Ashtons Truth
The guest room was dim, lit only by the single lamp on the nightstand. Melody sat on the edge of the bed, nightgown pulled up just enough to expose the inflamed line of stitches. A small bowl of lukewarm water sat beside her, a clean washcloth floating in it.
She had no alcohol swabs left... no medicine, no ointment. Just water. She dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and gently dabbed at the swollen, weeping edges. Each touch stung like fire. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The door opened without warning.
Melody’s head snapped up. Her heart lurched.
Christian.
She gasped softly and yanked the gown down in one frantic motion, covering the scar, the bruises, the ugliness she didn’t want him to see. Her cheeks burned with shame.
He stepped inside, laptop tucked under one arm. He didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the screen as he crossed the room.
“Christian,” she whispered, standing slowly, one hand braced on the bedpost. “What are you doing here?”
He set the laptop on the small table by the window. “I need your help.”
“With what?”
He opened the screen, turning it toward her. The Meridian Group deal... spreadsheets, clauses, the same red flags he’d stared at for days. “Make this work.”
Melody stared at him, then at the computer. Her eyes lingered on his face, tired shadows under his hazel eyes, jaw tight. He hadn’t looked at her once.
She took the laptop carefully, fingers brushing the warm metal. She sat on the edge of the bed again, pulling the screen closer.
Christian moved to the window, back to her, pretending to study the rain-streaked glass. Anything to avoid her eyes.
Melody opened the files. Her gaze flicked to him once more, then down to her gown. She lifted the collar subtly, sniffed it... just a quick, instinctive check to make sure it didn’t smell foul, didn’t smell of sickness or neglect.
Christian caught the motion in the reflection of the window. His brows furrowed, a frown pulling at his mouth. Why did she do that?
She worked in silence. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Finally, she spoke, voice soft but steady.
“Here,” she said, turning the screen toward him.
“The valuation clause is the bottleneck. They’re using last quarter’s market data, but the new regulatory changes in Japan shift the risk profile.
Adjust the multiplier here—” she pointed “—and add a performance-based escalation clause. It gives them upside without locking you in. They’ll sign. ”
Christian walked over. He sat on the chair opposite her, close enough to see the screen, far enough to keep distance. He leaned in, eyes scanning the changes. He nodded once. Twice. Understanding flickered across his face.
He stood abruptly. “Thank you. I'll have Sally bring Symphony to you tomorrow for an hour. As a repay for your help.”
He started to turn away.
Melody rose slowly, wincing at the pull on her stitches. “Christian… can I ask for something else?”
He paused, looking at her for the first time. “What could you possibly want other than Symphony?”
She swallowed. “You.”
His head snapped toward her. “What?”
“I—I mean…” Her voice trembled. “I want to talk to you. Tell you something.”
“If it's about Mom, don't bother. I know what she's been doing behind my back. And I won't do anything about it. That was your punishment.”
“It's not that. I've grown immune to her Karen energy.” Melody replied. She instantly regretted but Christian did not react.
He exhaled sharply, sat back down. “Five minutes.”
She sat too, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“Christian, I know you loved your brother so much. I know he meant everything to you. But if I say he couldn’t take his own life… will you believe me?”
“No.” The word was immediate, hard. “I saw the suicide note. It was about you. I saw how devoted he was to you. How he wasted himself in bars every time you hurt him. He ended his life for you.”
Melody looked down at her hands, tears filling her eyes. “Christian… do you think it was my choice to choose?”
“It was. But if you’d said yes to him, he’d be alive right now. You wouldn’t be living like this. You would be the graceful daughter-in-law of the Holt family.”
Her voice broke. “Christian, he didn’t want to marry me!”
He stood again. “I don’t know what game you’re playing. Go out for a while tomorrow. You’re going crazy in this isolation.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” she asked, standing behind him now, voice trembling.
“You’re thinking of lies to tell me and try to escape your punishment. That’s what I meant.”
“Christian, it’s not a lie.” She took a shaky step closer. “Even if Ashton was genuine about me… I would’ve still turned him down.”
He froze. Genuine? What? Before he could ask, Melody spoke.
“How could I say yes to him… when I loved someone else?”
Christian turned slowly. “Who was it? Who is that bastard for whom you turned my brother down and he ended his life?”
Melody moved closer, tears spilling now. “No… don’t call him that. He isn’t the reason.”
“Who. Is. It?” Christian gritted his teeth.
“You.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I was secretly in love with you, Christian. Always.”
He grabbed her arms. “You’re telling me I’m responsible for his death?”
“No, Christian, you’re not—”
“You just made it worse, Melody!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Worse than before!”
He glared into her eyes for a long, burning second, fury, pain, disbelief swirling in his hazel gaze.
Then he shoved her away, hard enough that she stumbled back against the bed.
He stormed out, door slamming behind him.
Melody sank to the floor, arms wrapped around herself, sobs shaking her whole body.
The laptop screen glowed on the table, forgotten.
The rain kept falling outside.
×××××××
It started six months before he died.
I was working late on the Meridian projections, alone on the floor.
The office was dark except for my desk lamp and the city lights through the windows.
I heard his footsteps, heavy and confident, before I saw him.
He leaned against the cubicle partition, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, that easy smile on his face.
“Still here, Melody?” he said, voice low, amused. “You work too hard.”
I forced a polite smile. “Just finishing up, Mr. Holt.”
He stepped closer. Too close. His cologne hit me... sharp, expensive, overwhelming. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered, sliding down to my jaw.
“You’re beautiful when you’re focused,” he murmured. “You know that?”
My stomach dropped. I leaned back in my chair. “Thank you. I should really get going.”
He laughed... soft, like I’d said something funny. His hand dropped to my shoulder, squeezing. “Come on. Relax a little. We could… unwind.”
I stood up quickly, heart hammering. “I have to catch the last train.”
Ashton blocked the way for a second, eyes darkening. “You’re always so proper. It’s cute. But I know you want to.” He leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “One night, Melody. No one has to know. I’ll make it worth your while.”
I stepped back, bumping into my desk. “No. I’m not interested.”
His smile faded. “You sure? Most women would jump at the chance.”
“I’m not most women.”
He straightened, expression turning cold. “Your loss.” He walked out without another word, but the way he looked at me, like I was prey that had gotten away, stayed with me for weeks.
After that, it didn’t stop.
Unwanted touches in the hallway.
“Accidental” brushes against me in the elevator.
Late-night texts: “Thinking about you. Come over.” Emails with suggestive comments hidden behind professional language.
He cornered me in the supply closet once, hand on my waist, whispering, “Stop playing hard to get. We both know you’re curious. ”
I turned him down every time. Firmly. Politely at first, then colder. I documented everything... screenshots, dates, times, but lost it when Victoria wrecked my apartment after Ashton's death. And even if I had it, who would believe me? He was Ashton Holt. CEO. Golden son. I was just an employee.
He never proposed marriage.
Never spoke of love.
Never wanted anything real.
He wanted one night. A conquest. A secret.
And when I said no, he got angry. Resentful. But suicidal? Never.
A man like Ashton doesn’t kill himself over rejection.
He moves on. Finds someone else. Or forces the issue.
The note they found? I have no idea why he wrote it.
He didn’t take his own life because I broke his heart.
He didn’t take his own life at all.
I know that.
I’ve always known.
But saying it out loud, even on this page, feels like tearing open a wound that never closed.
—Melody
×××××××
Christian’s bedroom door slammed shut behind him with enough force to rattle the frame. The sound echoed down the empty corridor like a gunshot.
He stood there in the dark, back pressed to the wood, chest heaving. The room smelled faintly of rain and the cedar from the old furniture.
He slid down the door until he hit the floor, knees bent, head dropping into his hands.
Her voice played on repeat in his skull, soft and trembling.
“I was secretly in love with you, Christian. Always.”
The words hit him again, harder this time, like shrapnel he hadn’t felt coming.
Christian’s breath caught on a ragged inhale. His fingers dug into his scalp, pulling at the roots of his dark hair as if pain could drown out the noise inside.
He saw her face... those dark eyes filling with tears, the way her voice cracked on his name. She hadn’t been lying. Not about that. He knew it the way he knew the rain outside was still falling, relentless and cold.
She had loved him.
And she had turned Ashton down for him.
The guilt slammed into him next... vicious, suffocating, like a hand around his throat.
Ashton.
His brother. His hero. The one who’d carried him through every nightmare when they were kids, who’d taught him how to tie a tie, how to throw a punch, how to lead without looking back. The one who’d died with a note about Melody in front of him.
If she’d said yes to Ashton…
If she’d chosen him instead…
Ashton would still be alive.
He would still be here. Laughing. Running the company. Being the big brother who never let me feel small.
Christian’s shoulders shook once. Then again. A low, broken sound escaped him... half sob, half curse.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until spots danced behind his lids. Tears slipped through anyway... hot, silent, unstoppable.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dark, voice cracking. “God, Ash… I’m so sorry. You died because of me.”
The rain kept falling outside, steady and unforgiving.
Inside, Christian Holt broke.
And there was no one there to witness it.
No one to hold him while he cried for the brother he’d lost and thought it was because of him.
Only the rain.
And the echo of a woman’s voice saying his name like it still meant something.
×××××××