Chapter 21
ASHTON
After my lawyers left hours ago, I sat staring at the damned document on my desk, unable to bring myself to read it. I canceled every meeting, locked myself in my home office, and disappeared from the company.
A knock came at the half-open door.
I looked up. Lynda stood there.
“I was clear,” I said coldly. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
She stepped in anyway. Her eyes were swollen, her face drawn with exhaustion.
“I need you to hear my side.”
I laughed softly. “Your side? After you spent years shaping the lie?”
I stood. “Tell me, Lynda, what kind of friend stays silent while rumors destroy another woman’s life, your own best friend?”
She stiffened, but I didn’t stop.
“When I confronted you—when I told you none of it made sense, you said nothing. You let the accusations stand. Then you slipped. You mentioned the pregnancy, framed it as Bailey’s mistake, her foolish choice that led her to Chase.
You cried about the abortion, about how afraid she was if I’d find out.
” My voice hardened. “You pretended concern while dismantling the last of my trust.”
“No one knew about that pregnancy except you,” I continued. “Yet the story spread like wildfire.”
“I didn’t know she was carrying your child!” she shouted.
“Or you did,” I shot back, “and chose silence—letting the rumors do the work for you.”
She froze. No denial this time.
“I remember meeting up with my cousin, Chase. He confessed everything. He said he was forced to stay close to Bailey, to stage moments, to make it believable. He claimed my late father arranged it. For my future.
I turned back to Lynda. “So, tell me. Where do you fit into all of this?”
“I swear, I had no idea.”
I almost smiled. “Oh, I believe you. Partly. But your greatest crime was staying silent.”
I paused, letting the words settle.
“I can understand why Chase did what he did. He believed he was acting in my father’s interests. That does not mean I forgave him.”
My voice hardened.
“When I saw him in the wheelchair, the consequences of his reckless life, I was close to strangling him. Disabled or not, I even wished the accident had taken his life.”
She took a step closer. “Ashton… we all make mistakes. Why can’t you let the past stay buried? She’s your past. I’m your future. We made a promise.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “And I was wrong to propose a marriage of convenience.”
I met her eyes. “It was meant to be temporary. That was our agreement.”
People thought Lynda and I were a love story years in the making. The truth was simpler and uglier.
After Bailey vanished, I couldn’t stay in that town. I drifted. Years later, I met Lynda again. She pursued. I tried. It lasted months before I admitted I was still hollow. We stayed friends.
When my father died and the company began to collapse, the board wanted stability. A legacy. A family man.
So, I made a deal with a woman who already knew my past.
It was never love. It was strategy.
But Lynda played her role too well. The devoted fiancée. The perfect future. Somewhere along the way, she stopped pretending.
“Yes, that was the agreement,” she said softly. “But we proved we work. Together we’re powerful. We gave this town hope. I showed you what we could build.”
I looked at her then really looked.
“And you showed me,” I said, “exactly what you were willing to destroy to get it.”
Silence stretched between us.
Lynda searched my face, as if waiting for doubt, for hesitation. She found none.
“This ends here,” I said.
Her breath hitched. “Ashton—”
“There will be no wedding.” My voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “No announcement. No graceful delay. The charade ends today.”
She nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Then this is it.”
“Yes,” I said. “This is it.”
Lynda turned toward the door. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle.
“At least tell me one thing,” she said without looking back. “If Bailey had never come back… would you have married me?”
I held her gaze in the reflection of the glass.
“No,” I said. “Because even then, it would have been a lie.”
The door closed softly behind her.
For the first time in years, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty.
It felt final.