The Return of the Billionaire Heiress and Her Cold CEO

"You don't trust me," Kylie said. "That's fine. Just don't pretend otherwise."

Cole didn't flinch. He never did.

But his jaw shifted.

They were in the car. Again. Black leather interior. Tinted windows. An uncomfortable silence between them like an unwelcome third passenger.

"I'm not pretending anything," he said finally.

Kylie folded her arms. "You're pretending we're allies."

Cole looked out the window, Manhattan's skyline rushing past in sleek glass and steel.

"We're not?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

Because technically, they were.

Legally married. Bound by ink and necessity.

But not by trust.

Definitely not by trust.

The morning had started with a press request.

An exclusive interview.

"The Newlywed Titans: Power Meets Beauty."

Cole wanted to decline.

Kylie said yes.

"Why?" he asked, leaning on the kitchen island.

She sipped her espresso slowly. "Because silence invites suspicion."

His gaze narrowed. "So you'd rather hand them a curated lie?"

She smiled. "That's what marriages are made of."

He didn't argue.

Because she was right.

Now, they were headed to the studio.

Their first public sit-down as "Mr. and Mrs. Walter."

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown number. Message:

I know who you are.

Kylie's fingers tightened around the device.

Second time this week.

She deleted the message.

Didn't blink.

Didn't let Cole see.

The interview set was designed to look warm and intimate soft lighting, velvet chairs, gold accents.

Kylie wore navy silk. Her hair pulled into a low, elegant twist.

Cole wore black. As always. Precise. Clean. Unapproachable.

They looked like opposites.

But the way the cameras framed them, they looked perfect.

The host beamed. "Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Walter."

Cole nodded once.

Kylie smiled graciously.

"Your surprise marriage has been the talk of the business world," the host continued. "What would you say shocked people most?"

Cole's response was smooth. "That I had time for anything other than work."

The room laughed.

Kylie leaned in. "And that I was bold enough to say yes."

More laughter.

Cameras clicked. Lights flashed.

They looked natural. Synchronized.

And yet… there was a wall between their bodies. A breath of space that neither crossed.

Halfway through, the host leaned forward.

"Mrs. Walter, you've been called poised, mysterious, even elusive. But some are saying you came out of nowhere. What would you say to those who question your background?"

Cole stiffened beside her.

Kylie didn't blink.

"I'd say I was busy surviving. And now I'm thriving."

The host blinked. "Elegant answer."

"I prefer honest answers," she said. Then added with a smile, "Even if they sound elegant."

Cole glanced at her sideways.

His lips twitched. Barely.

They returned to the car without a word.

The city passed them in silence.

Then, Cole spoke.

"That line," he said. "About surviving."

Kylie turned. "What about it?"

"You've said nothing about your past. You dodge every question."

She raised a brow. "And you don't?"

"I don't pretend I have nothing to hide."

"No," she said. "You pretend you have nothing to lose."

He turned to her.

Their eyes locked.

Something flickered there challenge, heat, suspicion.

Maybe all three.

"You're playing a game, Kylie," he said quietly. "But I'm very good at games."

"So am I," she whispered. "But I don't play to win. I play to finish."

Back at the penthouse, she poured herself wine.

Cole disappeared into his office.

Again.

Always.

Kylie kicked off her heels, stood barefoot in the middle of the living room, and stared at her reflection in the window.

The city didn't care who she was.

But someone did.

Someone who knew she wasn't Kylie Reynolds.

Someone who knew the name Jacinta Collins.

She checked her phone.

The message was gone.

No trace.

No number.

Just that sinking feeling in her stomach the one that warned her this marriage, this revenge, this entire plan was becoming more dangerous than she expected.

The next morning, Pioneer Corp was chaos.

Not public chaos.

Internal.

Victoria Long was back.

Cole's former PR strategist. Ex-almost-girlfriend. Smart. Blond. Calculated.

Kylie saw her before Cole did.

Outside the elevators, clipboard in hand, issuing orders like nothing had changed.

She stepped off the lift with practiced grace and smiled.

"Well, well. The new Mrs. Walter."

Kylie kept her expression neutral. "You must be Victoria."

"I am. And you're taller than I thought."

"You're bolder than I expected."

Victoria's smile didn't falter.

"Did Cole tell you I'm consulting again?"

"No," Kylie said. "But I'm sure he had a reason."

"Oh, he always has reasons," Victoria purred.

The elevator doors slid open behind her.

Kylie stepped in.

Before they closed, she added sweetly:

"Next time, don't mistake being replaced for being remembered."

Upstairs, Kylie entered Cole's office without knocking.

He looked up. "Problem?"

"Why is she back?"

He set down his pen. "Because she's efficient."

"She's also territorial."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not."

"Then what are you?"

"Annoyed."

Cole leaned back. "You've been here a week. This isn't your battlefield."

Kylie stared at him.

Voice calm. But cold.

"You made me your wife. This company is now my home turf. If she crosses a line, I won't hesitate."

"She hasn't," he said.

"Yet."

Later that afternoon, Cole received a message.

Anonymous tip.

Kylie Reynolds isn't who she claims to be.

Attached: a blurry photo of Jacinta Collins at a gala years ago.

Different hair, different smile. But the same eyes.

He stared at it for too long.

Then deleted it.

No reaction.

But his silence said more than suspicion.

It said uncertainty.

Kylie spent the evening reviewing files in the guest bedroom.

Business files Cole had "accidentally" left visible.

He was testing her.

Trying to see what she'd do with confidential data.

She read every word.

Memorized it.

Then left the file exactly as she found it.

At 10 p.m., Cole found her in the library.

Bookshelves. Dim lighting. Her curled on the window seat, legs bare, a blanket tossed carelessly across her lap.

He paused in the doorway.

"You didn't take anything," he said.

She didn't look up. "Was I supposed to?"

"I left a trail. You didn't follow it."

She smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't walk into traps."

"Maybe you're setting your own."

She finally looked at him.

And for a second, he wasn't a CEO. Or a contract husband.

He was just a man.

Watching a woman he couldn't figure out.

And possibly didn't want to.

They didn't speak for several seconds.

Then he crossed the room.

Poured himself a drink.

Sat in the chair across from her.

"You ever plan to tell me who you really are?" he asked.

She tilted her head. "Would you believe me?"

"No."

"Then why ask?"

He drank. Silent.

Then: "Because I like knowing what I'm up against."

She looked him dead in the eye.

"You're not up against me, Cole."

Pause.

"You're standing in my way."

His laugh was low. Dark.

"Don't mistake this arrangement for power."

"Don't mistake your last name for protection."

They stared at each other across the room.

Wine between them.

Silence between them.

Fire between them.

It didn't matter that they hadn't touched.

This was intimacy.

The sharp, dangerous kind.

Later that night, Kylie couldn't sleep.

She walked into the kitchen in an old black tank and shorts.

Cole was there again.

Drinking. Again.

He didn't say a word.

Neither did she.

Until

"What happened to you?" she asked.

His brows lifted.

"You're cold. Strategic. Emotionless. That kind of detachment doesn't happen naturally."

He didn't respond at first.

Then he said "People make the mistake of thinking power is born. It's not. It's built. Out of pain. Out of failure. Out of silence."

She stepped closer.

"So what built you?"

Cole looked at her.

And for the first time… something cracked.

"My father tried to sell my company before he died. The board sided with him. I took it back. I burned the bridge. All of them."

"And you regret it?"

"I'm still standing," he said flatly.

"But alone."

He turned his back to her.

"Kylie," he said, "don't try to understand me."

"Too late," she said softly. "I already do."

He left the kitchen after that.

But his footsteps were heavier.

His silence louder.

And for the first time since they'd signed the contract, Kylie wondered something she never planned to:

What if this man wasn't her shield?

What if he was her match?