Chapter 17

Ashton was scanning the hallway when the stairwell door flew open and Mirabelle barrelled out. She looked furious. Gorgeous, obviously—but furious. And then, like a nasty aftertaste, Rhys Granger followed her out. Ashton’s jaw tightened. He’d never met the guy in person, but he recognised him from the photos and the extensive background check. Rhys, the ex-fiancé. A trust fund guy with anger management issues, and apparently, the emotional maturity of a wet sock. The moment Ashton saw the expression on Rhys’s face, he knew what was about to happen. The guy had that look—the same look idiots get right before they do something incredibly stupid. Ashton moved fast. Long strides, no hesitation. Mirabelle clocked him coming, surprise flickering in her eyes, but there wasn’t time to say anything. Rhys was already raising his arm, going for a cheap shot from behind like the absolute coward he was. Ashton didn’t think. He just moved. His left arm wrapped around Mirabelle’s waist, yanking her out of range, while his right leg shot out and slammed into Rhys’s knee with the kind of precision that made footballers cry. Rhys folded like a broken deckchair and slammed into the stairwell wall with a satisfying thud. When she understood what just happened, Mirabelle didn’t flinch. She just stared at Rhys with disdain. ‘Really? That’s your move?’ She shook her head. ‘Trying to punch me when my back’s turned? Christ, Rhys, I knew you were a spineless little worm, but this is pathetic, even for you.’ Ashton looked down at her, checking her face. ‘You all right?’ She nodded. ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’ ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Mirabelle hesitated. ‘Louisa’s still in surgery.’ Ashton gave Rhys a pointed glance. ‘Yeah, but you don’t need to spend the next few hours in a corridor with him. My assistant’s on standby. He’ll call the second there’s any update. The surgery could take all night. You being here doesn’t make the clock tick faster.’ She thought it over, then nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ Ashton walked her to the car, opened the door, and waited until she was tucked inside before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. But even as they pulled away, his eyes kept darting to the rear-view mirror like she might vanish if he blinked. She looked pensive. What was she thinking about? Louisa? Rhys? Him? Ashton didn’t believe in fate—he trusted planning, power, and contracts—but he still thanked whatever cosmic nonsense had convinced him to return to Skyline City earlier than planned. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have seen her break up with Rhys, wouldn’t have been the man she dragged away from a bar for a one-night stand, and definitely wouldn’t have ended up playing the role of her fake fiancé. She didn’t know it yet, but Ashton had no intention of staying fake for long. That morning in the hotel, when he asked if she remembered him, her blank stare hadn’t surprised him. Disappointed him, yes. But surprised? Not really. Seven years was a long time, and she’d only been a teenager back then—baby-faced, all nerves and big dreams, standing on a stage at some inter-school tech expo, pitching her clunky smart jewellery prototype like she was about to revolutionise the entire industry. She’d looked terrified, but there was a kind of fire in her, the sort that made people stop and pay attention, even in a room full of bored judges and cynical investors. Ashton hadn’t been one of them, not officially. Just doing a favour for a friend, reviewing submissions for a grant. But then she tripped on her way out, and he caught her before she hit the ground. She’d looked up, breathless and wide-eyed, thanked him like he’d saved her life, and disappeared before he could say a single word. She never knew his name. Probably didn’t even register his face. But he remembered everything. Now here she was again, older, tougher, still standing tall after being dragged through hell by a man who didn’t deserve her and a family that never protected her. Ashton wasn’t letting her walk away. Not this time. The fake engagement was just the opening move. When he’d told her his family was pressuring him to get married, he hadn’t lied. The vultures had been circling since he landed back in Skyline—cousins with matchmakers, uncles with ultimatums, his stepmother with her trademark emotional blackmail. What he left out was the part where he could’ve shut it all down with one look. His family didn’t push him; they tiptoed around him. They feared him, and that suited him just fine. But he let her believe the pressure was real. Gave her the whole ‘expectations’ speech because he knew it would make her soften, make her say yes. But he knew this wasn’t about convenience or family pressure. It was about her. The only woman who’d ever made his heart stutter. The only one he’d ever wanted for more than a night. The only one he wanted for every night, for the rest of his life. Now she was in his passenger seat, legs crossed, face turned to the window, breathing like she hadn’t completely undone him just days ago in that hotel room. He should’ve been watching the road, but his eyes kept sliding to her—her profile in the low light, the way her fingers twitched against her thigh, the soft scent of her shampoo threading through the air. She smelled like sugar and fire. Like trouble he’d gladly ruin himself for. She’d been tipsy that night. He hadn’t. He remembered it all. He remembered the exact sound she made when he kissed the inside of her thigh. The way her hands gripped his hair. The way she arched her back as she came. When they shook hands on the fake engagement deal, she didn’t know he already had the ending written. A real ring. A real marriage. Her signature next to his on everything from a marriage licence to a cemetery plot. And maybe she still thought this was a favour. A temporary fix. But Ashton knew better. She was already his. And if she didn’t know it yet, he’d make damn sure she did—soon. He stole another glance at her. He could feel the heat rise just thinking about that night. The sound of her voice, her skin against his. But another thought made his jaw clench: if he hadn’t shown up at that bar, would she have gone home with someone else? Someone with a pretty face like that smug bastard Rhys? Ashton’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He would burn down the city before he let anyone like that near her again. It was time to move faster. Cut the pretence. Turn this engagement into something permanent. And if he had to lie, manipulate, or play every dirty card he had to keep her? So be it.