THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 64: Shut up!

Chapter 64: Shut up!

At that moment, Riley felt an icy shiver crawl down her spine as she watched Tryson slowly turn his gaze toward her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

A sense of dread coiled in her chest, making it harder to breathe.

"T-Tryson?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

But before she could react, he suddenly reached for her hand, his grip firm and unyielding. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as he pulled her slightly closer, his piercing eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart pound violently against her ribs.

Fear clenched at Riley’s throat as she stared into his unwavering gaze, unable to look away.

The pressure of his grip tightened, sending a jolt of panic through her. She winced slightly, but Tryson didn’t let go.

Instead, he leaned in ever so slightly, his expression shadowed with something unreadable—something dangerous.

"Just because Angel let you walk into the room doesn’t mean you have the right to do as you please," Tryson murmured, his voice laced with quiet disappointment.

His fingers curled around hers, a silent warning.

Riley swallowed hard, realizing that whatever line she had just crossed, there would be consequences.

Riley stood frozen, completely shocked by his actions. She had spoken countless words, but none of them had prepared her for this.

Every day, it seemed Tryson pushed the limits with her—always because of her. The woman. And each time, it became more and more unbelievable.

"Tryson, my hand... it hurts," Riley whispered, her voice strained as she stared up at him.

But Tryson’s expression remained unreadable, his grip unwavering. He was too consumed by his frustration, too angered by everything Riley had done.

She had hurt Angel. So wasn’t it only fair that she felt some pain, too?

"Tryson, you’re gripping too hard—" Riley’s protest turned into a sharp whimper, then a full wail as the pressure on her hand intensified.

Panic flared in her eyes, her breath coming in short gasps.

Across the room, Angel’s gaze snapped toward them, drawn by Riley’s distressed cries.

For a moment, she hesitated, torn between her own emotions and the undeniable pain on Riley’s face. But in that instant, something shifted—her concern overpowered everything else.

Without thinking, Angel stepped forward, her urgency clear as she reached out to stop Tryson before it went too far.

"Tryson, Tryson, stop it!" Angel called out urgently, reaching toward him.

But just as she moved closer, she froze at the sharp, venom-laced words that cut through the tension like a blade.

"Just shut up!" Riley snapped, her voice trembling with rage. "I’m sure you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You want to see me like this!"

Angel’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock. The bitterness in Riley’s tone was impossible to ignore, each word laced with an accusation that stung deeper than Angel expected.

Tryson’s grip on Riley’s hand tightened for a brief second before he exhaled sharply, his disappointment palpable.

"Riley, will you ever stop to consider that, no matter how much you want to hurt her, Angel doesn’t fight back the way you do?" His voice was steady, but there was a weight to his words—an unshakable frustration that made Riley’s fury burn even hotter.

Her hands clenched into fists, her heart pounding. It wasn’t just his words that infuriated her—it was the way he looked at Angel, the way he refused to see anything wrong with what she did.

It was that blind devotion, that unwavering belief in Angel’s innocence, that made Riley’s anger twist into something almost unbearable.

Riley’s chest heaved with the weight of her emotions. She wanted—no, she needed—to burn away every last ounce of affection Tryson had for Angel, to erase it completely so she could be the only one occupying his heart. The thought consumed her, fueling the fire in her veins.

"Tryson," she murmured.

Something in her tone made him hesitate. His grip on her arm loosened, allowing her to pull free. But instead of retreating, Riley turned her piercing gaze toward Angel, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Listen carefully," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "You really think I’m your enemy?" Her eyes flicked back to Tryson, her expression hardening.

"I don’t care what you say, Tryson. Maybe there are countless reasons why you’re so blinded, but why do you keep deceiving her instead? Just tell her the truth—let her learn where she really belongs. The gutters."

The words sliced through the air like a dagger.

Angel stiffened, a deep frown settling on her face as she turned to Tryson, her voice faltering. "What... what is she talking about?"

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Tryson’s face. But before Angel could press further, he moved—quick and decisive—reaching for the door and slamming it shut.

The sound echoed in the air, and with it, an unsettling realization settled in Angel’s chest.

Tryson... avoided answering her.

Shock rippled through her. In all the time she had known him, he had always been composed, a man who carried himself with a quiet strength.

But this—this was different. This was the first time she had ever seen him shaken by something Riley had said.

Her mind raced. Why?

Could it be about his family?

After all, Riley hadn’t just implied she was her enemy—there was something more. Something deeper. And for the first time, Angel couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a hidden truth she had yet to uncover.

She took a slow breath, steadying herself. No—she wouldn’t let this go unspoken. She had planned on telling Tryson the truth about who the real father of the child was. Maybe this was the moment to lay everything bare.

"Tryson," she finally said, her voice quiet but firm, cutting through his thoughts.

His gaze snapped to hers, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she swore she saw something she had never noticed before—insecurity. A flicker of something fragile beneath his usual control.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer, raising a hand to cradle her cheek. His touch was gentle, but there was something desperate in the way his fingers lingered against her skin. His eyes locked onto hers, filled with an almost painful sincerity.

"Whatever she said," he murmured, "I don’t want you to think about it. It’s nothing, I promise."

But the way his voice wavered—just barely—told Angel that it wasn’t nothing. It was everything.