‘So who’s the poor girl you’ve tricked into getting engaged to you without telling anyone?’ Reginald demanded. ‘The least you can do is introduce her.’
Reginald Laurent. Ashton’s biological father. Walking proof that money couldn’t buy competence.
He looked the part—mid-forties, still in decent shape, sharp enough jawline—but inside? Empty.
Everyone in Skyline City knew old man Edouard, king of Laurent Global Holdings, would rather set fire to his empire than hand Reginald the keys.
The guy didn’t have the grit. Never had.
Maybe Reginald knew it too. Maybe that was why he spent most of his ti punching down, taking out his insecurities on people who could not punch back. Like young Ashton.
Once upon a ti, Ashton used to care. Used to wonder why his father treated him like he was sothing scraped off a shoe.
But those days were dead and buried.
Ashton did not even look up from his laptop. He had a conference call with London, Paris, and Frankfurt in two minutes. Reginald barging in, as usual, wasn’t enough to break his focus.
‘She’s here at the party. You’ll et her soon enough,’ Ashton said, voice flat.
‘But, Ash, what your father ans is, we don’t know anything about her,’ Gwendolyn Laurent piped up. ‘I an, sure, we know her na and that she’s a...’ Her mouth twisted like she was chewing glass, ‘a barista. But are you sure this is the right match? You need a wife who can handle the mayor’s galas, investor dinners, charity auctions. Is a barista really going to survive in our world?’
Ashton finally looked up, staring her dead in the eye.
There it was. Fake concern, real agenda.
Gwendolyn wasn’t worried about his sudden engagent. She was thrilled.
Ashton marrying a ‘nobody’ ant her precious son, Declan, might actually stand a chance. In her twisted daydreams, Declan wasn’t just going to inherit Laurent Global Holdings, he was going to snatch Titanova Corp out from under Ashton too.
Ashton shut his laptop with a click.
‘Whether she’s up to the job is none of your concern. And I didn’t ask for your worthless opinion.’
Reginald’s nostrils flared. ‘She’s your mother! Show so respect!’
‘Step-mother,’ Ashton said, dragging out the first syllable like he was scrubbing it with sandpaper. ‘And while we’re on the subject, I didn’t ask for yours, either.’
He hit the intercom. ‘Gareth. Get them out. Whoever let them in—dock his pay for three months.’
‘Yes, boss,’ ca Gareth Stone’s dry reply.
Thirty seconds later, the head of Ashton’s security detail walked in.
‘Mr and Mrs Laurent,’ Gareth said, holding out an arm. ‘This way, please.’
Reginald opened his mouth like he was about to argue, then caught the look in Ashton’s eyes and thought better of it.
The mont the study door shut, Ashton patched through his international call.
Titanova Corp usually ran like a well-oiled machine, but certain things—like shady local governnts and militia groups who thought bribes were a national sport—still needed his personal touch.
Half an hour later, he wrapped up the call, adjusted his suit with a sharp tug, and was about to head downstairs when Dominic Everett, his assistant, hurried in.
‘She here?’ Ashton asked, already knowing the answer.
Dominic, used to Ashton’s one-track mind where Mirabelle Vance was concerned, nodded. ‘Miss Vance has arrived.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘But there’s been an... incident.’
‘Spit it out.’
‘She’s... ah, fighting soone in the ballroom. As in, actual fistfight. Not a verbal argunt.’
Ashton’s jaw tightened. His entire expression darkened like soone had switched off the lights inside him.
He brushed past Dominic without a word and stord towards the stairs.
Cassian Langford, looking half-asleep and rubbing his face like he had just lost a brawl with his pillow, caught up to him.
‘What’s all the noise downstairs?’ he asked, voice still scratchy.
When his friend didn’t answer, Cassian jogged after Ashton, but almost crashed into his back when Ashton abruptly stopped at the landing.
Following Ashton’s line of sight, Cassian peered down.
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, eyes widening. ‘When you invited to the party, I didn’t know it was going to be gladiator-style.’
The ballroom was chaos. Guests scrambled back, forming a rough ring around the brewing disaster in the centre.
Ashton recognised Mirabelle’s friend Yvaine, who’d just kicked Catherine square in the gut. Not hard enough to do real damage—she was in a dress that was more for show than combat—but it was enough to block Catherine from throwing herself in front of Serenna like a budget bodyguard.
Catherine seized her mont. Tears poured down her face like soone had flipped a switch.
‘Mira, I was only trying to help,’ she sobbed. ‘You pulled the tablecloth and knocked over the buffet by accident. I was just helping you pick up the pieces. Why would you hit ? And Serenna was only trying to help, too!’
A few of her cronies, already planted at the party like bad weeds, caught her frantic glances. They rushed over to back her up.
‘You can’t just go around hitting people!’ one of them screeched.
‘Yeah, what the hell? This isn’t a bloody food market!’ another barked, full Karen-mode activated.
Yvaine, scrappy but outnumbered, started looking boxed in.
Before Ashton could even blink, Mirabelle moved. She stord up, grabbed Catherine by the hair like she was yanking weeds, and slamd her halfway to the marble floor.
‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re pulling. You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?’
Her fingers twisted harder. Catherine whimpered. Mirabelle did not let up. With her other hand, she still had a death grip on Serenna.
Screams and curses ricocheted around the room. Everyone else was freaking out.
Ashton didn’t see any of it.
He only saw her.
He stood on the stairs, fists clenching, watching Mirabelle—tiny, furious, unstoppable—pinning two grown won like it was nothing.
Her arms looked slim, but damn, she was strong. Catherine and Serenna could not even lift their heads.
Mirabelle held herself like a queen. Her spine was straight, her chin tipped back slightly, the diamonds around her neck catching the chandeliers and tossing the light back like a thousand tiny knives.
She made dragging two idiots across a ballroom look... weirdly attractive.
‘Why are you grinning like an idiot?’ Cassian pointed at Ashton’s face. ‘Does a catfight turn you on?’
Ashton touched his face. He hadn’t even realised he was smiling.
But how could he not, when it was Mirabelle?
He had been wrong. Mirabelle didn’t need rescuing.
She was feisty, fearless, never-let-them-take-an-inch Mirabelle.
Soon-to-be-his Mirabelle.
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