Chapter 22 Jealous
Less than two weeks later, the house was finally ready enough to live in.
I bought the car first, a black SUV, something solid and safe. Then I moved into the house.
The rooms still echoed when I walked through them. Some walls were bare. A few pieces of furniture were still missing, waiting for me to decide what kind of life I wanted to build inside them. But I could live there. That was enough.
I liked the idea of letting the place grow with me.
One thing, however, I did not wait to decide was buying a piano.
It had been years since I’d had one of my own. Too many temporary places, too many apartments where a piano felt impractical. But the quiet in the house made me realize how much I had missed playing.
The delivery men brought it in that afternoon, carefully guiding the polished black body through the wide doorway and setting it near the tall living room windows. When they left, I stood there for a moment, just looking at it.
Then I ran my fingers lightly over the smooth surface before lifting the lid. The familiar scent of polished wood and metal strings drifted up, sharp and comforting at the same time.
For the first time in years, I sat down at my own piano again.
And the house finally felt like mine.
A few days later, I hosted a small housewarming party. Just a handful of people. Amy, Liam, Thomas, and Payton with their son. I hadn’t seen Payton or her family in a year.
When the doorbell rang, I wiped my hands on a towel and went to open it.
Amy and Liam were first, both holding grocery bags like they were moving in.
“We brought wine, candles, and… whatever this is.” Liam held up a loaf of bread wrapped in paper. “Traditional housewarming carbs.”
Amy lifted a potted plant. “And something alive. Try not to kill it.”
I laughed and hugged them both.
Behind them, Thomas and Payton walked up the path while their little son ran ahead.
“Ash!” Payton called, smiling wide. “Oh my God, look at this place!”
I stepped out onto the porch to hug her. “It’s still a work in progress.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, pulling back to look at the house again.
Thomas handed me a bottle of champagne. “For when you’re officially settled.”
Then the little boy barreled into my legs. I crouched down and scooped him up without thinking.
“Hi,” I said softly.
He blinked at me with big, curious eyes, Thomas’s eyes, but the shape of his face… that was so similar to Nick. The same cheekbones, the same nose. Payton and Nick were siblings after all. Genetics didn’t lie.
And for one second, my brain betrayed me and tried to imagine…
What my child would have looked like.
The one I never got to meet.
“You’ve gotten so big,” I murmured.
“A whole year older,” Payton said behind me. “He’s basically a teenager now.”
I held him a little tighter. He wrapped his arms around my neck with the easy trust only small children have, and something inside me twisted. A quiet, familiar ache.
In my first life, I never got to hold my own child. I never got to see their face. Never got to know who they would have looked like.
For a moment, I let myself imagine it, a tiny hand gripping my shirt, a warm weight against my chest, a heartbeat that existed because of me.
Someone innocent. Someone I could love without fear. Someone who would love me back without conditions or complications.
I wanted that.
Payton brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “He likes you.”
“I like him too,” I said softly.
The boy giggled and pressed his forehead to mine.
Still holding him, I stepped back from the doorway so everyone could come inside. Payton and Thomas followed me into the house while Amy and Liam drifted in behind them, grocery bags rustling as they set them down in the kitchen.
The little boy stayed in my arms as we walked into the living room, his small hand gripping the collar of my shirt while he looked around with open curiosity. The others moved through the house, pausing to look into the rooms that were still half empty.
Payton turned slowly in the living room, taking everything in, while Amy immediately started commenting on where furniture should go.
The evening unfolded easily after that, slipping into a warm rhythm of food, stories, and familiar teasing. At one point Payton’s son discovered the piano and insisted on pressing a few keys, which made everyone laugh.
When the last guests left, the house felt pleasantly lived-in for the first time.
On Monday, work picked up as usual.
Around midmorning, Tim from Marketing appeared on our floor, wearing his usual bright smile.
“Ladies,” he greeted, giving Claire and Nora a little wave as he passed their desks.
They perked up immediately.
“Hey, Tim,” Claire said, twirling her pen.
“Morning,” Nora added, already grinning like she knew something was about to happen.
Tim made his way toward my desk. “Hey, Ashley. Got a minute?”
I looked up from my screen. “Sure.”
He leaned against the edge of my desk. “Just wanted to check in. See how you’re settling into the new house. And…”
Before he could finish, Nora’s voice cut across the floor.
“Tim! You should ask Ashley out with us on Friday!”
My head snapped toward her. “Nora.”
“What?” she said, shrugging. “You never go out. You’ve been here six months. It’s time.”
Priya, from two desks over, chimed in. “He can be your escort. Very safe. Very respectable.”
Claire wiggled her brows at me behind her monitor.
Tim laughed awkwardly. “Uh… well, I mean, yeah, we’re all grabbing drinks. Ashley’s welcome.”
I opened my mouth to respond when the elevator dinged again.
And the entire atmosphere shifted.
Knox stepped out, gray suit, white shirt, paisley tie. Controlled. Sharp. Focused.
Everyone greeted him with polite hellos, and he nodded back, but his eyes were already locked on someone.
Tim.
At my desk.
His jaw tightened as he walked over, stopping beside us.
“What are you doing here again?” Knox asked, voice low.
Tim blinked. “Sir? I.. I just came up for a moment. I was inviting Ashley to join some coworkers for drinks on Friday. Just a friendly thing.”
Knox’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room dropped.
“I am well aware of how often you frequent this desk,” he said, voice quiet but edged. “This is your first and final warning.”
Tim froze.
“Get back to work,” Knox growled. “And do not let me catch you here again.”
Blood drained from Tim’s face. “Yes, sir.”
“Go,” Knox said, jaw clenched. “Now.”
Tim practically sprinted toward the elevator. The moment he disappeared, the entire floor pretended to be deeply, profoundly invested in their monitors. No one breathed too loudly. No one moved.
Knox turned to me like nothing had happened.
“Ashley,” he said, “did you finish the Salt Lake report?”
“Yes,” I said calmly. “I sent it an hour ago.”
He nodded once. “Good.”
Then he walked into his office and closed the door.
The second it clicked shut, three heads popped up over their monitors like meerkats.
Claire mouthed, What was THAT?
Nora’s eyes were huge.
Priya fanned herself dramatically.
I just turned back to my screen, pretending my pulse wasn’t still racing.
The entire week, my coworkers kept pushing me to come out with them on Friday.
It started casually.
“Come on, Ashley, it’ll be fun,” Claire said on Monday afternoon.
“You never go anywhere,” Nora added on Tuesday. “One drink. One.”
Priya tried the gentle approach on Wednesday. “No pressure, just friends hanging out.”
By Thursday, they had worn me down.
“Fine,” I said. “I will come. For one drink.”
Reluctantly.
The truth was simple: I would’ve preferred to go home. People were exhausting. Noise was exhausting. Pretending to be relaxed was exhausting.
We met at a bar near the office, one of those trendy places with dim lighting and overpriced cocktails. I didn’t drink alcohol, so I ordered sparkling water with lime and kept my bag close, pepper spray tucked inside.
I tried to loosen up, but my shoulders stayed tense. I spoke when spoken to, smiled when appropriate, nodded along to stories. The others seemed happy enough with that.
Tim slid into the seat beside me. “Rough week?”
“Just long,” I said.
He launched into a story about a disastrous marketing pitch, complete with hand gestures and dramatic reenactments. I listened politely. When he asked me to dance, I shook my head.
“Maybe later.”
He grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”
A while later, the girls dragged me up themselves.
“Come on, Ashley,” Nora said, tugging my wrist. “You’re coming with us.”
I let them pull me onto the dance floor. The music was loud, the lights low, and for a moment I let myself blend into the group.
It wasn’t terrible.
More coworkers eventually joined us until we were standing in a loose, laughing cluster, moving with the music and bumping into each other every few seconds. It felt chaotic but harmless.
For a few minutes, I forgot to be anxious.
Back at the table, someone shoved a phone in my direction.
“Oh my God,” Claire said, “is this you?”
On the screen was a TikTok clip of me singing Dernière Danse years ago.
My face heated instantly. “Where did you even find that?”
Nora laughed. “Ashley, you can sing. Like, actually sing.”
Priya nodded. “This is amazing. Why didn’t you tell us you had pipes like this?”
I covered my face with my hand. “Please delete that.”
“No,” Claire said. “We’re keeping it forever.”
Everyone was laughing when Tim’s phone rang. His brows furrowed as he checked the caller ID.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” he said, stepping away to find a quieter corner.
When he returned, his expression was tight.
“I have to head back to the office.”
“What? Why?” Priya asked.
He sighed. “VP called. Something urgent in Marketing. A campaign going out tomorrow needs corrections.”
Everyone groaned in disappointment as he grabbed his coat.
I checked the time. “I should go too.”
“You sure?” Claire asked.
“Yes. Early morning tomorrow.”
I paid my bill, said my goodbyes, and stepped out into the cool night air.
The walk to the Sinclair parking garage was quiet, the distant hum of the city drifting through the streets. My SUV waited on the third level. I unlocked it, slid into the driver’s seat, and let out a slow breath.
I was glad to be heading home.
People were exhausting.
Knox POV
Irritation simmered under my skin as I followed her to her car.
Didn’t she understand she wasn’t supposed to go out with him? She wasn’t supposed to sit beside him, laugh at his stories, let him hover around her like he had a chance.
I’d had to call Marcus and make him drag Tim back to the office with some fake marketing crisis. The excuse still tasted bitter in my mouth. Pathetic. Manipulative.
Necessary.
I knew exactly how this looked.
I was thinking like a damn mental patient.
And I still couldn’t stop.
I stood in the cold, half-hidden in the shadows at the edge of the parking structure, watching her unlock her car like some goddamn creep.
Irrational jealousy, apparently, was my new personality trait.
She’d turned me into a fucking stalker.