I want to run from the trainwreck, but I'm stuck staring at the threat encased in a blue bubble.
My stomach sours.
[unknown number]:Hope ur having a good birthday, slut. If u don’t want these going public, u better work on getting me back in good graces withAndrew. If I don’t see any effort from u, I’ll make sure ur precious business gets a healthy dose of scandal. Let's see how long u last with the reputation ur company deserves.
Ashley.
I know it’s her. This whole damn thing. All of it. I didn’t want to believe she’d go this far, but here it is. She’s blackmailing me with these fucking pictures, demanding I fix whatever damage exists between her and Andrew.
I never knew how serious things got between them. Didn’t care.
What I do know, I sure as hell don’t want the father of my child dragging that unhinged woman into Bash’s life. And now, she wants me to undo whatever crazy she showed, effectively scaring him off from the way her message reads?
I rub my eyes, a headache already pounding at my skull.
My pulse thrums in my ears. No. Absolutely not. This is insane. I can’t—won’t—play along. But Ashley has been fucking with my life for too long, always finding new ways to twist the knife every time I cauterize her last jab. She’s become desperate.
Now, she’s coming for my entire goddamn life. She is threatening to affect my business. Affect myson.
I want to hurl my phone across the room and hear it shatter, but I don’t. I won’t give her that kind of power over me.
Across the room, my mom and Demi are laughing, completely unaware of the storm tearing through my chest. I’m supposed to be enjoying my birthday. Instead, I’m here, hijacked by the fallout of Ashley’s madness.
How the hell am I supposed to fix this?
I inhale deeply, trying to steady myself, but shit is getting too real, too fast.
A plan. I need a plan to take back control, to cut her out of my life for good. But every path I think of ends in a dead fucking end.
My hand trembles as I run it through my hair, the weight of everything closing in.
No more games, Ashley.
I’ll handle this on my terms, but right now, I don’t know how.
I need Hex.
Boots planted on solid stone, I’m out on the back patio of my place in the Hill Country. Sundays the bar's closed, which is the reason I'm here and not under the neon lights. Forty minutes from town, tucked between cedar trees and limestone outcroppings, the house blends into the land instead of bragging about being part of it. The sky stretches far in every direction without obstruction, making me feel like I’m the last person left.
Quiet. Remote. Peaceful.
The house isn’t flashy—clean lines, big windows, vaulted ceilings with heavy wood beams—but it’s nice. Moderate by rich-people standards. Pricey by mine. It’s got enough space to keep my life spread out, enough privacy to take care of business without a neighbor peeking through the blinds.
The sun’s sinking low, casting gold over the hills. My bourbon catches the light where it rests in my palm, and for the first time all week, the edge starts to dull.
My phone lights up with her name, and the glass nearly slips from my hand.
Sable.
Calling me.
She’s never done that before. Not once.
I figured the birthday cake might earn me a flirty thank-you text, maybe a sexy photo if I got really lucky, but an actual phone call? Unexpected.
I answer before the second ring. “Hey.”
There’s a pause—just a breath—but I hear it immediately. The tension.
