Chapter 17
Elara
The day had been a beautiful, impossible bubble. Breakfast at a greasy diner, wandering through a bookstore, and just... being. For a few hours, the corporate and familial wars belonged to other people.
By Saturday evening, the real world seeped back in. Julian had to fly out early Sunday for a summit. As we idled in his SUV outside my building, the streetlights cast a soft glow on his profile.
“I’ll be back Tuesday,” he said, his thumb stroking my hand. “Try not to fall in love with anyone else while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” I laughed, leaning in for a final kiss. I watched him drive away, a hollow feeling blooming in my chest. I was getting attached, which was dangerous. Alastair was predictable in his dysfunction, but Julian was possessive in a way that felt like a different kind of fire.
As his taillights disappeared, my phone dinged.
Bitch ass: We need to talk. About what happened at Grandpa’s. I’m at home.
The afterglow of Julian’s affection made the text from my hubby dearest feel cold I needed to get this over with—the confrontation, the end. And I didn’t want Julian anywhere near it. He was too volatile, and this was Ashworth business. My final piece of it.
I called an Uber—not Julian’s service. I needed to do this on my own terms.
When I arrived at the estate, my custom black-on-black wagon was parked haphazardly near the fountain, as if abandoned. I ignored it and walked inside. The house was too quiet. A maid scurried past, avoiding my eyes.
“Where’s Alastair?”
“The library, Miss.”
I found him in his father’s wingback chair, a bottle of Macallan Rare Cask on the desk. “You came,” he slurred. “Finally doing what you’re told.”
“Whatever you say, Ally. Where are your parents?”
“Out. Brielle’s upstairs. In your old room. She likes the view.” It was a deliberate prod. I didn't give a damn about that room.
“The divorce papers will be drawn up Monday,” I said. “Grandpa Lionel’s lawyers contacted me. You can make it easy, or you can make it a spectacle.”
He finally lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. “Why do you hate me, Elara?”
The question caught me off guard. “I don’t hate you, Alastair.” To me, he was just an annoying younger brother I couldn't respect.
“Don’t lie!” he snarled, slamming his glass down. “You’ve always hated me. I was a defective product compared to you! My parents didn’t want me; they wanted you in my skin. You were the goddamn gold standard!”
“I didn’t take anything you wanted!” I snapped. “You never wanted the business. You just wanted the title without the work. Do you think if you’d put in even a quarter of the effort I did, I would’ve ever stood a chance next to you?”
Alistair’s face twisted. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Yes, your parents praised me,” I said, my voice dropping. “But don’t get it twisted. It wasn’t because they saw me as their child. They praised me because I was useful. Because without me, this company would have crumbled under your incompetence. They wanted a vacation, and I made it possible.”
I stepped closer, matching his heat. “Hate me because I find you sad and pathetic. But don’t hate me because you think I stole your life. I never wanted it.”
“You were a charity case!” he roared, stumbling toward me. “A pity project! You and your family would live in the gutter if not for Grandpa.”
The insult to my family—to my mother—was the final straw. I smacked him. The sound was a sharp, clean crack that echoed in the library. It was fucking cathartic.
His head snapped to the side. For a heartbeat, there was stunned silence. Then, the self-pity in his eyes evaporated, replaced by pure, unadulterated fury. He coiled his body, a man about to hit me back. I didn't flinch. I was ready to end him.
Suddenly, the doors flew open.
“ALASTAIR! WHAT IN GOD’S NAME!”
Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth stood frozen in the doorway.
Behind them, Brielle peeked out with ghoulish delight.
This bitch was loving everything that was happening.
Mr. Ashworth moved first, grabbing his son’s wrist. “Have you lost your mind? You were going to hit her?” He manhandled Alastair out of the room.
Brielle stepped in, a smug smile on her lips. “You should just let him go. You’re just... in the way.”
Her words were meant to be poison, but they meant nothing to me. My gaze shifted to the only person left who mattered, Mrs. Ashworth.
“Is that what you think, too?” I asked.
She wrung her hands. “Elara… when we married you to him, we had expectations. We hoped you would be a… a calming influence. A steady hand to help him.”
A handler.
Not a daughter. Not a wife. A human shock absorber for their dysfunctional ass son. The truth of my entire life in their world crystallized.
I looked from Brielle’s smug face to Mrs. Ashworth’s guilty one. Without another word, I turned and walked out.
I passed the study, where Mr. Ashworth’s voice rumbled. “You fix it with Elara. She is the only reason—” I didn't stay to hear the rest.
The Uber was still waiting. As it pulled away, I watched the dark silhouette of the estate retreat. Only then, in the moving darkness, did I let a single, silent tear fall. It was for the girl I used to be.
It was the last tear I would ever shed for the House of Ashworth.