The Heiress’s Contract Marriage With Her Enemy

Chapter Fourteen: Heat on the Highway

Their cars were parked side by side in the driveway of Charlotte's old home. Isabelle shifted in her seat, crossed her arms and bit her lower lip. She felt vulnerable.

"I should drive," she said, nodding toward her car.

Reign kept both hands on the steering wheel. "It's safer if you go with me. Just in case someone's following."

She frowned. He had a point. The safe was broken. Someone had been here. Why not assume they weren't done?

"Fine," she replied, after rolling her eyes. "Just drop me off."

He nodded without looking at her. She got into his car. The leather seat was cold where she uncoupled it.

She pulled the door and looked away. He didn't ask if she was cold. He didn't try to touch her again. Reign didn't do anything.

He started the engine, and they pulled away from the house without speaking.

The drive back felt weird and a bit tense. The road was empty… Isabelle stared straight ahead. Her hands were folded in her lap, white-knuckled.

After a few minutes, Reign finally glanced to his right. "Your hands are freezing."

She let them fall to her sides. "It's autumn," she stated..

Reign slowed the car but didn't stop. He leaned toward her and held out his hand.

Isabelle stared at it. She wanted to say no. She didn't trust him. But part of her thought he might help.

She took it. His palm was warm.

They drove in silence for a moment with their hands touching across the center console.

Then Isabelle pulled back. She looked away fast. Reign let out a long sigh.

"Relax, Isabelle," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She stared at him.

There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before…to Isabelle, he seemed more broken than before. Just… broken trust.

She looked through the window and shifted her shoulders a little. 

The road stretched ahead. Her head was drowning from questions. Questions she didn't want to ask out loud.

"You're serious about not hurting me?" she asked in a whisper.

He didn't answer right away. He glanced at her again. Then looked back at the road.

"I don't lie," Reign finally replies. The words sounded strange coming from him. Gentle…

That honesty cut through their weird energy like a blade.

She looked down at their hands on the console. He hadn't pulled away.

She gave his hand a quick squeeze and let go.

A flash of something passed across his face. 

They drove past empty fields and low streetlights. Then the city lights began. Buildings started appearing, and neon signs buzzed.

Reign slowed again. The GPS on his dash blinked. 15 minutes to Belvedere Heights.

Isabelle clenched her jaw. "You're sending someone for my car?"

He nodded. "Already arranged."

That was enough for now.

She moved in her seat, her coat brushing against the leather. The scent of vanilla and stale coffee filled the air…it felt like it was his scent.

And for one moment, she almost forgot who she was with.

Isabelle swallowed hard.

Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.

Tonight was just a drive. But something didn't leave Isabelle alone…

Isabelle glanced at Reign again. Something about his silence tonight didn't feel like the usual coldness. 

It felt like he was thinking or worse—feeling.

She turned her face to the window. Then the car slowed down...it was driving a bit too slow for Isabelle's liking.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stiffening in her seat.

Reign didn't answer right away. He turned off the main road and pulled into an empty parking lot, street lamps flicked overhead. 

The engine purred low.

"I said, what are you doing?"

He put the car in park and leaned back in his seat, one arm draped over the steering wheel. Then he turned to her with the most casual smirk she'd ever seen on him.

"Just needed to stop," Reign shrugged.

"Why?"

He shrugged again. "Your face looked like it could use a break."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle. "Open your mouth again, and I swear I'll walk home."

He laughed, actually laughed, but it was a short, cocky sound that made her blood boil.

"I'm being nice," Reign furrowed his eyebrows. "Come on, don't bite me for once."

She turned back, and raised her own eyebrows. "Nice? Since when do you do nice?"

"Since I saw your hands were cold," Reign replied, leaning closer. "And since I noticed you've got a very distracting—"

Before he could finish the sentence, Isabelle smacked him right across the chest with her purse.

He choked on a laugh. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Distracting?" she snapped. "You absolute creep. Are you seriously hitting on me in a parked car after dragging me through hell?"

Reign grinned wider, rubbing his chest like she'd left a bruise. "Just saying what's on my mind. No need for violence."

She smacked him again. Harder this time.

"You're lucky I don't carry pepper spray," she muttered.

Reign leaned back again, unbothered. "I'm trying to ease the tension. You looked like you were about to explode."

"You make me want to explode," she hissed.

He let out another low laugh and reached over the air conditioning. "You should thank me. I'm giving you attention no one else dares."

Isabelle stared at him like he'd just lost his mind. "You're impossible."

"And you're hot when you're mad."

She smacked him again, now just for the satisfaction of it. "Try that line on someone stupid enough to fall for it."

Reign winced but kept smiling. "Was worth the slap."

"I hate you," she muttered.

"Feelings are mutual," he nodded smoothly. "But that doesn't mean I can't have fun."

"You think this is fun?"

"No. I think you're fun when you're mad. You glow."

She opened her mouth to curse him again—but then, suddenly, the car lit up from outside.

Their heads snapped up at the same time.

A giant digital billboard across the street showed up with color, the brightness cut through the night. 

And right there, in bold white letters across a news banner, her face appeared.

ISABELLE MUNRO: GRIEVING SISTER OR GOLD-DIGGING WIFE?

The picture was one from the funeral. Her face red, eyes puffy, lips tight. She looked like a villain from a crime show.

The headline below flashed again.

"Charlotte Munro's sister marries her dead lover's brother—convenient or calculated?"

Isabelle stared at the screen. Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths.

Reign said nothing. The laughter vanished from his face.

She grabbed her door handle again, swung it open, and stepped out.

The air was cold. It didn't matter.

She stood in the parking lot, glaring at the billboard.

"Convenient or calculated," she whispered. "'Gold digger.' They think I married you for money."

Reign got out too. "They don't know the truth."

She turned to him. "No, but you do. And still you act like I'm some joke."

"I didn't write the headline."

"No, but you smiled when your parents called me the same thing."

He didn't respond.

"You could've defended me," she said. "Even just once."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Why would I defend someone who sees me as the enemy?"

She stepped closer. "Because I married you, didn't I? Because I live under your roof too. Because your brother left me no damn choice."

Reign looked down. His jaw clenched.

"I didn't ask for this either," he said.

"Well, lucky you," she snapped. "At least no one calls you a gold digger."

"I'd rather they did," Reign smiled. "Then maybe they'd stop looking at you."

She blinked. "What?"

Reign lifted his shoulders up and down. "Nothing."

"No. Say it again."

But he turned back to the car. "Get in. We're going home."

She stood there a moment longer, staring at the billboard... 

Then she followed him, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Isabelle didn't look at him once during the drive back.

But his hand resting on the gearshift, twitched, but just once toward hers. And stopped.

And the awkward silence that continued was no longer cold, but burning.