CHAPTER NINE #3
Ryder Ashford-Wale stepped out of the vehicle, his face drawn and exhausted.
He walked up the marble steps of the manor and found Spencer standing on the expansive front portico, leaning against one of the towering Corinthian columns.
Spencer held a mug of black coffee, his expression closed off and exhausted.
Ryder ran a hand through his hair, releasing a sigh.
"Spencer, I need you to tell me everything. After you left my house yesterday, Grayson shut down. My parents are terrified. I know Olivia’s family drugged the drinks.
I know Kennedy intercepted it by accident.
And I know Grayson accused her of engineering it.
But why did you say she was collateral damage? What the hell happened over here?"
Spencer turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto his best friend. He knew Ryder was innocent in all of this. Ryder had helped him find the proof. But Ryder was still an Ashford, and the line had been firmly drawn in the sand.
"Grayson didn't keep his suspicion to himself," Spencer said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Ryder frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he told Olivia," Spencer clarified, stepping away from the column. "Without a shred of proof, without waiting for you to check the cameras, he looked Olivia in the eye and told her he suspected Kennedy of drugging him to ruin their relationship."
Ryder’s eyes widened in horror as the catastrophic implications settled in. "He told Olivia?"
"Yes. And Olivia, emboldened by her own hubris, marched up to my front door," Spencer said, his voice beginning to tremble with suppressed rage. "She walked into my foyer, screamed at Kennedy, called her a venomous criminal, and slapped her across the face so hard she split my sister’s cheek open."
"Jesus Christ," Ryder breathed, taking a staggering step backward, looking up at the windows of the manor. "Olivia hit her? She came here and assaulted her?"
"Kennedy didn't even fight back," Spencer said, his voice cracking slightly. "Because in that moment, she realized that Grayson hadn't just condemned her in private. That is why she collapsed, Ryder. The betrayal broke her."
Ryder was stunned. He had known Kennedy since she was born.
He had fought with her, laughed with her, and protected her like a sister.
The image of Olivia Winters marching into this house and striking her was sickening, but the knowledge that his own brother had handed Olivia the weapon was unbearable.
"I am so sorry, Spencer," Ryder whispered, the apology woefully inadequate.
"Because you are my friend, and because you helped me find the truth, I will remain civil to you, Ryder," Spencer stated, his tone shifting into one of unyielding finality.
"You are welcome here. But Grayson is not.
If your brother sets foot on this property, if he comes anywhere near my sister, I will not hesitate. I will break his jaw. Tell him that."
Ryder nodded slowly, understanding the anger. He couldn't defend Grayson. He wouldn't even try. "I’ll tell him."
***
Grayson was already in hell.
He sat alone in the cavernous, silent library of the Ashford estate, the velvet curtains drawn, the room cloaked in shadows.
The manila folder Ryder had brought from the security room lay open on the desk in front of him, the photographs of Olivia’s family staring up at him like a collection of damning, mocking ghosts.
He was drowning in a guilt so suffocating that he could barely draw air into his lungs.
He could not understand why Olivia’s family would have done something so reckless and dangerous.
What had they possibly thought they would accomplish by drugging him and Olivia?
Were they trying to force an engagement?
Were they trying to compromise him? The sheer, incomprehensible stupidity of their actions defied all logic.
But as horrific as their crime was, it paled in comparison to his own.
All Grayson knew was that Kennedy was innocent.
She had been caught in the crossfire of someone else’s twisted, small-town machinations, and in the aftermath of her accidental poisoning, he had accused her of something monstrous.
He had looked at a woman he had known his entire life— who had shared his childhood—and he had judged her without a single shred of evidence.
He had never given her the benefit of the doubt.
Grayson pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, a ragged, agonizing sob tearing through the quiet library.
He kept replaying every cruel, venomous word he had said to her in the study. You engineered this whole sick, twisted scenario... You don't know what love is... You took advantage of me.
The words echoed in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his skull, a relentless, torturous loop. He had shattered her. He had taken her love and weaponized it against her, reducing her to a criminal simply because it was easier than looking for the truth.
He had lost his mind to a drug, but the drug had worn off days ago. The cruelty, the blind accusation, the failure of his own character—that was his own. And as Grayson sat alone in his study, he realized with terrifying clarity that there was absolutely nothing he could do to fix it.