Chapter 44
ASHER
Istride out of the coat closet first, adjusting my cufflinks and checking our surroundings. My pulse hammers from what just happened, but my expression reveals nothing.
The gala hums around me—champagne flutes clinking, laughter echoing off marble floors, my mother's carefully curated guest list mingling in their designer armor. I scan the crowd out of habit, cataloging faces.
But my mind is back in that closet.
Tell me you belong to me.
The words tore out of me like something unhinged clawing free. I've never felt that before, that raw, consuming need to claim someone so completely that the rest of the world disappears.
I should feel satisfied.
Instead, I feel twisted up inside.
Grace's voice echoes in my head: I'm yours. Only yours.
She said it easily, like it was the truth. No longer a game being explored between the two of us.
And fuck, did I love hearing those words from her lips.
But she shouldn't be mine. Not really.
This was supposed to be transactional.
Simple. Strategic. Safe.
Except nothing about Grace Morgan feels safe anymore.
I move through the crowd, shaking hands and making small talk while my thoughts spiral.
When did this shift? When did my fake wife become someone I can't stand to see talking to other men?
Someone whose tears make my chest ache? Someone I fucked in a coat closet because the thought of anyone else touching her made me lose control?
You're getting too close.
The voice in my head sounds like my father's. Cold. Calculating. Reminding me that emotion is weakness, that love is just another word for leverage.
I've watched him wield it my entire life—using affection as currency, withdrawing it to punish, offering it to control. My mother does the same, just with a softer touch and wellness jargon.
That's not what this is with Grace.
Is it?
I think back to my conversation with Dove, when she pointed out that we’re not like other people, people like Grace, who has the capacity to love, while I only want power.
I’ve been trying to convince myself that’s not true, but isn’t it?
Isn’t that exactly why I’ve avoided relationships for my entire adult life?
And the only reason I entered this one was to meet my father’s requirements for CEO.
If it wasn’t for that, I would have never pursued Grace.
I’ve grown affection for finding Grace curled up, writing for hours, so lost in her story that she forgets to eat.
The way she submitted to me that first time, and every time after, trusting me with parts of herself that she keeps hidden.
How she sat with Dove when my sister's world imploded, offering comfort my own family couldn't provide.
She’s a genuine, kind person, and she makes me want to be one too. I find myself wanting to come home and share my day with her, wanting to take care of her and hear about hers. Wanting to fall asleep with her in my arms, hear her laugh, see her smile every day.
Grace makes me want things I've spent my entire life refusing to want.
"Congratulations on your marriage."
I look up to find Robert Chen, board member and my father's oldest ally, extending his hand. Slipping back into my normal facade, I shake it automatically.
"Thank you."
"Your father mentioned the board meeting is scheduled for next week." His eyes assess me. "We're all very interested to see how you'll lead Sanctum into the next generation."
"I'm ready." The words come easily. I've been ready my entire life.
"Where's your lovely wife?" he questions.
"Right here." Grace is looping her arm through mine before I have a chance to open my mouth. Robert compliments her dress, and Grace smiles and thanks him, playing her part perfectly.
Something feral tightens in my chest when I remember that she has my cum dripping from between her legs. And then the realization that I fucked her without a condom makes my stomach churn. What am I doing? All my restraint flies out the window when she's near me.
Gabe steps up to the microphone, his presence commanding silence from the crowd. His hands rest casually on the podium as he surveys the room.
"When we launched Sanctum Cares," he begins, his voice carrying that quiet authority that's distinctly his, "I knew we needed to do more than write checks.
We needed to invest in potential." His gaze sweeps across the gathered guests.
He goes on to share that he's created a scholarship fund, and I'm half listening, half watching my wife.
"I'm proud to announce our first scholarship recipient.
Someone who embodies the kind of determination and vision we want to support.
" He pauses, letting anticipation build. "Sabrina Dorsey."
Scattered applause breaks out as a young woman with striking red hair emerges from the crowd. Slowly, she makes her way toward the stage.
I watch her walk to the podium in a simple black dress, her posture rigid but determined. She looks young, nervous, fingers gripping the edges of the podium as she adjusts the microphone.
"Thank you," Sabrina says softly, her voice wavering before steadying. "Thank you to Gabriel Caine and Sanctum Cares for this incredible opportunity."
Polite applause ripples through the crowd. I feel Grace's hand find mine, her fingers threading through.
"I want to be honest with everyone here tonight." Sabrina continues, and something in her tone shifts. Hardens. "My family has a history with Sanctum and the Caine Family."
The room temperature drops ten degrees. Conversations die mid-sentence. I see my mother straighten in her seat, face going blank in that way it does when she's preparing for damage control.
"My mother was Leonard Caine's assistant in the early 2000s." Sabrina's voice doesn't waver now. It cuts through the silence like a blade. "He manipulated her into an affair. When she became pregnant with me, he gave her money for an abortion and forced her to sign an NDA."
Gasps echo through the ballroom. My father's face turns to stone.
"But my mother chose me instead." Sabrina's hands grip the podium tighter, knuckles white.
"And because of that choice, because she wouldn't comply with what he wanted, Leonard Caine made sure we suffered.
No child support. No acknowledgment. We lived in poverty while I watched him and his legitimate children live in luxury. "
Her bitterness is razor sharp.
Grace's grip on my hand tightens. I glance at her, hazel eyes wide with shock and something that might be pity.
My mother is already moving, gliding toward security with that serene smile plastered on her face. But Sabrina isn't finished.
"My mother died last year," she says, and for the first time, emotion cracks through. "She never got to see me go to college. Never got the apology she deserved. Never got justice for what he did to her, to us."
I search for Gabe in the crowd and find him near the side of the stage, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. But there's something in his eyes, a glint that looks almost like satisfaction.
Security is moving now, with two men in dark suits approaching the stage. Sabrina sees them coming.
"I just wanted everyone here to know the truth," she says quickly. "About who Leonard Caine really is. About the people he destroys when they're no longer useful to him."
The security guards reach her, but they're gentle as they escort her off the stage. The crowd erupts in whispers, phones appearing in hands despite the no-photograph policy.
My father sits frozen, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking from across the room. When my mother reaches the stage, she takes the microphone with practiced ease.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for that disruption," she says, voice dripping honey. "Sometimes our enthusiasm for helping young people gets the better of us. Let's take a brief intermission while we—"
But no one's listening. The damage is done.
I feel Grace's eyes on me, searching for a reaction. But I don't have one to give her. I'm too busy watching my brother, who's now disappeared into the crowd.
What the hell is going on?