Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO-Chapter 78: The Flaky Type

LENA GARRETT

The moment the car door shut behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My fingers curled into the leather seat, my pulse still hammering from the way Raine Belmont had looked at me—like I was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve.

Idiot.

I shouldn’t have given him my number.

The driver—some silent, suited man Vanessa had summoned with a snap of her fingers—didn’t speak as the car glided through the city’s neon-lit streets. The tinted windows turned the world outside into a blur of color, the same way my thoughts were spinning.

Research. That’s all this is.

But Raine’s smirk, the way his fingers had danced over the piano keys like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted—it had thrown me off. I wasn’t here to flirt with some rich boy playing at being charming. I was here because the Belmonts had secrets, and secrets had a way of burying people.

My phone buzzed in my clutch.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

I looked anyway.

Unknown Number: So. Journalist, huh?

I rolled my eyes. Of course he’d text the second I left.

Me: You don’t waste time.

Raine: Life’s short. Also, you left before I could ask the important question.

Me: Which is?

Raine: Are you going to write a scathing exposé about the terrible champagne selection? Because I have notes.

A laugh almost escaped before I caught myself. I bit my lip, fingers hovering over the screen.

Me: I’m more concerned about the guest list. Half of them belong in white-collar prison.

Raine: Ouch. Accurate, but ouch.

The car slowed to a stop outside my apartment—a tiny, overpriced box of a place that definitely didn’t belong in the same universe as the Belmont estate. The driver didn’t ask if I needed help. Didn’t even glance at me in the rearview mirror. Just waited, silent, until I stepped out.

The night air was cold against my skin, a welcome contrast to the stifling opulence of the party. I didn’t look back as the car pulled away.

My phone buzzed again.

Raine: You never told me your last name.

I hesitated at the door to my building.

Me: You never asked.

Raine: Lena...?

I could almost hear the teasing lilt in his voice, the same one that had made my stomach do something stupid when he’d leaned in too close.

Me: Goodnight, Raine.

I didn’t wait for a response before shoving my phone into my pocket and heading inside.

Sleep didn’t come easy.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it—the way Raine’s fingers had brushed mine when he handed me the champagne. The way he’d looked at me when he said, You’re adorable. Like he meant it.

Stop.

I rolled over, glaring at the ceiling. This wasn’t some rom-com. Raine Belmont wasn’t the charming prince. He was the grandson of a man who’d built an empire on broken backs and buried scandals. And I—

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I grabbed it.

Raine: Can’t sleep.

I groaned.

Me: It’s 2 AM.

Raine: Exactly. Too early for bed, too late to call room service.

Me: You’re ridiculous.

Raine: And yet you’re still texting me.

Damn him.

I sat up, running a hand through my hair. The glow of the screen was the only light in the room, casting long shadows.

Me: What do you want, Raine?

The typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Raine: The truth.

My breath caught.

Raine: You said you were researching my family. Why?

I chewed my lip. This was dangerous. If he was testing me, if he was trying to figure out how much I knew—

Me: Not all stories have happy endings.

Raine: Try me.

I exhaled slowly.

Me: Your grandfather’s company. The deals in Jakarta. The factory fire.

The bubbles stopped.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Then—

Raine: Meet me tomorrow. No party, no games. Just talk.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve ignored him, blocked the number, buried myself in research where things made sense.

But the part of me that had spent years chasing ghosts—the part that never let go—wanted answers.

Me: Where?

Raine: The old pier. Noon.

I stared at the message. The pier was public. Neutral ground.

Me: Fine.

Raine: Bring coffee. I take mine black.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: Not happening.

Raine: Worth a shot.

A pause. Then—

Raine: Goodnight, Lena.

I didn’t answer.

But for the first time all night, I slept.

***|***|***|***|***

LENA GARRETT

The pier was crowded.

Tourists snapped photos, kids chased seagulls, and the salty breeze carried the scent of fried food from nearby vendors. I clutched my iced coffee like a lifeline, scanning the crowd for Raine.

I spotted him leaning against the railing, sunglasses hiding his eyes, his suit replaced with dark jeans and a loose white shirt. He looked unfairly good in sunlight.

"You came." He grinned as I approached.

"I said I would."

"Yeah, but you strike me as the flaky type." freёweɓnovel_com

I scowled. "And you strike me as the type who talks too much."

He laughed, pushing off the railing. "So. The factory fire."

Just like that, the lightness vanished.

I took a sip of my coffee, buying time. "You know what happened."

"I know what the reports said." His voice was quieter now. "Twenty-seven dead. Electrical failure."

I met his gaze. "And you believe that?"

He didn’t answer right away. The wind ruffled his hair, and for a second, he looked younger. Less sure.

"No," he admitted.

My chest tightened.

"Then why are you here?" I asked.

He took a step closer. "Because I think you know something I don’t."

The world narrowed to the space between us—the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for me, the intensity in his eyes.

This was a bad idea.

But bad ideas had never stopped me before.

"Tell me, Raine," I said softly. "What do you really want?"

He exhaled, slow. "The same thing you do."

The truth.

The word hung between us, unspoken.

And for the first time, I wondered if I’d underestimated him.

If maybe, just maybe, we were on the same side.

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