Chapter 36
thirty-six
“You’re free.”
Am I free? Aiden leaves me alone. The door to the cell flung open, the dust flying inside the room I’ve been kept in. Like a comforting cage.
Out there is worse. Away from him, my thoughts scatter. I can’t hold them still. I knew if I told him, he’d leave. If I’d confessed back then, he would’ve destroyed his own life trying to save me.
Now I’ve destroyed mine.
And any hope I had for our future.
Sniffling, I somehow gather up the blanket and some clothes. It would be Henry that I’d see in the hallway, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Can you…give me a ride?” I whisper.
He shoves the metal chair he’s sitting in back so hard, it falls over. “S-Sure!”
There’s some small comfort in that he doesn’t say a word the entire ride back to my dorm. Just tucks the blanket over my thigh when it slips and turns the heat up. It’s enough. More than enough.
I move through the day like a machine. Clean. Pack. Drive to Gnarled Pine Hollow for winter break.
“I’m just tired,” I find myself saying to everyone. “Just…need a nap.”
When my bedroom door clicks shut, my legs give out. My eyes drag to the bathroom tiles next door, cold light bleeding under the frame.
I crawl to them. Press my cheek against the marble. Let the cold burn.
He fit in one of my hands. So small I was afraid I’d drop him. I wasn’t even thinking… I didn’t think—I just knew he deserved a place. A marker. Something that said he was real.
The rest comes in pieces.
“What the fuck are you doing out here so late?” Dad yelled from the back door. His steps hurried while I scrambled to toss dirt over the mound I’d created. Hiding what I’d done. All the mistakes I’d made.
If I couldn’t see him, maybe the pain would evaporate.
“Oh my god, baby. What did you do?” I heard his voice crack. “Ashlyn, baby? Ashlyn! Why didn’t you wake me up? Oh my god…”
I was in his arms before I understood what I was doing. His chest heaved with wails against my cheek.
But I couldn’t feel anything.
Because my heart was buried six feet deep.
“But I don’t have to go, right?”
Dad’s blue eyes soften. “Firecracker? I…I think you should go, yeah.” His gaze darts over to Mom’s, who’s giving us both a stern look. “I mean, you have to go, yes. And that’s final.”
My mother’s the one in charge. Dad only makes a decision when it’s life or death. Otherwise, this entire house is ruled by Arianna Donovan like it were her conquest. Everyone either underestimates her or is afraid of her. I understand why.
Because I’m the same way.
But I know when I have battles I can win, and those I cannot. And the glaring sharpness of her expression cuts me deep enough that I know I don’t have a choice.
The holiday has already been miserable enough, but at least I could hide in my room. Didn’t even have to respond to Moretti, and Mom accepted the news I’d broken up with him. Not well, but she accepted it.
Dad brushed it off. “Oh, bummer. You think he’ll be back around for Christmas festivities?”
“No. Never,” I told him firmly.
But Mom asked the staff to set him a place at the table, just in case.
Ignoring the daggers stabbing into my back, I head from the living room to the hall, but my mother’s patter catches up to me.
“You’re going,” Mom says. “Atelier Versace hand-stitched that gown for you. We don’t waste a commission like that.”
When I face her, to tell her that I don’t really care about dresses. About looking the part. That my soul is hollow, and I want to wallow in my room, beg her to let me, her face makes me pause. So much so that tears line my lower lashes.
Instead of brutal, conniving, and defensive, she looks…afraid of what my response will be. Like she’s holding out hope I’ll agree.
I’m quiet for so long, studying my mother, that she brushes the hair back off my shoulder, then grabs my waist. Her head only comes up to my neck, but I let her hug me.
“Okay? Please? You haven’t missed one yet. And you and Wyatt are the only ones still here.”
Dad’s pretending to be engrossed in his phone when I glance over at him. But I caught him looking.
“Yeah, I’ll go.” As soon as the agreement leaves my lips, my mom’s shoulders relax.
Climbing the stairs, I grumble to myself, “Stupid New Year’s Eve at the casino.”
But maybe it’ll be a distraction, one I’ve been seeking for the last week. If I drink enough champagne, I can forget for a while. This is the exact reason people take pills to numb themselves.
But I’m already apathetic as it is.
The following day, Mom sends the hairdressers and stylists over to take care of my look for the evening. They swarm the room like well-trained bees while my hair gets blown into impossible smoothness—long strands teased, sprayed, perfumed.
A manicurist works on my fingers as my feet soak. She pauses at the small cut on my ring finger, and I shrug.
My new ink wedding band’s healed now, the skin no longer swollen. I keep a bandage over it to avoid questions, but beneath it, Aiden’s name circles my finger like a dangerous secret. One that could get me burned at the stake.
Wyatt waltzes in, wearing a dimples-deep grin, checking out the women in my room like he’s auditioning for a movie.
“Get out!” I snap from the vanity, halfway through a mascara stroke. He plops on the edge of my dresser, chest puffed proudly in a custom white tux that matches Dad’s.
“I’m already dressed.”
“Great. I don’t care. Doesn’t take men a long time to get ready.”
“It did.” His sunshine-y face, a mirror image of our father’s, looks smug and too sure of himself. “Kim there gave me a fresh cut.” There’s a flirty lilt in his voice that makes my stomach flip in a nasty way.
“He’s sixteen,” I say.
Kim giggles in reply. “Then tell him to act like it.”
“Leave my room, now.”
He winks at the hairdresser and sashays out like a celebrity who can never be canceled.
“Do you want anything more to drink, Ashlyn?” the makeup artist asks, scanning the beadwork on my gown for any flaws. It’s Art Deco: molten gold and amber sequins, a halter that falls into a long drop cape. Beautiful. Heavy. Showy enough to pull every camera lens my mother owns.
“Yeah, another champagne, please. And some more brie.”
It helps to wash away the thoughts. Am I glad I told Aiden? No. I should’ve protected him from the pain, just like I wish someone had done for me. In the mirror, I scan the patio doors. Someone threatened to open the shades earlier, but I forbade them. I can’t look. Not today.
“You’re smudging your mascara,” the makeup artist murmurs, gentle as a nurse. She dabs at a tear that slips from my lashes.
“Sorry.” I brush my cheek and let it go.
“I heard you and Moretti broke up,” she says. Her tone is neutral, but a tiny symphony of sympathy carries with it. “That’s rough.”
I nod, give the expected noncommittal answer, and let them finish me like an exhibit—hair pinned, lashes fanned, gown zipped until the seams protest.
By evening, I’m in the limo, on time. Steady on the outside, with a polite buzz under my tongue. Not drunk enough to drop my guard.
Not drunk enough to forget.
When we pull up to the overhang, photographers are waiting, flashing their cameras against the tinted glass. As soon as my door opens, my body revolts.
Talon reaches his hand out toward me with a broad smile painted on his lips. “Take my hand,” he commands with a darkened gaze.
I glance at my parents, who both nod and scoot closer to the exit.
“Are you serious?” I ask. But they don’t respond.
Instead of doing as he said, I shuffle out of the car myself, almost tripping over the train. As I do, Talon grabs my arm and places it around his to steady me.
Chest tight. Breath shallow. Teetering on a stiletto, I barrel down the runway while he tries to keep up. I’m more drunk than I thought, and that’s the only reason I leave my hand where it is.
The minute we’re alone, I’m ditching this prick.
Except no one leaves us. Nope. My parents stick to my side. Talon’s parents greet us, hovering around with bright smiles. His mother hugs me tightly like she’s never letting me go. His father shakes my dad’s hand.
Mom takes my free arm and walks with Talon and me around the party, introducing us as “my youngest daughter, Ashlyn, and her boyfriend, Talon.”
It’s not even worth correcting. This is what they do. My life has been like this. Because he was my beard. My ruse. To hide the truth that was Aiden Cardell, so they wouldn’t hurt him or his family.
But as time approaches midnight, my throat tightens. My gut aches. Something feels…off.
In my evening bag, I pull out my phone. It’s been days, but finally, a breath of relief hits me, as does a rolling nervousness when I spy a text from Aiden:
AIC
Hi, baby.
Warmth surges through my chest. Maybe there is hope after all. What if…
“Come on,” Talon spits out as he tugs on my arm. “We need to get to the stage.”
“What?” I ask. “No. I’m not going there.”
My mom brushes my arm. “I think you’ll like it.”
“No. No, I won’t. Don’t make me do this.”
But I’m pulled through the crowd, not gently, with murmurs of: “White Wolf Lodge selling Power Puffz exclusively for their fighters…”
I attempt to find Dad, but he’s talking with Mr. Moretti like they’re old friends. And when they shake hands for a second time, doom strikes my soul. I’ve been set up. This is…not good.
My heels skid on the marble. Flashes pop like gunfire. Every face I pass feels staged—like a show I was never meant to survive.
Talon leans in and hisses in a serrated whisper, “Told you we weren’t over.”
He drops to a knee and opens a ring box as everyone gasps.
“I love you, and there’s no one else for me. We’ve been together for years now. It’s time to move forward and get married.”
Cameras rise and flash. Someone actually claps.
And I slap that ring clean out of his hand. It arcs through the air, scattering diamonds like glitter. “Fuck. No.” With both hands, I shove Talon until he falls over.
Lifting the pounds of beads on my train, I hurry in tiny steps to the back room, the private lounge, to get away.
My entire body steams with fury.
Talon rushes in after me, slamming the door behind him.
“Our parents arranged this, Ashlyn! Now you’ve embarrassed me in front of our families!
The entirety of the Morettis is out there.
Did you know that?” With rage rippling off his muscles, he strides forward.
Tux jacket tight. Vein in his temple popping.
I grab a champagne from the side bar and shrug as I tilt the entire thing back. “So.”
“So?” He spits onto the ground, hands on his hips. Tall body blocking me in without much room to maneuver. “So?”
“Yeah. I don’t give a shit, Talon. I told you we were over. I said we were done, and you aren’t taking it well. We aren’t getting married. I’ll never agree to it. So…leave. I’m calling a rideshare and going home.”
“No, you’re not. You’re coming out there and putting that ring on your finger.” His hands swipe through his greasy hair and tug on it until it sticks up in wild directions.
When I turn to grab the bottle of champagne, he snatches it first and fires it against the wall until it shatters. I flinch, whipping around to face him.
But I don’t stutter when I repeat, “I’m not marrying you.”
Fingers dig into my upper arms as he shakes me roughly. “Yes, you are. I’ll call the priest right the fuck now and get it done.”
Searching his eyes, I try to find a way through to him, but he’s gone. Some coked-out demon has replaced him.
“You fuck everyone else all the time, Talon. We don’t have anything in common. I don’t like you. You don’t like me.”
“What? Ashlyn… You’re my everything! I love you. What are you talking about?”
I notice he didn’t deny sleeping with other girls. It doesn’t matter to me anyway. I was always hoping he’d take more than a casual interest in them. “Is this some business merger? Is that what this is?”
His jaw stiffens, giving me an answer. “Not for me. We’ve always known we’d be together. The stupid money part is secondary.”
“Right…” Squirming, I finally get loose from his hold. But he catches the strap of my dress and steps on the bottom, halting my progress.
“Come on. We’ll go get hitched right now by the minister in the chapel.”
“No.”
He spins me until I hit his chest. I shove, but the dress hinders me. It’s like running through sand. Nails scratch at his skin as he attempts to grab me again. Then, I’m slapping him away.
His hand lifts. For half a heartbeat, I think he’s reaching to fix my strap. Then the sound hits first—the crack—and the heat comes second.
Shock and searing pain rip across my face as he full-strength slaps me across the face. Blood surges from my tongue until I fall to the floor, evening bag exploding on the ground, its contents and me spilling out on the rug.
I attempt to scramble away, but he comes at me again.
And for the first time, I’m truly afraid of what he may do to me…