Ashley's POV
The driver dropped me off a block away from the penthouse. I couldn't risk the cameras out front.
No heels now — I slipped them off, holding them in one hand as I padded barefoot down the marble hall like a thief in my own life.
My head was still spinning from champagne, guilt, and something darker — satisfaction.
The elevator hummed as I swiped my keycard, praying no one was awake. Marcus always started work before dawn, and if he saw me like this — makeup smudged, gown wrinkled, last night written all over my face — there'd be no explaining it.
The penthouse was silent. Cold marble, glass walls, no trace of warmth — like every place my father owned. I exhaled and tiptoed toward my room.
Halfway down the hall, I froze.
Footsteps.
My heart slammed once, then twice before I ducked behind the column near the dining room. A familiar baritone echoed down the hallway — Marcus, talking to someone on the phone.
"Tell Richard I expect him here by nine. If he wants to marry my daughter, he needs to start acting like it."
My stomach turned. Of course. Even when he wasn't home, my life was still business strategy.
I waited until his office door clicked shut, then sprinted the last few steps to my room, easing the door closed with the careful precision of a criminal.
Once inside, I let out a long breath and fell back on the bed, gown and all. My body ached — but not in a bad way.
In a God, what did I just do? way.
My phone buzzed. Again. And again.
Chloe ❤️:
Where the hell are you? I turned around and you vanished!
You better not have gone home with someone. Ash, answer me.
Then, finally — Okay, now I'm worried. Pick up.
Before I could type, her name flashed across the screen. I groaned and answered.
"Where have you been?" she demanded, no greeting, just pure Chloe. "I waited for you outside for like thirty minutes. You disappeared!"
I tried not to sound breathless. "I… got caught up."
Her tone sharpened instantly. "Caught up how?"
I laughed weakly. "You don't want to know."
"Oh, I absolutely do."
There was no escaping her. Chloe Lane could smell secrets like blood in the water.
I dragged the phone to speaker, peeling off the gown as I walked to my closet. "Okay," I said, collapsing onto the couch. "But you have to promise not to judge me."
"Oh, I'm definitely judging you already. Go on."
"I met someone."
Dead silence.
Then a gasp. "You did not."
"I did."
"Was he cute?"
"Cute isn't the word," I said, closing my eyes. "He was… impossible."
"Tall?"
"Yes."
"Rich?"
"Probably."
"Good kisser?"
I hesitated, and Chloe squealed. "You slept with him!"
"Chloe—"
"Oh my God! Ashley Walter slept with a stranger! I'm so proud of you."
I groaned. "You're impossible."
"Don't you dare ruin this for me with guilt. Tell me everything."
I bit my lip, laughing in spite of myself. "He wore a silver mask. Said no names. His voice…" I trailed off, remembering the way it had wrapped around me — low, confident, steady. "It did something to me."
Chloe hummed. "And the rest?"
"The kiss was…" I stopped. No words fit. "Perfect. The kind that makes you forget who you are. And the sex—"
"Don't censor yourself now."
"It was like being seen for the first time," I said softly. "Like he knew exactly where to touch, what to say… like he'd been waiting for me."
There was a beat of silence, then Chloe laughed again. "Well damn. You needed that. You've been walking around like a ghost for months."
She wasn't wrong.
For the first time in so long, I hadn't been Ashley Walter — the daughter, the fiancée, the future CEO. I'd been just… me.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from Richard.
Richard:Good morning, love. I'll come by later. Let's talk before brunch.
I stared at the screen.
Chloe noticed my silence. "Is that him?"
"Yeah."
"The fiancé or the fun one?"
"The boring one."
She snorted. "He texted you? What's he saying now — something romantic like 'Sorry I canceled Paris, babe, business emergency'?"
"Pretty much."
"Block him for a day. You deserve peace."
I laughed quietly, tucking the phone beside me. "You know I can't. My father would lose it."
"Marcus already owns your life. What's he going to do — sell your soul on the stock exchange?"
I smiled, even though it hurt. "You sound like you hate him more than I do."
"Oh please," she said. "The man treats you like a brand acquisition, not a daughter. You deserve someone who wants you."
Her words hit harder than I wanted them to. Because for a few hours last night, I'd felt exactly that. Wanted. Not managed.
"Promise me something," Chloe said suddenly. "You'll keep this to yourself. No guilt, no confessions. Just let it be your little rebellion."
"Rebellion," I repeated, half-smiling. "That's one word for it."
"Exactly. No one needs to know. Not Richard, not Marcus, not your saint of a mother. Just me."
I laughed. "You're the worst secret-keeper alive."
"Not when it comes to you," she said softly.
And for a second, her tone changed — warmer, deeper. But before I could respond, she cleared her throat. "Anyway, I have to go. But I expect details tonight. Preferably over cocktails."
"Fine," I said. "You'll get them."
"Oh, and Ash?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time, don't leave me alone with a stranger named Leo who thinks he invented Bitcoin."
I laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in months. "Noted."
We hung up, and the quiet pressed back in.
My gown lay on the floor like evidence. The black lace mask still sat on the dresser. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands — a piece of silk and secrets.
And then I saw it.
My clutch, half-open. Inside, something gleamed silver.
The cufflink.
The same one from the hotel nightstand — engraved with two letters: A.J.
I frowned. I was sure I'd left it there.
Had he followed me? No, impossible. Maybe I'd picked it up without thinking.
Still, the sight of it made my pulse stutter. It felt like a thread connecting me to something I shouldn't touch again — a night that wasn't supposed to matter.
The phone buzzed once more.
Richard:Don't ignore me, Ashley. We need to talk.
The words sat heavy on the screen.
I placed the phone face down and stared at the cufflink again.
A.J. Whoever he was, he wasn't supposed to follow me home — not like this, not even in memory.
And yet… part of me already wanted to see him again.
That was the dangerous part — not the sin, not the secret.
The wanting.