Chapter 8
Elara
I went straight from Julian’s office to the Ashworth estate. I found everyone in the study. The heavy oak doors shut behind me, sealing me back into a world of curated antiques and lies. The signed contract in my hand felt like the only real thing in the room.
Alastair and his parents were in the sitting area, discussing something in low tones.
They turned to look at me when I walked in.
Alastair’s expression was pinched; he was expecting failure, as if he had a single shred of evidence that I’d ever failed him.
I hadn't. Every deal I went after, I got—unlike him. His father’s expression was weary; his mother’s was hopeful.
I crossed the Persian rug and placed the contract on the immense mahogany desk.
“It’s done,” I said. My voice was flat. It had been a long time since I’d felt any excitement for these things.
For a moment, there was complete silence. Mr. Ashworth moved first, snatching up the document. His eyes scanned the final page. A slow, deep breath escaped him—the sound of a man pulled back from a financial cliff. “Elara… my god. How?”
I let a vengeful twenty-something kiss me until I saw stars and then promised to live with him.
“Persuasion,” I said simply.
Mrs. Ashworth rushed forward, her hands fluttering before she grasped mine. Her eyes were bright with tears—not of joy for me, but of relief for the family name. “You brilliant girl. I knew you could handle that brat. I knew it.”
I chuckled mentally. Julian was a "difficult, temperamental boy" in their narrative. They had no idea.
Alastair stared at the contract in his father’s hands as if it were a trick that might disappear. His gaze lifted to mine, suspicion warring with a dawning, resentful awe. “What did you have to promise him?”
“A productive partnership,” I said, meeting his eyes without blinking. “The terms are favorable. You can review them.”
“We’ll have a celebratory dinner,” Mr. Ashworth announced, clapping a hand on my shoulder. The weight of it felt like a brand. “Tonight. You’ll stay, Elara. No arguments. This calls for family.”
Family. The word tasted like a fabrication. I had realized long ago that I was the utility player—brought off the bench to score the winning goal, only to be expected to sit back down with gratitude when I wasn’t needed. I was just waiting for my moment to walk off the field forever.
“Of course,” I said, because there was no other answer.
It was over dinner that Alastair dropped his next grenade. The mistress sat beside him, one hand possessively on her belly, the other toying with a necklace that likely cost more than the furniture we were sitting on.
“Now that the Esmé deal is secure,” Alastair began, puffing out his chest as if he were responsible for it, “we can focus on integrating new blood into the company’s leadership. Fresh perspectives.”
I took a slow sip of ice water, waiting. I knew something was about to happen that would irritate me.
“Brielle will be joining Ashworth Intimates,” he declared. “As a Junior Brand Manager. She has an incredible eye.”
I almost choked. Junior Brand Manager. For a woman who’d never worked a day in her life, now pregnant with my husband’s bastard. This was nepotism at a cartoonish level.
His father’s knife stilled on his plate. His mother’s smile froze.
“Given the… delicate situation,” Alastair plowed on, oblivious to the tension at the head of the table, “we’ll be introducing her as my cousin. A distant one.”
My eyes dropped to where Brielle’s fingers were laced with his under the table.
She clung to him possessively, worshipping the money that fell out of his pockets.
They wouldn’t be believable for a second—not when half the staff knew he had fucked his way through the office before he ran away.
It was a pathetic, transparent lie that would become office gossip by lunchtime tomorrow.
I said nothing. I would fix nothing. His fuck-ups only put me one step closer to freedom.
The mistress seized the moment, leaning forward. “I’m so excited to contribute. I went to Harvard, you know. Studied European business trends while I was traveling abroad. I think my exposure to continental luxury markets will be invaluable.”
It was all I could do not to laugh aloud.
The background check I’d commissioned had landed in my inbox at dawn.
Brielle Anne Miller. She had been in community college for one semester before dropping out.
“Traveling Europe” was a generous term for following Alastair from five-star hotel to five-star hotel on his father’s credit line.
There was no Harvard. There was barely a CV.
She looked at me, her chin lifted in a challenge. “I do hope you’ll help me learn the ropes, Elara. I’d love to shadow you.”
The room held its breath. This was her play. To insert herself into my domain, forcing me to legitimize her. She wanted to make me complicit in her ascension while she slowly pushed me out of my own chair.
She could have my spot, but I’d be damned if I’d give her the satisfaction of helping her sit in it.
I placed my fork down. I looked directly at her, then at Alastair. “No,” I said, the word clean and final as a guillotine blade. “I won’t.”
Brielle’s face cracked, revealing startled offense. “I… I just thought—”
“You have the job,” I continued, my voice never rising. “He gave it to you.” I gestured toward Alastair, who was now glowering at me like the entitled brat he was. “Let him teach you.”
Mrs. Ashworth made a small, distressed noise. Mr. Ashworth looked like he wanted to argue, but he stayed silent. He knew I was stubborn, and I think he could feel the end was near. He didn't need me quitting; he needed me compliant.
Alastair’s face turned red. “Elara, be reasonable. As my wife, it’s your duty to—”
“My duty? My duty is not to manage your mistress.” I cut him off, standing.
I laid my napkin on the table like a white flag.
“My duty was to secure the partnership that saves this company’s quarterly projections.
It is done. My other duties, as defined by you, involve staying out of your private life.
I suggest you manage your new… cousin accordingly. ”
I didn't wait for a dismissal. “Thank you for dinner. I have an early morning.”
I walked out, leaving the silence sputtering behind me. As I climbed the stairs to my room, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Julian.
JULIAN: Did you tell them what you did to save them and their company?
A ghost of a smile touched my lips. He was fishing for a reaction.
ELARA: I told them nothing. But they told me my husband’s pregnant mistress will be joining the company. He’s introducing her as his cousin.
The three dots appeared instantly.
JULIAN: Pathetic. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the air you walk through.
And then, a second message:
JULIAN: Six months is too long. I’m renegotiating terms before I have to kill him.
I paused at my bedroom door, the cool brass knob in my hand. Alastair’s petty power plays were a tedious chore. But Julian Hale was a problem.
ELARA: I’m tempted to change it to a year, if that’s the case.