Of course. He had not just bought property. He had bought my past.
“You planned this,” I said quietly.
“I saw an opportunity.”
“You always did.” My voice sharpened. “Control was never enough for you.”
“You deserved more than losing this house after what you did,” he said.
I laughed, short and bitter. “You have no idea what I did. You never asked. You assumed.” I met his gaze. “So why are you really here, Ashton? Do you not have another life to dismantle?”
His jaw clenched. “I am a businessman, not a villain.”
“Oh, is that what you call it now?” I shook my head. “I do not care about the house. Burn it down. Turn it into a monument to your ego. It has only ever reminded me that even the strongest promises can rot.”
I inhaled slowly. “You can rebuild this town all you want. You will never change the way people judge what they do not understand.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe.
Then it was gone.
He pulled out a thick brown envelope and held it between us.
“I spoke to your lawyer,” he said. “I know about the bakery. Sell it to me. Then leave.”
Not a request.
“You want me gone,” I said.
“Yes.”
The truth landed harder than any insult.
“I cannot be bought.”
A cold smile touched his lips. “I am not buying you. I am buying peace.”
“You do not get to decide that for me.”
“I do if you stay,” he said quietly. “This town does not need its past dug up.”
Anger surged. “Or are you afraid the truth might surface?”
His jaw tightened.
I stepped closer. “Tell me, Ashton. What frightens you more? That I stay, or that I leave?”
For the first time, he hesitated.
“Maybe I will keep the bakery,” I murmured. “Maybe I will stay. Maybe I will remind this town of everything it tried to bury.”
He grabbed my wrist.
The contact burned. Familiar. Dangerous.
“Do not,” he warned. “You do not know what you are starting.”
I tore my hand free. “I survived you once.”
