Chapter 10
The moment we stepped into the restaurant, reality felt strangely distant.
The elegant, high-end space overlooked the lake, its glass walls reflecting soft lights that shimmered across the water.
It was hard to believe this place had once been a small café by the shore, where pancakes were served warm and laughter came easily.
Ashton and I used to spend our Sunday mornings there, tucked into our favourite corner, pretending the world outside did not exist.
Back then, we spoke of the future as if it were something we could shape with our hands.
We shared the same dreams. We wanted to travel, to see the world, to escape lives that felt too heavy for us at the time.
I was trying to survive the quiet ache of a broken family, while Ashton lived beneath the shadow of his father, the town’s mayor and a powerful businessman who never let him forget that his life had already been planned.
Ashton never spoke openly about how much he resented that future, but I saw it in the way his smile faded whenever the subject arose. I understood the burden he carried, because no one knew his heart the way I did. All he ever wanted was a simple life, one free from expectations and obligations.
With me, he was free. And in that small café by the lake, we believed that freedom could last forever.
Pulled back into the present, I finally noticed how important the boy I once loved and hated had become.
As we made our way through the restaurant, he was stopped several times by people eager to greet him.
Some were likely business partners, others acquaintances offering polite smiles and brief conversation.
None of them acknowledged me. I recognized a few faces. Either they pretended not to know me, or they chose politeness over curiosity, unwilling to ask who the woman walking beside him might be, especially when she was not his fiancée.
Ashton did not seem to care. He continued forward, unfazed, as though their opinions carried no weight. Watching him now, I understood how effortlessly power followed him in this town.
We were led to the best table on the deck, overlooking the lake.
My breath caught when I realized it was the same corner we used to sit in.
I could not tell whether it was coincidence or a deliberate choice, a quiet reminder of the years we had lost. Ashton glanced at me, as if searching for a reaction. I gave him none.
“Hey, man. Good to see you,” a middle aged man said as he stopped beside our table and reached out to shake Ashton’s hand.
“Thanks, Eric, for fitting me in on such short notice,” Ashton replied.
“Not a problem at all. For you, there is always a table here. Especially after everything you have done for this town, and for making such a generous offer for this land. Without you, this restaurant would not exist. The view is incredible.”
I absorbed every word.
“No need to thank me,” Ashton said calmly. “You had the vision. I had the resources. It was a win win situation. This place is thriving because of you.”
Eric smiled, clearly impressed. “Still, you have done so much for the community. Your father would have been very proud. I am sorry he passed away before he could see what you accomplished.”
Ashton’s expression tightened, just for a second. “Do not mention it. It was a long time ago.”
“Of course. I will let you two decide what you would like. Let me know when you are ready.”
When he walked away, silence settled between us.
“I did not know your father passed away,” I said quietly. “I am sorry. And I am sorry for what I said the other day, about you being just like him.”
Ashton looked directly at me. The intensity made me lower my gaze to the menu.
“You do not need to apologize,” he said evenly. “He died five years ago.”
“Oh,” I whispered. “How is your mother?”
I remembered Catherine well. She had always stood at her husband’s side during public events, offering respect without warmth. She never showed hostility toward me. She simply treated me as if I did not exist.
After a pause, Ashton spoke. “She withdrew from public life after his death. I think she missed him, even though he was always distant. She is doing better now. She took up gardening, joined a book club. She is in California visiting her sister.”
“That is good to hear,” I said softly. “Losing someone is never easy.”
“Do you really understand?” Ashton asked sharply, his gaze locking onto mine. His fingers tightened around the rim of his glass.
Before I could answer, a cheerful voice cut through the tension.
“Oh, Ashton. What a coincidence seeing you here.”
He visibly tensed.
“Donna. Angela,” he said coolly.
Recognition struck. Donna was the woman from the coffeehouse. Angela was someone I had once called a friend.
“I hope everything is going well with the wedding preparations,” Donna gushed. “It is going to be the wedding of the year.”
“And how do you know that?” Ashton asked sharply.
“Oh, everyone is talking about it,” she continued. “Lynda mentioned how romantic your proposal was. Five or six years together. And with Angela and me as bridesmaids, we are very excited. In fact, we are meeting her later today.”
Her words brushed past me as though I were invisible.
“We are surprised she is not here with you,” Donna added lightly.
“Is it amusing to see me meeting someone other than my fiancée?” Ashton snapped.
Before the tension could escalate, I spoke. “This is not the first time we have met, if you remember. And Angela, I am sure you remember me. Or is eight years enough time for selective amnesia?”
Silence followed.
Donna’s phone buzzed. “Oh, Lynda is calling,” she said quickly. “We should go.”
They left without another word.
Ashton exhaled and shook his head. “Next time, remind me not to bring you somewhere crowded.”
I froze.
Next time.
The words echoed quietly in my mind, settling somewhere deep in my chest, where certainty and fear collided.
Surprisingly, after several interruptions, we managed to finish a quiet lunch together. The food was excellent, the atmosphere almost pleasant, yet the real reason for our meeting remained untouched. Or rather, Ashton had chosen not to bring it up.
The waitress refilled my wine glass. I noticed how Ashton leaned back in his chair after finishing his meal, relaxed now, savoring his drink. His gaze never left me. It was as if he were studying my thoughts, reading my body language, searching for cracks.
I did not flinch.
Today, I felt brave enough to sit in public beside the man who had left nothing but heartbreak behind. It felt strange, sitting across from him like a stranger when we had once known each other in every possible way.
“Tell me about your life, Bailey,” he said, setting his glass down.
I nearly laughed.
Did he really think he had earned the right to ask that question? Should I tell him my life was wonderful, raising the seven-year-old son he abandoned? That I survived just fine without him? Of course I would not.
“Why?” I asked coolly. “Are you curious to know whether I managed to build a good life after you and after this town chased me away? After I had to leave everything behind?”
“I never drove you away,” he said firmly. “I was looking for you. You were already gone.”
The audacity of that statement stunned me.
He was looking for me? After calling me a whore?
I scoffed. “Hard to believe. Unless you were looking for me to beg for forgiveness.”
“Maybe I expected you to fight for the truth,” he shot back.
I laughed sharply. “Why would I fight for something I never did? Why would I need to prove myself to someone who chose to believe lies?” My voice hardened. “The man I once loved was nothing but a coward.”
I pushed my chair back. “This is pointless. Sitting here with you is a waste of my time. I am leaving.”
“Sit down, Bailey,” Ashton said, his tone stern. “We are not finished.”
I ignored him and stood.
“Oh, I am finished,” I snapped. “I have been finished for a long time.” I turned back to face him, anger rising fast and hot. “You know what makes me wonder? Maybe I was not the only one being accused of cheating.”
His jaw tightened.
“Tell me, Ashton,” I continued, my voice sharp. “Did you always have feelings for Lynda? Or were you already betraying me while we were together?”
“That is enough.”
Ashton stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. We faced each other now, the tension thick and unmistakable.
“I never cheated on you, Bailey,” he said, his voice low and harsh.
I met his glare without blinking.
“Now you understand how it felt,” I said coldly. “To be accused of something you never did. To be judged without proof. To be discarded without being heard.”
My chest burned as I reached for my bag.
“You made your choice years ago,” I added. “Do not expect me to carry your guilt now.”
Without waiting for his response, I turned away, leaving him standing there, surrounded by silence and staring at the wreckage he had once created.