The Jilted Heiress' Return To The High Life

Chapter 1687:

Mother had hoped the marriage might eventually blossom into something tender and lasting.

But if Corrine became a wedge between them, it would only add sorrow to an already fragile situation.

After walking Chelsea back to her room, Rachel quietly returned to her own. She had just stepped out of the bathroom, still drying her hair, when the sound of the front door opening caught her attention. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Jules. “You’re back?”

Jules gave her a glance, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He looked away almost immediately. “Yeah.”

Dressed in a delicate satin nightgown, her skin kissed by the warmth of a fresh shower, Rachel looked every bit the picture of soft elegance. Her beauty glowed, effortless and disarming.

But Jules, haunted by memories of the night before, shoved down the ache rising inside him. His desire warred with restraint, and restraint won—for now.

Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket and headed straight for the study. “Go to bed. I’ve got work.”

Watching his retreating back, Rachel stood motionless for a moment, the smile fading from her lips. Her voice, though soft, trembled faintly.

“Don’t overwork yourself. Get some rest too.”

“Mm.”

Rachel stared at the closed study door, trying hard to hold back her tears, but they slipped free anyway.

quiet efficiency. Several family members prepared for the day’s visit, though they agreed not to bring

Chelsea inspected the prepared gifts one final time, the

mansion was nestled deep within the Upper East Side—a neighborhood reserved for families not just wealthy, but storied,

entrance, several uniformed guards stood with stoic composure, their presence a silent proclamation

the vehicle, Chelsea gave a quiet nod, signaling the staff to begin unloading the carefully chosen gifts. Inside the estate, news of their arrival spread quickly. Franco and his family hurried outside to

as the Fords passed through the stately courtyard, her

pleasantries drifted in the air like soft music. Franco remained composed, his gaze quietly assessing each

perched on the edge of the sofa, glanced up with a flicker of curiosity

was he really

own—or merely an errand

with a hint of sheepishness. “Please don’t get the wrong idea. Nate specifically

a brow ever so

welcome, Miss Holland,” Franco replied, attempting a polite

faint one of her own before turning her

had sent him. Typical. Even from afar, he was keeping

under surveillance—no

it annoyed her more

in idle conversation, eyes occasionally drifting to their nearly

watch and then looked toward Chelsea with

cup with deliberate grace, she offered a courteous smile. “I heard Mr. Michael Astley hasn’t been feeling well lately. I brought some herbal medicine that might ease his

air shifted. Rachel’s parents stiffened, their