Chapter 20
Roxanne
My eyelids are heavy as I open them. I blink, adjusting my sight to the unfamiliar surroundings. As though a dam has been opened, the memories of last night’s incident come rushing back.
Not only did Asher see me in that shameful situation, but he also happened to have paid my debt. Now he’ll probably never accept that it wasn’t my goal.
Worse of it all, I cried in his arms.
God.
I drag a pillow over my face and groan into it. Maybe if I stay here long enough, I can avoid him forever.
The fantasy lasts approximately ten minutes before a knock sounds against the bedroom door.
I freeze. Another knock follows.
“Go away,” I mumble.
The door opens anyway. Naturally, because Asher Sterling has never once respected a boundary in his life. I pull the pillow off my face and immediately regret it.
He's standing in the doorway looking unfairly attractive in a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. A tray rests comfortably in his hands.
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “What are you doing?”
His mouth twitches. “Good morning to you, too.”
I push myself upright, adjusting the baggy t-shirt. I pat my face, hoping that it’s not as red as I fear it is.
Asher walks into the room and places the tray across my lap before I can stop him. The scent of coffee immediately reaches me. Just as I'm adjusting to this, I notice the fresh fruit, toast, and eggs.
I stare at it, then at him. My confusion must be obvious because amusement settles across his face.
“You look concerned.”
“I am concerned.”
“Why?” He teases, plopping on the bed.
I gesture toward the tray. “This.”
His brow lifts.
“Breakfast?”
“Breakfast in bed.”
His brow lifts. “Ah.” He folds his arms across his chest. “The horror.”
I continue staring at him.
“Asher, what are you doing?”
For a second, something softer flickers behind his eyes. Then it disappears beneath familiar arrogance.
“Can I not take care of you?”
The question catches me completely off guard. My heartbeat quickens. He says it so casually. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he hasn't spent months driving me insane.
And it’s annoying because it makes my heart flutter, and that delusional part of me seems to be having a field day also.
I look away first. “You're being weird.”
A low laugh escapes him. “I'll add that to my list of character flaws.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead before he leaves the room. I stare at the door, eyes widened. I blink, reassuring myself that it’s just because of what happened yesterday.
However, the strange behavior doesn't stop there. If anything, it gets worse. Over the next few days, Asher becomes impossible.
Every time I attempt to leave the house, he somehow appears. I suggest going back to my apartment, and he lists several reasons why it's still impossible because Blackthorne people might still be around.
I know that’s a lie, but I don’t even have the energy to argue with him because a part of me wants to stay around him. When I try helping around the kitchen to earn my keep here, he tells me to sit down. If I mention returning to work, he looks at me like I've suggested climbing Mount Everest.
On Wednesday afternoon, I caught him arguing with his housekeeper because she allowed me to carry a grocery bag.
A grocery bag!
It weighs less than two pounds.
“You're treating me like I'm made of glass,” I complain later.
We sit in the living room while he works through a stack of documents.
Without looking up, he replies, “You're dramatic.”
I nearly choke.
“I'm dramatic?”
His pen pauses. Then he finally glances at me. “Extraordinarily.”
The smile threatening his mouth makes my stomach flutter.
I hate that it still does. I hate that despite everything, some reckless part of me keeps falling for him anyway.
Maybe it's because this version of Asher is harder to resist. The one who remembers how I take my coffee. The one who checks whether I've eaten lunch. The one who watches me carefully whenever he thinks I'm tired.
As much as I want to dwell on this, I also know why he's doing it. The baby. Every thoughtful gesture traces back to the child growing inside me.
That's the logical explanation. Unfortunately, my heart keeps wanting something else. It keeps wanting him to care because it's me.
By Saturday afternoon, I'm trying very hard not to think about it. I try to busy myself with the little things the housekeeper will let me do without Asher going crazy.
The grocery store is only a few blocks away, and I needed an excuse to get out of the house. The security team trailing me at a discreet distance is apparently non-negotiable.
I return carrying two bags and immediately regret leaving because Tristan Sterling is standing outside the front gate of the estate. He’s by his car and talking to a couple of the security guards by the gate.
My steps falter. His expression darkens the second he notices me.
“What are you doing here?” He asks.
I roll my eyes and keep walking. “I don't want to talk to you.”
“Funny,” Tristan snaps. “Because I definitely want to talk to you.”
I sigh. “Tristan?—”
“What the hell is going on?” He steps closer.
Several security guards stand nearby. I notice it immediately. So does Tristan. This seems to make him madder. He laughs bitterly.
“He's got security watching you now?”
I shift the bags in my hands. “Leave me alone.”
His gaze hardens. “Why did Asher pay your debt?”
My stomach tightens. The fact that he’s calling it my debt makes me mad beyond comprehension. In my mind, I’ve already broken every possible weapon over his head. However, I maintain my composure.
The silence seems to make him angrier.
“Seriously?” he demands. “That's your plan?”
I try to evade him. “I said I don't want to talk to you.”
Something ugly settles across his face. The expression makes my skin crawl.
“Of course you don't.” His voice turns mocking. “Because this worked out perfectly for you.”
“Tristan.”
“You jump from one Sterling brother to the other and somehow end up living in a mansion.”
The insult lands exactly where he intends. I can feel it. My grip tightens around the grocery bags.
“Stop,” I warn.
His eyes narrow. “Why? It's true.”
I notice a couple of the security guards by the gate snickering. Humiliation burns beneath my skin. Even if it’s not true, I can’t imagine what they think. Even if they should clearly try to protect me because I’m Asher’s guest, I doubt they’ll take my side over Asher’s family.
Especially when they don’t know what my true relationship with their boss is. I don’t even know what our relationship is. After all, I’m just his assumed gold-digger, pregnant assistant.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't I?” He taunts. “You're a whore, Roxanne.”
The word slams into me. For a second, I can't breathe.
“You always wanted money.”
“That's enough.”
“First me.” His voice rises. “Now, Asher.”
I scoff. What would he do if he knew I always wanted Asher first and even once tried to approach him out of naivety?
I swallow hard as another realization settles deep within me and turns my whole world upside down. This has nothing to do with Tristan. It's the possibility that Asher might secretly agree to all the shitty things Tristan is saying.
Of course, he does.
Months ago, I wouldn't have cared. Now the thought hurts. Because somewhere along the way, his opinion started mattering.
Far too much.
“You know what's funny?” Tristan continues. “My brother must actually believe you care about him, seeing as he put you up in his house.”
My throat tightens. “I said stop.”
“Why don’t you try telling him the truth about all the men you've used?”
I frown. I’ve spent years listening to such accusations fly around about me, yet this still annoys me.
The stories are ridiculous. Half of them never happened. The other half is twisted beyond recognition. But I still feel sick listening to them. Because I've heard this narrative before.
A familiar engine roars into the driveway. The sound cuts through Tristan's voice instantly as a black car stops so abruptly that gravel scatters across the pavement. The driver's door opens, and Asher emerges looking furious.
I've never seen him like this before.
His gaze lands on Tristan, seething with fury. “What are you doing here?” He glares at the security. “Isn’t it your job to make sure members of my household aren’t put in such a situation? How dare you let this idiot stop Roxanne so casually?”
My heart skips a beat as I hear those words. Fear fills the face of the security men, who’d been laughing at me before. Tristan looks even more furious.
As for me, I can’t say exactly how I feel. It’s confusing that Asher would come here and just take my side without even knowing what’s going on.
Tristan scoffs. “I can’t believe you, Asher.”
Asher starts walking toward us slowly. The way a predator approaches something already cornered.
Tristan straightens. “You don't even know her.”
A muscle jumps in Asher's jaw. “Neither do you.”
“She's using you,” Tristan says bluntly as he points an accusatory finger my way. “Everything she's doing is about getting back at me.”
The lie is almost comical. It’s shocking that he thinks he’s important enough for me to want to take revenge on.
Tristan continues rambling on about me. For a moment, the urge to hit him across the face hits me. However, I can’t bring myself to make a move. Defending myself against such lies, where Asher is concerned, has never worked out.
I look at Asher, wondering what he thinks and if he believes his brother. Just as I’m brooding over this, Asher punches Tristan. The sound echoes through the driveway.
I gasp.
Tristan stumbles backward. Honestly, I think everyone is shocked, including the security guards and me.
Asher looks ready to kill someone. “You don't get to talk about her that way. Not you, Tristan.”
His voice is terrifyingly calm as he glares menacingly at Tristan. Tristan wipes blood from the corner of his mouth.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tristan yells.
“Stay away from her,” Asher warns calmly and stalks toward me.
For the first time, Tristan actually looks uncertain. Tristan laughs bitterly. Then shakes his head. “You're making a mistake.”
“Leave.” Asher glares at him.
Several security guards move forward. Tristan eventually backs away. His glare lands on me one last time before he leaves. The moment he's gone, the tension doesn't disappear. It simply shifts.
Asher turns toward me. His eyes scan my face immediately as though he’s making sure I'm okay. Without a word, he takes the grocery bags from my hands. Then his fingers close around my wrist.
“Let’s go inside.”
He leads me to the car, opens the passenger door, and helps me in. As soon as he sits in the driver’s seat, I try to say something, but his mood stops me.
He drives into the gate without saying a word, and once the car is parked outside the palatial building, he takes hold of my wrist again and leads me into the house.
I follow him mostly because my legs suddenly feel weak. The front door closes behind us. Silence settles through the house. Neither of us speaks for several seconds.
Eventually, Asher exhales roughly. “You shouldn't have been standing out there listening to him.”
I stare at him. A thousand questions crowd my throat.
Did you believe him? Do you trust me? Did you defend me because you wanted to? Or because you're possessive of the baby? Or because of the baby? Because of your pride?
I want answers desperately, but I don’t ask those questions. Instead, I remain silent. Because I'm not sure I can survive hearing the wrong one.
And somewhere deep down, that realization terrifies me more than anything Tristan said.