Chapter 7 – Ashley
The heavy glass doors seal shut with a soft, final click, and the silence that follows is deafening.
I don’t wait for him to speak. I don’t give him the satisfaction of taking the lead, of looming over me with his towering frame and waiting for me to break. The second we are alone, I turn to face him directly, my spine rigid and my hands clasping my leather portfolio to my chest like a shield.
My expression is a mask of absolute, freezing hostility. I look at him with a deliberate, cold lack of interest, as if he is nothing more than an annoying line item on a budget sheet.
“What do you want, Samuel?” I ask, my voice flat, sharp, and entirely stripped of any attempt at politeness. “My time is extremely expensive, and we’ve already finalized the contract. If you have further operational adjustments, send them through Kaplan to Maya. Otherwise, I have a company to run.”
Samuel doesn’t respond immediately. He stands at the head of the long table, watching me with those piercing blue eyes that used to make my skin burn.
But there is a cautious, uncharacteristic hesitation in his posture now.
The ruthless, clinical businessman from a moment ago softens slightly, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch as he takes a slow step toward me.
“Ashley,” he says, his deep voice carrying a quiet, unexpected huskiness that sends a traitorous shiver down my spine. “How have you been?”
He takes another step, his gaze scanning my face, searching for some sign of the woman he held in his bed four years ago. He is trying to build a bridge. He’s trying to find some neutral, civil ground before he has to look the past in the eye.
A harsh, bitter laugh cuts him off.
“How have I been?” I repeat, the words dripping with mockery. I take a half-step back, keeping the physical distance between us absolute. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m asking a simple question,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing slightly, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“And I’m giving you a simple answer: It’s none of your business,” I snap, my voice low but vibrating with the raw, suppressed fury I’ve kept locked away for forty-eight months.
“Do not stand in my boardroom and pretend to care about my well-being. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We never did.”
“Ashley, about the way I left—”
“I don’t care about the way you left,” I lie, my voice cutting through his explanation like a razor blade.
I lift my chin, my pride flared and white-hot.
“You’re a contractor, Mr. Rusnak. Nothing more.
Whatever happened four years ago was a physical lapse in judgment on my part.
A mistake. It has zero bearing on my life today, and I have absolutely no interest in revisiting it with you. ”
“I did what I had to do, Ashley, but I am sorry,” Samuel says, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that vibrates through the empty room.
He takes another step toward me, his large hands open, unthreatening, but carrying a heavy weight of genuine regret.
“I shouldn’t have left you like that. It was—”
“Save it,” I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to draw blood. I don’t let him finish the word. I don’t want his apology; I don’t want his remorse.
An apology requires me to acknowledge that he had the power to hurt me, and my pride would rather burn to the ground than admit that. “It doesn’t matter, Samuel. It literally doesn’t matter. Whatever you think existed between us four years ago is completely irrelevant now. It’s dead.”
“Ashley—”
“We have a multi-million-dollar contract,” I continue, stepping around the side of the table to keep the polished mahogany between us like a physical barrier.
I look him dead in the eye, my gaze clinical, cold, and entirely detached.
“That’s the only connection we share. You’re a client.
I’m your logistics provider. If you want this operation to succeed, I suggest you focus entirely on the business arrangement and keep your personal feelings out of my office. ”
Samuel’s chest heaves with a deep, frustrated breath. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture that carries a trace of the old Samuel, but when he looks back at me, his eyes are darker, shadowed by a heavy, invisible weight.
“I’m not the same man I was back then, Ashley,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet, raw sincerity that almost makes me flinch.
“I made a lot of mistakes. I lived a life where nothing mattered, where I didn’t care about the fallout of my actions.
But things changed. I had to grow up. The man who walked out of that penthouse… he isn’t who I am today.”
I stare at him, my heart hammering a furious rhythm against my ribs. He looks sincere. He looks like a man who has carried a heavy burden, a man who has been hollowed out by the world.
But to me, it just sounds like a convenient excuse.
A cold, bitter smile touches my lips. “Oh, how convenient for you. You had a sudden, profound awakening, and now I’m supposed to just nod, smile, and erase the fact that you treated me like a disposable transaction?”
I grip my portfolio tighter, my knuckles turning white.
“You don’t get to rewrite the past just because it suits your new narrative, Mr. Rusnak,” I spit, refusing to let him see even a single crack in my resolve.
“You don’t get to walk back into my life four years later, drop a sad story, and expect absolution.
I have moved on. My life is full, my business is successful, and I don’t have room for your guilt.
I expect you to do the same. Keep your head down, pay your doubled rate, and stay out of my way. ”
I turn toward the door, my heels clicking sharply against the floor, leaving no room for negotiation, no room for him to reply, and absolutely no room for him to find his way back into my fortress.
“Fuck!” he swears, the word ripping from him like a physical blow. He slams a heavy palm down on the mahogany table, the glass rattling under the force. “You’re still so fucking stubborn.”
I freeze. The sheer audacity of his words hooks deep into my chest, dragging me back. I whirl to face him, my heels pivoting sharply on the floor as my dark eyes lock onto his with a dangerous, lethal intensity.
“What did you just say to me?” I demand, my voice dropping to a low, icy hiss.
Samuel doesn’t back down. He stands there, his massive chest rising and falling, his blue eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and raw, unspent tension.
“You heard me, Ashley. You’ve built this high-and-mighty wall around yourself, acting like you’re completely untouchable, like what happened between us was just some clinical mistake. You’re stubborn. You’d rather choke on your own pride than admit that we—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” I cut him off, my voice remarkably calm, though my heart is hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against my ribs. I refuse to let him see me unravel. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a shouting match.
I take a slow, stabilizing breath, my posture radiating an absolute, freezing authority.
“Let me make this incredibly clear to you, Mr. Rusnak,” I say, each word like a drop of ice hitting marble.
“You do not know me. You do not get to comment on my character, my pride, or my life. Our relationship begins and ends with the signature on that contract. If you ever attempt to cross that boundary again, I will personally dissolve this partnership, tie your shipments up in customs litigation for the next five years, and watch your operations burn. Do we understand each other?”
Samuel stares at me, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles in his cheek twitch. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t give him the chance.
I turn on my heel and walk out of the boardroom, the heavy glass doors sliding shut behind me with a decisive, final hiss.
The moment I cross the threshold, the suffocating pressure in my chest slightly eases, but my hands are trembling. I tuck my portfolio tightly under my arm to hide the shake.
“Ashley?”
Maya is waiting just a few feet down the corridor, her tablet clutched to her chest. The second she looks at my face, her eyes widen. She immediately steps in closer, lowering her voice. “What happened in there? You look… Are you okay? Did he try to alter the shipping terms?”
“No,” I say, my voice clipped. I keep walking, my eyes fixed straight ahead as we head toward the executive elevator. “The contract stands at the doubled rate.”
“Then what was that?” Maya asks, her brow furrowing with genuine concern as she hurries to keep up with my rapid pace. “I’ve never seen you look this…unsettled after a negotiation. Did Mr. Rusnak say something to you?”
“It was just a disagreement over operational boundaries,” I brush it off, my tone lacking its usual, razor-sharp steadiness. My voice sounds tight, hollowed out by the sheer effort of keeping my composure. “He’s difficult. I don’t want to discuss it further.”
We reach the lobby, and instead of turning toward the corridor that leads to my private office, I halt. The thought of sitting at my desk, staring at spreadsheets while my mind loops over the look in Samuel’s blue eyes, feels completely impossible.
“Maya, reschedule my afternoon meetings,” I say, my hand gripping the strap of my bag.
Maya blinks in surprise. “All of them? Ashley, you have the budget audit at two, and—”
“Reschedule them,” I repeat, my tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. “Tell them an urgent personal matter came up. I’m going home.”
“Okay,” Maya says softly, her eyes searching mine with quiet, intuitive understanding. “I’ll handle it. Go.”
“Thank you.”
I walk out of the corporate glass tower and slide into the back of my waiting car. As the driver pulls into the chaotic city traffic, I lean my head back against the cool leather seat and close my eyes.
I’m furious. I’m trembling with a raw, unresolved anger that claws at the inside of my throat, but beneath the rage is a terrifying, hollow ache I refuse to name.
I want to go home to Ethan. I want to lock my doors, hold my son, and pretend the ghost of Samuel Rusnak didn’t just crash back into my world. But as the concrete jungle blurs past the window, I know the fortress I built to protect us has just received its very first crack.