When I woke up again, it was already afternoon, and the space beside was empty.
Ashton had left for work.
My stomach was growling with hunger, and I slowly pushed myself up, ignoring the ache that spread through my body. Sitting up was one thing, but when I swung my legs out of bed, they trembled so badly I nearly ended up in a heap on the floor.
My face flushed hot as the mories from last night ca rushing back. ‘That bastard,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Couldn’t he have been a little gentler?’
I dragged myself through my morning routine: washing up, heading downstairs for a quick bite, then coming back up. Suddenly, the idea of a long, soothing bath seed irresistible.
I didn’t stay in the tub for too long. After a short soak, I got out, lathered up with shower gel, rinsed off, and wrapped myself in a bathrobe.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I turned into the dressing room to get changed, only to find Ashton already there, in the middle of changing himself.
He had his trousers on and was buttoning up his shirt. His fingers moved with a deft, practised ease, each button slipping smoothly into place. There was sothing effortlessly elegant about the way he did everything.
He heard co in and turned, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.
‘When did you get back?’ I asked.
‘Just now,’ he said. ‘Get changed. I’m taking you out.’
‘Where to?’
‘To get rid of a source of irritation to both of us.’
‘What does that an?’
I didn’t understand, but he didn’t explain. Instead, he said, ‘Wear sothing with a high neck.’
He finished with his buttons, picked up a tie, and left to it.
Once I was alone, the aning of his words dawned on , and my expression must have been a picture. I raised a hand to my neck, my face burning with embarrassnt.
The full-length mirror opposite showed clearly: my flushed cheeks, and the trail of bruises from my neck down to my shoulders, a vivid testant to just how thoroughly and relentlessly that man had marked the night before.
I sorted through my wardrobe and picked out a long-sleeved, high-necked dress with a white background and small floral prints. It had a quaint, almost rustic feel. I found a matching hat to complete the look. The wide brim would also help hide my slightly puffy eyes, which was a bonus.
Once I was ready, I stepped out. Ashton was waiting for and gave an approving nod at my outfit.
‘Do you want to get sothing to eat first?’ he asked.
‘No.’
Ashton took my hand. ‘Alright then, let’s go.’
I never would have guessed that Ashton was taking to the Laurent family’s old house. His father and stepmother still lived there.
I followed Ashton inside and stayed quiet. Truth be told, I had no idea what to say, or even why I was there.
We had only been standing in the living room for a minute or two when Gwendolyn Laurent ca down the stairs.
She stopped at the foot of them, not coming any closer, and spoke down to us. ‘Ashton, what a surprise. You could’ve called ahead. I would have had the kitchen prepare sothing.’
She tried to sound confident, but the tremor in her voice gave her away. She was afraid of her stepson, and we all knew it.
‘No need,’ Ashton refused flatly, his gaze icy as it fixed on her. ‘I’m not here for a social call. Hand over Genevieve.’
‘Genevieve? What Genevieve?’ Gwendolyn feigned confusion, but her eyes darted guiltily towards the upstairs landing.
Ashton followed her glance, his expression hardening instantly. He turned to Harry. ‘Go up and bring her down.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Harry nodded and motioned for two bodyguards to follow him upstairs.
Gwendolyn moved to block their path. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, looking straight at Ashton.
Ashton didn’t bother answering, just shot Harry a cold, impatient look.
Harry didn’t hesitate. ‘My apologies, Mrs Laurent,’ he said, then stepped neatly around her and headed up the stairs. She was powerless to stop him.
Her face tightened with panic, but she kept her mouth shut.
A few monts later, there was a commotion from above. Harry was escorting a struggling Genevieve downstairs.
‘Let go! What are you doing?’ Genevieve cried, her eyes wild as they sought out Gwendolyn. ‘Mrs Laurent, I’m carrying your grandson! You have to help !’
Gwendolyn turned on Harry. ‘Release her this instant!’
Harry didn’t respond, his eyes shifting to Ashton instead.
‘Her grandson?’ Ashton sneered. ‘I wasn’t aware Gwendolyn had another son besides Declan. Or are you saying that’s Declan’s baby?’
Genevieve’s face was a mask of sheer panic. ‘Ash, how can you say that? You know this is your child!’
‘My child?’ He let out a short, derisive laugh, then waved a hand at Harry. ‘Get that thing out of her and we’ll see whose child it really is.’
‘Ashton, stop this! I won’t allow such brutality!’ Gwendolyn looked truly alard now. In a desperate move, she lunged forward and started pulling at Harry’s arm.
Harry imdiately released Genevieve and took a few steps back, putting distance between himself and Gwendolyn.
He looked to Ashton for his next move.
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