The Secret Parrish Heiress Strikes Back

The noise of the club faded into a low hum as Elinor and Jaylynn settled into the plush velvet booth in the corner. The air was cooler here, away from the press of bodies on the dance floor. Jaylynn reached across the table and grabbed Elinor's hand, her manicured nails digging slightly into Elinor's skin. Her eyes were blazing with a fury that Elinor hadn't seen in years. "You should have left him years ago," Jaylynn said, her voice a harsh whisper. "That bastard doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone be married to you." Elinor pulled her hand back, a wry smile touching her lips. "It's done now. Three years. Consider it an expensive education." "Education?" Jaylynn scoffed, taking a large gulp of her martini. "It was a hostage situation. Parrish royalty, serving coffee to a tech tycoon who thinks new money makes him a god. If your brothers knew-" "Don't." Elinor's voice was sharp. She glanced around, even though the nearest table was empty. "They don't know. And they aren't going to know. Not yet." Jaylynn slammed her glass down. "Why? So Dempsey Everett can keep thinking he's king of the world? So he can treat you like trash? Elinor, Ambrose would bury him. Alden would buy his company just to fire him. And Arlo... Arlo would do things that would make the news." "I know." Elinor's chest tightened at the thought of her overprotective older brothers. "But I got myself into this. I'll get myself out. I don't want a Parrish war. I just want a divorce." Jaylynn sighed, her shoulders dropping. "Fine. But when he finds out the truth-" "He won't. Not if I can help it." Elinor picked up her own drink, the cool glass soothing against her still-tender palm. The sting from slapping Dempsey was a lingering reminder of her newfound backbone. "Speaking of getting out," Jaylynn said, a sly smile replacing her frown. "There's someone you should reconnect with. He just got back to the city." Elinor raised an eyebrow. "Who?" "Killian Wise." The name hung in the air between them. Elinor's hand froze halfway to her mouth. A memory flickered-sunlight on a yacht, a boy with dark eyes and a quiet intensity, the smell of salt and expensive cologne. "Wise?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "The shipping heir?" "The very same," Jaylynn said, leaning in. "Except he's not just an heir anymore. He runs the whole empire now. He's practically royalty in Europe. And he's ten times the man Dempsey Everett could ever hope to be." Elinor shook her head. "I'm not looking for a replacement, Jay. I'm looking for a clean break." "I'm not saying marry him. I'm saying say hello. He's here tonight, you know." Before Elinor could respond, a shadow fell over the table. The air shifted, becoming charged with a quiet, commanding energy. "Are you talking about me, Jaylynn?" a low voice asked. Elinor looked up. The man standing beside their booth was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his bespoke suit perfectly. His dark hair was swept back from a face that was all sharp angles and intense focus. His eyes, a deep, piercing brown, weren't on Jaylynn. They were on Elinor. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Hello, Elinor." Jaylynn practically bounced in her seat. "Killian! Perfect timing. Elinor, you remember Killian Wise, don't you?" Elinor stared at him. He looked nothing like the boy from the yacht, yet everything like him at the same time. He exuded power, the kind that didn't need to announce itself. "Wise," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her stomach. "It's been a long time." "It has." He extended his hand. "We met at the Parrish summer estate in the Hamptons. You were trying to convince my brother to sail into a storm." Elinor took his hand. The moment their skin touched, a jolt shot up her arm. His grip was firm, warm, and entirely too brief. "I remember," she said softly. "You told me I was reckless." "I told you you were brave," he corrected, his gaze holding hers. "There's a difference." Across the club, Dempsey stood frozen near the bar. He recognized the man instantly. Killian Wise. The name was whispered in the same breath as old money and global power. Wise Shipping was a behemoth, a legacy that made Everett Tech look like a startup. And he was sitting at Elinor's table. Dempsey watched as Killian Wise took a seat across from Elinor, his body language relaxed but entirely focused on her. He watched Elinor smile, a genuine, unguarded expression that she had never directed at him. A red haze descended over Dempsey's vision. This wasn't just a social call. This was a move. Elinor had walked out of his house hours ago, and she was already sitting in the VIP section with one of the most powerful men in the world. She had planned this. She had to have planned this. The divorce, the slap, the dramatic exit-it was all a setup for this moment. She was trading up. Dempsey took a step forward, his body moving on instinct. He would go over there. He would drag her away from him. He would remind her that she was still his wife, that she was still bound by the Everett name. A hand clamped down on his arm. Brody. "Dempsey, don't," Brody warned, his face pale. "That's Killian Wise. You can't cause a scene with him. It's business suicide." Dempsey shook him off, but he stopped walking. Brody was right. Picking a fight with Wise in his own club was corporate suicide. But watching Wise lean in close to Elinor, watching her laugh at something he said, was emotional murder. He stood there, rooted to the spot, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was a spectator in his own life, watching his wife slip through his fingers and into the arms of a better man. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated Killian Wise in that moment. And he had never hated himself more for letting her go.