Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
IVY
My phone vibrates in the center console, and I scroll through the texts.
Luce: You’re there, aren’t you?
Punk: Where? I can’t access shit from this tower! Don’t do anything stupid…
I am. I stole his car.
Punk: LOL
Cold air hits my lungs as I shove the car door shut and stare up at the house.
I remember standing right here years ago, that deed heavy in both hands.
I found it intimidating to take in at first, what with all its towering spires and baroque flourishes.
888 Veilarath Lane was built to remind everyone exactly where they belong. Beneath it.
Naturally, I loved it the moment I saw it. I still love it, even if everything inside has been poisoned by memory.
My boots hit the same steps, but now everything’s changed.
The door swings open. “Frau Ivanya!” Jasper fills the frame, flour dusted across his forearm and a canvas duffel over his shoulder. His face splits wide as he rattles off a string of German, too fast for me to catch it all, but I get the bones.
The heating system works.
The pool filter was replaced.
The guest house roof got patched after the last storm.
I laugh, hugging him. “Hey, Jasper. You heading off?”
“Ja, holiday. One month. Back to Munich.” He taps his chest twice. “My distant aunt, she is seventy this year. Big party.”
I squeeze Jasper’s arm. “Tell her happy birthday from me.”
He nods, already moving, but stops. “Everything is good here. The garden, I will have someone come.”
My throat swells. “Go, Jasper. Enjoy it.”
I turn back to the open door and breathe in deep. This will be fine. So what if I’ve been dodging this place since everything went to shit. Asher is alive now.
Before I can enter into the house fully, the deep snarl of an expensive engine rolls up the driveway, and despite my better judgment, I glance over my shoulder.
A familiar matte black McLaren parks behind the Aston, and Asher climbs out in gray sweats and a black hoodie, with a pair of Jordans tied loose at his feet.
Pale eyes land on me, darkening and holding me there long enough for me to know he’s pissed.
He drags his gaze to Jasper, and all that anger melts into that boyish grin he’s famous for. Huh. He’s the biggest fucking play of all.
“Jasper, my guy.” He clasps his hand, yanking him into one of those one-armed grip-hug things men do. “How’s the boiler holding up?”
Jasper lights up. “Fixed. New valve, new pump. No more banging in the walls at night.”
Asher continues. “And the cabana fireplace?”
“Runs perfect. I replaced the ignition switch myself.” Jasper taps his temple. “YouTube.”
Asher laughs. “Legend.”
I watch it unfold from the top step. Why are they talking back and forth about maintenance issues like Asher owns this house and not me?
Jasper gestures toward the Aston Martin. “She drove your car here, yes?”
Asher looks up at me. The grin doesn’t fade, but the warmth behind it does. “Yeah.” He pats Jasper’s shoulder. “Does that surprise you?”
“No!” Jasper chuckles, continuing on his way. When it’s finally just Asher and me, I turn my back to him and enter the house, dumping the keys on the coffee table in the living room as the door clicks shut behind him.
This was the room where we had our almost first kiss.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, ignoring the kitchen on purpose. I keep my focus on the fireplace, but then I’m reminded of the night he ordered takeout…
This is why I never came back here.
“And what is this place? Veilarath, I mean?” I lower to the sofa. “Is the house we’re staying in the one you were waiting to be built?”
When he doesn’t answer, I lift my eyes to his. I shouldn’t have, because now I have to multitask to not completely fall apart. Weak, weak, weak.
Every second drags like an hour as he lowers down the steps and takes the spot opposite.
Another second.
He rests his head back against the sofa, eyes pinned on the ceiling. “I loved you.”
The words hit me right in the chest. “I...”
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “Don’t say shit until you’ve heard what I have to say.”
He shifts forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs.
Tension snaps through the room like a live wire, then his shoulders cave with a sigh and his head drops into his hands. The sound he makes is barely human.
My knees hit the floor and I cup his face, thumbs dragging along the rough line of his jaw.
“Hey.” I’ve never seen him like this. “Hey, look at me.”
He pulls back, hands rising to push me away, but I hold on until his fingers go slack.
“None of it matters.” I keep my voice low. “I know who you are. You know what I do for a living, remember? Whatever you think I can’t handle — you know I’ve handled worse.”
His mouth twitches, one corner lifting before it drops. His eyes settle on me, freezing my next breath halfway in.
He swallows, brows pinched tight. “There’s a saying where I come from. Les amants maudits.” His lips part, closing again as he leans back in the chair. The wood groans under him as he drags a finger over his upper lip, taking his sweet fucking time.
“Asher.” I squeeze his thigh. “Your fucking manspread has officially failed as a distraction. Speak.”
“Hmph.” He smirks behind his hand, pitching his weight forward again. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. Not a text. Not a call. Not even to Luce or Jord.”
“Okay.”
His broad shoulders lock. “I mean it, Ivy. Not a fucking word.”
I squeeze his thigh. “I said okay.”
He searches my face for something. Trust, maybe. Or the absence of a lie. Whatever he finds loosens his jaw enough to speak.
“My family isn’t who you think.” He drags both hands down his face. “I am who I am, yeah, but there’s more.”
Another pause.
I blink, resting on my heels. “I figured as much.”
“What?” His tone lightens, a brow arched. “No disappointment?”
I force back a laugh. “Would be a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” The heaviness in my heart weighs down my smile. “Explain.”
Clearing his throat, he cracks his neck. “We’ll start with Veilarath.”
It’s not like the thought never crossed my mind, especially after finding out we were back here, but an hour ago, he didn’t want to say anything at all. What changed?
He continues. “My ancestors were one of the founding families who discovered Veilarath.”
“Mount Crow?” The folklore he told me when I first came, and how the mountains were named after each founding family and what each of them means.
His eyes darken. “Mine.”
Pretty sure he wasn’t just talking about the mountain.
I think back through time, to when Punk dug through the history of Veilarath and came back with the same polished story everyone gets, a winter resort country open to everyone, so long as they follow a particular set of rules.
His hand flexes at his side. “Say something.”
I take in the pale line across his throat. “Your scar?”
He touches it with a smirk. “An old family tradition. A blood rite, if you will.”
His eyes go in and out of focus before resting back on me.
“When you met me, I was already who I am, Ivy. Fuck. I still am.” He shakes his head with an exhale. “Then my father died, and I took his seat as Le Parrain.”
I need a drink, or twenty, and I need to stop looking so obvious when all I can think about is Parker fucking Lee.
“Le Parrain?” Saying the words out loud does nothing to make them make sense. “Meaning The Godfather?”
Meaning French.
Parker… French? No. There’s no way he had any connections there or I would know about it. We would all know. Was I his play all along? Did he know all along? Too late to ask him now, since I certainly didn’t miss that shot.
“Aléia and my father had been pushing me and Camille together since we were fucking children.”
Figured. Arranged marriage makes more sense when I think back.
“Camille’s mother and my father cut a contract before either of us could walk. Her daughter would marry into our line. The two families would merge and, in simple terms, create a power dynamic no one could fuck with.”
I don’t have time to figure this out right now and if I think too much into it, I’m going to be sick.
“So you never planned to marry her?”
His eyes widen like he’s already stated the obvious.
“Never. Her mother’s maison is one of the founding bloodlines.
When I was younger, I didn’t give a fuck.
I’d do what I had to do to keep the dynamics of La Maison du Mal moving, just like my grandfather did, and my grandmother, and her grandfather... ”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like he’s not telling me something I feared from the start.
“I never really cared who I’d end up with. My job was simple, as a...” His left eye twitches. “...Delacroix. Control the narrative. Implant ourselves in circles that no one can get into.”
I raise a brow. “So you sit with the assholes who have too much money and waste all their time doing weird shit?”
He glares at me like I’m stupid. “No, Ivy. I’m talking about circles that money couldn’t buy you into.
I’m talking about respect. Respect is the only currency that matters.
Money? The circles you’re thinking of are spineless.
They have nothing else to offer. Money is far easier to earn than respect. ”
A chuckle catches in my throat. “Touché.”
Then it dies, and I shake my head. “So, what does that mean? The snowboarding?” Realization dawns down on me. “Fame.”
Asher nods. “Yeah, and before my father, my grandfather, and before him, and so on. We have to remain relevant in the public eye enough to not draw too much attention but also be talented in something to be worth the clout.”
“And your father?” I ask, even though I hate how the words feel when they leave me.
Parker wasn’t good for anything.
“A disgrace.”
I sit back further, hands sliding off his thighs. When Aléia said Parker was Asher’s father, the worst scenario was what if he was just like him. I didn’t prepare for this.
“This is why you couldn’t leave her,” I whisper, the words more for myself than for him.