ASHAL
Ashley doesn’t look the least bit shaken.
If anything, he’s too composed, and that unsettles more than watching him lose himself to emotional strains ever did. His laptop is open on the desk in this tiny, stripped-down office he shoved himself into after the demotion. Papers are scattered everywhere, sketches of designs with bold lines and ssy notes in the margins. He hasn’t stopped yamring about this new collection idea since we left the hospital.
I lean against the desk, arms crossed, and watch him scratch at the paper with a pencil like he’s trying to carve his thoughts into it.
"How’s the design coming along?" I ask, testing him.
He doesn’t look up. "How was your conversation with Mother? Did she have a grand justification for lying through her teeth all this ti?"
Not the question I expected, but the bite in his tone doesn’t surprise . I set the glass of water I’ve been nursing down carefully on his desk and glance around the small office. It still slls faintly of paint, like they only just scrubbed the previous occupant out.
"She was glued to watching my baby," I answer finally. "Didn’t seem right to drag her into another fight while she was smiling for once. I’ll get my answers later today."
Ashley scoffs, eyes glued to his sketchpad. "Convenient."
I let the jab pass. For a long mont, I just...watch him. His shoulders are relaxed in a way that doesn’t sit right with . Eventually he leans back in his chair, rubbing his temple, and catches staring.
"Are you just going to stand there like a creep, or do you have sothing to say?"
I shrug. "I’m just curious about you."
His brows lift as he crosses his arms over his chest. "?"
"Yes. You." I tilt my head, studying him. "Sothing’s off, and I can’t put my finger on it."
He smirks. "Wow. By all ans, Sherlock. Enlighten ."
"Two days ago, you were one argunt away from ripping Father’s throat out when he suggested bringing in a manager. And now, even though Asher convinced him not to, you still voluntarily gave up your office. You’ve been sitting here buried in designs like none of it matters. What’s with this sudden ’I don’t care’ act?"
That gets him. He throws his head back and bursts into a loud, unrestrained laughter. The kind that fills the cramped office, making it feel even smaller.
"This family, I swear," he says once he catches his breath. "One second you all accuse of caring too much, and the minute I dial it down, that makes you uncomfortable too?"
"That’s not what I..."
"Then what, Ashal? You want to throw a tantrum? Smash sothing? Is that what will reassure you I’m still myself?"
I grit my teeth, struggling to put words to the knot in my chest. "Look man, I’m glad you’re not doing any of that, okay? I just want to make sure this calm isn’t...ominous. That it’s not coming from so place darker."
His eyes glint, sharp and knowing. It almost like he sees straight through .
"You’re worried I’ve given up."
I swallow hard but don’t answer. Yes, but this is hardly about work. He still loves fashion and cares enough to bring his designs to life. I’m worried he’s given up on sothing deeper.
Ashley leans forward, his voice so low it’s almost conspiratorial. "Truth is, Ashal...I’m done killing myself trying to be Brett Rollins’s perfect son. Every ti I trip, he drags across the coals like I’m nothing but a disappointnt. I’m done."
The words hang heavy in the room. My heart clenches, because I know that feeling. But hearing Ashley say it so plainly like he’s cutting the cord makes my throat tighten.
"C’mon Ashley, you should be used to father by now..."
"Spare the lecture, Ash. I’ve heard it for twenty-six years! I’ve done EVERYTHING I can for twenty-six years! I’m done feeling like I will never be worthy, never be enough..."
"Then what?" I ask carefully. "You just stop caring? Stop fighting for what you built?"
His mouth quirks into sothing that isn’t quite a smile. "No. I just stopped fighting to please him. Gosh, it should never have been this hard if he truly loved as his own." His voice wavers as he airs out the last bit. Turning, he runs a hand over his hair. "It’s so fucking hard...and I am done!"
He lets that sink in. When he turns back to , the smile on his face quells my anxiety over the glint of tears in his eyes, "I’ve been talking to Dean. He...cares. He wants to make up for lost ti. And I...want that too."
I freeze. My chest goes tight and my pulse spikes up. Dean Sawyer, our biological father? It’s not the first ti I’ve heard of them talking but this is the first ti Ashley’s ntioned it with more excitent in his eyes.
Ashley says it like it’s nothing, but to it’s everything.
"You’re bonding with him already?" I ask flatly.
Ashley doesn’t flinch. "Yeah. And it’s not the nightmare I thought it would be. He listens, Ashal. He doesn’t make feel like I’m two inches tall every ti I slip up. Do you know how different that feels?"
My hands curl into fists at my sides. Part of envies him because I also know the familiar ache for father’s unconditional acceptance.
But the other part of burns with loyalty to Brett, as twisted and cruel as the man is. "And what happens when this...bonding blows back on us? On the family? You think Brett will sit back and let Dean slip into our lives like it’s nothing?"
Ashley leans back again, defiance blazing in his eyes. "Brett can choke on it. I’m done playing pawn in his gas. Dean is ALSO my father, whether Brett likes it or not. And I’d rather take my chances with a man who wants to know than keep bleeding myself dry for one who never cared enough."
I don’t know what to say. My heart pounds so hard it drowns out my thoughts. Finally, I catch my breath.
"He was absent for so long, Ashley. You want to be careful with believing everything he tells you."
"Yeah, but how’s Brett’s any different? Despite being my life for so long, I still pine for a father’s love. And are you really going to stand there and act like Brett is the honest parent? How many lies has he told? Let’s not even get into our adoption story. That’s a whole other can of worms we’re not quite ready to open, are we?"
Sighing, he jams both hands in his pocket. "What’s your deal? I know you spoke with Dean over the phone. I can understand if you feel so type of way letting him in but I’ve had a different experience with him. I guess that’s why I’m a little less guarded. Take the ti you need to process this, but don’t judge MY choices. Dean makes feel...enough, and I really need that. That’s the only reason I am able to keep myself from falling apart lately."
"I’m sorry if I ca off as judgntal." Easing back, I throw him a glance. "I’m just looking out for you."
"And I appreciate it." He shakes my hand. "I promise I’ll be fine, especially after I get this design out of my head and into this..." Ashley’s entire body goes rigid.
Only one person had ever put him in such a state, leaving his face so raw an invisible drool had to be oozing from the corner of his lips. I follow his glazed eyes to the door.
Nicci cautiously steps in like a storm bottled up in stilettos. Her presence alone sucks the air out of the room, at least for my brother.
Well, hell.
***
I clear my throat. "I’ll, uh...let you two catch up."
Ashley doesn’t even blink. His eyes are locked on Nicci like she’s both the ghost of his past and the temptation of his future.
I slip out, shutting the door behind , my chest still heavy with the weight of his admission.
The drive back to the mansion is a blur. All I can think about is Dean. About Ashley choosing him and what it would an for our family in the long run. Division? Intentionally, I dismiss the pesky thought of what accepting Dean would an for .
When I step into the grand, suffocating silence of our ho, I head straight for mother. I find her in the lounge, scrolling her tablet with that distant, serene look she wears when she thinks she’s guileless.
"We need to talk," I say with a firm voice.
She looks up, startled. "Okay. What is it, darling?"
Her sweetness irks . "You bought Billion-Err. You’re the new editor." The words taste like acid. "You didn’t tell us. Worse still, you didn’t kill the blog. Rather, you weaponized it against Demi, against the one person who ever deserved our rcy."
The rage bubbles hot from within. It wasn’t there earlier but sothing ca unhinged after my conversation with Ashley.
Mother’s expression falters, but she recovers fast. "Ashal, you don’t understand—"
"No, I understand perfectly. After everything that poor girl has endured, after forgiving us when she had every reason not to, you chose to hurt her so more by twisting the knife we lodged in her heart. Why? Why did you pretend to accept her? Why did you hurt her knowing how much that would hurt Ashton, YOUR son? Why, mother?"
Her lips press together, eyes flickering. But before she can answer, she sets the tablet aside and says softly, "I have a lot of explaining to do, but this isn’t the right ti."
I step closer, fury boiling. "Then when is the right ti, Mother?"
She sighs, stands, and touches my arm like she’s soothing a child. "Darling, I think you should know; Madeline is gone."
The floor tilts beneath as I stagger backwards.
"What?"
"I got ho and she was gone. The housekeepers couldn’t sway her to wait for you. The guards let her go because you never wanted her to feel like a prisoner here. I called her parents but they haven’t seen her either. I’m so sorry, son"
My breath catches. Pain crashes through like a tidal wave, consuming every thread of strength I had held onto until now.
Groaning in agony, I storm out of the house.
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