jerald, Dina, is this how your etiquette teacher taught you to treat guests?"

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Cathryn lifted her gaze, and the moment became etched in her memory forever.

At the end of the spiral staircase, bathed in soft light, stood a young man, dressed in crisp white and black, radiating an undeniable air of nobility. His face, strikingly handsome, seemed to belong to another world.

With each graceful step down the staircase, he seemed to become more of a vision, as if stepping out of a painting-an ethereal presence that stunned Cathryn's young, impoverished heart.

Jenna tugged at Cathryn's sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is Andres' brother, Grayson. Go greet him."

Cathryn lowered her gaze, too nervous to meet his eyes. Her chest trembled with anxiety as she fought to steady herself. After a long, tense silence, she whispered, "Nice to meet you."

Grayson gave a nonchalant nod, brushing past her without a second glance. As he walked toward the door, he added, "From now on, treat this place like your home. If you need anything, speak to Brodie Ford, the butler."

His voice, calm and pleasant, lingered in the air, leaving Cathryn frozen in place, lost in the sound of it.

It wasn't until the rumbling growl of a Harley motorcycle reached her ears from outside that she realized Grayson had already gone.

For a long time, Cathryn had convinced herself that Grayson was a good man, until the day she found herself kneeling before him, desperate and pleading, while his eyes remained cold, unreadable.

In that moment, the truth hit her-Grayson had never shown her kindness.

He was no savior; he thrived in the shadows, his power drawn from chaos and cruelty, manipulating situations to his advantage without hesitation.

How foolish she had been to believe in his kindness?

Grayson's shadow loomed over Cathryn now, his deep eyes fixed on her. "So, you've moved out?" he asked, his voice as cold as ever.

Cathryn lowered her head, feeling hunted, cornered by the intensity of Grayson's gaze that seemed to pin her in place.

Her back pressed tightly against the door as she tried in vain to put distance between herself and Grayson.

But in the confined space, no amount of effort could escape the suffocating aura that surrounded him.

The faint scent of cedar, mingled with a trace of alcohol, lingered in the air, wrapping around her like an unseen snare. It clung to her senses, pulling her unwillingly back to that summer afternoon three years ago-cicadas droning their relentless tune, the air thick with tension. She remembered the drunken Grayson who had stormed into her room, wild and unrestrained.

The memory sent a shiver through her, her heart racing with unease.

Desperate to break free from the suffocating atmosphere, she stepped forward, widening the small gap between them. But as she moved, her arm brushed lightly against his.

The faint contact was electric, a heat spreading through her skin that left a lingering trace of him.

Cathryn's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's too far from school. I live on campus."

Grayson's eyes narrowed, their sharpness cutting through her feeble excuse.

Her soft, timid tone stirred something primal within him, an unwelcome desire that simmered beneath his controlled exterior.

And yet, over these three years, she had learned to lie.

For now, he decided to let it go. Her fibs were still within his tolerance.

"Did you block my number?" he asked, his tone laced with subtle accusation.

Cathryn dropped her gaze, her voice quiet but steady. "I got a new number. My old phone broke, and I lost all my contacts."

That much was true; the only number from the Wheeler family she'd kept was Jenna's.

"Give me your phone," Grayson ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Hesitation flickered across her face, but she handed her phone over reluctantly, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed his.

It was an older model, its screen slightly scratched and faded, showing its age.

Grayson's frown deepened as he turned it over in his hands, then silently sent a friend request.

He handed the phone back to her, his voice neutral. "Earlier-"

"I understand," Cathryn interrupted, her tone calm but distant. "They're your friends, just joking around. It's no big deal."

She had no intention of staying with the Wheeler family for long and wasn't particularly bothered by others' opinions of her.

Taking the phone from him, she noticed the warmth lingering from his touch. Without thinking, she wiped the screen briskly on her skirt, as if erasing a stain.

The simple, dismissive gesture made Grayson's gaze darken, a flicker of anger flashing in his already frosty eyes.

His voice was icy. "Are you going out?"

"Yes," she replied softly, clutching the phone tightly. "I have classes tonight. I need to get back to school."

Grayson's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm heading out as well. I'll give you a ride."

Cathryn's mind raced, panic setting in as she scrambled for an excuse. Before she could respond, Rylan entered the room hastily.

"Sir, Ms. Andrews isn't feeling well and asked if you could take her home," Rylan reported, his tone carefully neutral.

A shadow of irritation crossed Grayson's features as he frowned. "She seemed fine earlier. What happened?"

Rylan hesitated before replying, "Someone congratulated her on your upcoming engagement, and she might have been overjoyed and had a few too many drinks."

Grayson's expression tightened, his gaze shifting back to Cathryn. For a brief moment, his eyes lingered on her pale face. "I'll send a car to take you back," he said curtly.

Cathryn's fingers nervously twisted the hem of her clothes as she looked down. "No need," she replied softly. "I can manage on my own."

Grayson didn't respond, his sharp eyes fixed on her for another second before he turned and left without a word.

It wasn't until his figure disappeared from sight that Cathryn let out a shaky breath, finally regaining her composure.

He was about to be engaged to his childhood friend, Maia Andrews?

It all made sense now-why he had returned two years ahead of schedule.

Cathryn exhaled a sigh of relief as she grabbed her belongings and left.

By eleven that night, the city was alive with energy, its streets bustling with people.

At the vibrant night market, Cathryn's hand-drawn portrait stall had attracted a steady stream of customers, her delicate sketches earning her plenty of admiration. A few patrons even saved her number, placing orders for custom portraits. Business was good, and Cathryn allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

Unbeknownst to her, under the shadow of a nearby tree, a sleek black stretch limousine sat parked.

Luxury cars like this were not uncommon in this city, and even a specially modified bulletproof vehicle went unnoticed amidst the crowd.

But inside the car, concealed by the shadows, a man observed her intently.

Grayson's sharp, predatory eyes stayed fixed on Cathryn's stall, his gaze cold and unrelenting, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. The weight of his stare carried a dangerous intensity.

Beside him, Rylan cast a wary glance in his direction, an involuntary shiver running down his spine.

He knew Grayson too well. In the decade he had worked for the Wheeler family, he had seen Grayson's relentless determination firsthand. Grayson was not a man who allowed morality to dictate his actions, nor did he ever fail to acquire what he wanted.

In families like the Wheelers, having love affairs was far from unusual, barely raising an eyebrow among their elite circles.

Still, Cathryn being the niece of Grayson's sister-in-law made the situation murkier-ethically questionable, to say the least.

After a long silence, Grayson finally withdrew his gaze, his tone unreadable.

"Rylan, why would she want to move out of the Wheeler Mansion to live in a place like that?"

Rylan hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "She is still young. Perhaps she doesn't know any better."

Grayson's fingers tapped idly against his phone, his eyes lingering on the screen. Cathryn still hadn't accepted his friend request.

His gaze flickered upward slightly, his tone turning sharper. "Do you know of any ways to make someone grow up quickly?"

Rylan stiffened at the question, his voice cautious as he answered, "Not really... Unless they experience something truly harrowing. Those kinds of trials tend to accelerate maturity."

As the conversation unfolded, Cathryn began packing up her belongings. In just a few minutes, she had neatly tucked everything into a small box before approaching a bike.

She pedaled off at a steady pace, her form illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, oblivious to the black limousine trailing her at a leisurely distance.

Before long, Cathryn's bike turned into an old, dimly lit residential area.

The limousine pulled to a stop at the entrance.

Cathryn, carrying her box of belongings, had just stepped through the gates when the door of a nearby Ferrari swung open with force. A strikingly handsome young man stormed out, his expression dark and furious, blocking her path.

Grayson, halfway out of his car, froze, his sharp gaze narrowing as he recognized the intruder.

It was Jerald, his nephew.

The cramped residential area had narrow alleys and small gates, leaving no barrier to sound. Grayson rolled down his window slightly, the sharp night air carrying the heated exchange between Cathryn and Jerald clearly to his ears.

"Cathryn, are you an idiot?" Jerald barked, his voice sharp with anger. "You'd rather live in this dump than in the villa I arranged for you?"

Jerald's grip on her wrist tightened painfully, making her wince as she struggled to free herself. "Let go. You're hurting me," she said, her voice strained but steady.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto her, their intensity laced with something unhinged.

Under the glow of the streetlamp, his chiseled features were twisted by his fierce expression, distorting his otherwise perfect face.

Sensing the danger in his demeanor, Cathryn instinctively stepped back, trying to put some distance between them.

But her retreat only seemed to ignite Jerald's fury further. In an instant, he grabbed her again, shoving her roughly against a tree. His voice was low and filled with venom as he gritted through clenched teeth. "You haven't been back to the Wheeler Mansion in three months, and you blocked me. Are you avoiding me on purpose?"

Cathryn's frown deepened, her calm mask cracking just slightly as a flicker of disdain crossed her gaze.

Still, she kept her tone measured, unwilling to escalate the situation. "Let go first. How can you treat me like this? I'm your family in a way. It wouldn't look good if someone saw."

Jerald sneered, his laugh bitter and mocking. "Family? Funny," he spat, his words dripping with contempt. "You're not. So stop pretending. You know how I feel about you, right? Who do you think you're fooling?"

Cathryn lowered her gaze, hiding the disdain in her eyes as she replied softly, "I don't understand what you're talking about."

Jerald's eyes roved over her delicate features, his gaze lingering too long, too intently.

He had always despised her, lumping her in with her aunt Jenna, whom he viewed as conniving and desperate to climb the social ladder. It was why he had often joined forces with Dina to torment Cathryn.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted. Without realizing it, her image had begun to haunt him, her presence seeping into his thoughts until it consumed him.

Tonight, the alcohol coursing through his veins only magnified those feelings. To him, she was unbearably beautiful-too much so. It felt deliberate, as if she existed solely to tempt him.

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her chin roughly, his intentions clear as he leaned in to claim a kiss.