Chapter 58
CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT
JULIE
The first photo is Asher and Devon at what looks like a restaurant or bar.
His hand is on another woman's arm—not Devon.
Devon's face is twisted in rage, her mouth open mid-scream.
The second photo is a close-up of Devon's chest, her new implants on full display in a low-cut dress, her finger pointing accusingly at Asher.
The third photo is Asher, and he looks rough.
His hair is disheveled, his eyes are glassy, and there's a wildness to his expression that I don't recognize. The comments are brutal.
She's right to be mad, he's clearly on something.
Those implants are TRAGIC.
This is what happens when you marry your stepsister lmaooo.
He looks like he hasn't slept in six years.
She's unhinged and he's a mess. They deserve each other.
I scroll through dozens of comments, and I feel... nothing. Absolutely nothing. No satisfaction. No vindication. Just a blank, empty space where I might have once felt something about Asher's public implosion. Not my circus, not my clowns.
I close the app and set my phone down on the couch, shaking my head slightly.
It's wild how little I care. A year ago, seeing photos like this would have sent me into a spiral.
I would have obsessed over every detail, every comment, every implication.
I would have felt something—anger, hurt, betrayal, vindication. Now? Now I'm over it.
A few weeks later Ryan comes home from work, kicking off his shoes before he comes into the living room.
"Hey, Buttercup," he says, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. "How was your day?"
"Good. Quiet. I made that pasta you like for dinner."
"You're the best." He drops onto the couch beside me, pulling me into his side. "I heard something interesting today."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Ran into an old high school friend at the coffee shop. Gavin. He mentioned he's still in touch with some people in Asher's circle," Ryan continues. "Apparently, things are not great over there."
"Not great, how?"
"Heavy drinking. Drugs—Molly, ecstasy, that kind of thing. And they're apparently regulars at some pretty exclusive sex parties in Beverly Hills."
I process this information for approximately two seconds before I shrug "Okay."
Ryan laughs. "That's it? Just 'okay'?"
"What do you want me to say?" I turn to look at him, genuinely curious. "That I'm shocked? I'm not. That I'm upset? I'm not that either. He made his choices. He's living with the consequences. That's his life now, and it has nothing to do with us."
Ryan pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"I'm proud of you, you know that?"
"For what? Not caring about my ex-husband's drug habit?"
"For being able to not care. For moving on. For choosing yourself." He tilts my chin up so I'm looking at him. "For choosing us."
I smile and kiss him, soft and sweet. "That was the easiest choice I've ever made."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Everything with Asher was so complicated. So many layers of manipulation and lies and second-guessing myself. With you, it's simple. Easy. Real."
"I like simple," Ryan says. "I like easy. I like real."
"Good. Because that's all I have to offer."
"That's all I want."
I don't care about Asher or how far he's fallen.
He's not my story anymore. My story is here, on this couch, with this man who loves me for exactly who I am.
My story is in the house we're building together, in the life we're creating, in the future that stretches out in front of us, bright and full of possibility.
"You know what?" Ryan says, his fingers trailing down my arm.
"What?"
"I think we should save that pasta you made for dinner tomorrow instead. Right now, I have other plans for you."
I laugh and let him pull me up from the couch. "Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm." He's already leading me toward the stairs, his eyes dark with promise. "Very specific plans."
"I like the sound of that."
"I was hoping you would."