I glared at him, cheeks burning, furious and flustered. “Like hell I would ever trust you again.”
He did not flinch.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer until his eyes locked onto mine. Fire burned in them. Certainty. Resolve.
Before I could react, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to mine.
The world disappeared.
Breathless, my hands clutched his shoulders as his mouth claimed mine again, deep and insistent, forcing every thought, every argument, every fear from my mind.
“I had been holding back that kiss,” he murmured against my lips, “ever since you stepped back into my life.”
He did not stop.
And for one dangerous moment, neither did I.
Chapter 25
LYNDA
I felt betrayed, hurt, and deeply humiliated by the man who once gave me hope that we could become more than friends, more than convenient partners. For two years, I believed in the agreement we made. A marriage of convenience, he called it. One year only. Yet I committed myself fully, standing beside him, playing the devoted fiancée for the sake of his image and his company.
I was the one who convinced him to extend the charade. People had begun to believe in us, and ending it too soon would have raised questions. His board trusted him. The mayor entrusted him with community development projects. His company flourished beyond what his late father ever achieved. He was respected, admired, untouchable. And I was right there beside him, holding his hand for the cameras, whispering encouragement behind closed doors.
Somewhere along the way, comfort blurred into hope.
When I suggested that we explore the possibility of becoming real, he did not say no. He did not object. He stayed silent. I mistook that silence for permission and moved forward with the wedding preparations, believing we were finally on the same page.
I was wrong. He had already been planning to end everything in the cruelest way possible.
For days, I hid inside my house, shutting out the world. My phone buzzed endlessly with messages from friends who hadheard whispers of the broken engagement. It was not public yet, but it would be soon. News like that never stayed buried for long.
I never admitted it, not even to myself at first, but I had fallen in love with him.
Back in high school, when he dated Bailey, I hated him. I hated how my best friend suddenly had less time for me, how she became the girl everyone talked about once their secret relationship was exposed. Admiration turned into judgment overnight. And I was left standing in her shadow, watching her life take a turn I could not follow.
I also hated him for what his family represented.
I grew up in a trailer on the outskirts of town. His father’s company pushed families like mine off the land in the name of development. We lost our home, then our stability. My father broke under the weight of it all and turned to alcohol. The Miller name became synonymous with everything that ruined us.
So when Ashton left town for college and left Bailey behind, vulnerable and exposed, I seized the opportunity. I told myself I was protecting her. I told myself she deserved better.
The day she cried in the rain, telling me she thought she was pregnant and that Ashton’s cousin was harassing her, she was already drowning. The town was whispering. Her family was falling apart. When she wanted to call Ashton, I stopped her. I pressed her with fear, with shame, with the weight of rumors she was already suffocating under. I told her she was too young, that a baby would destroy her life, that abortion was the only solution.
I took her to the clinic myself.
Now I knew she had run away instead and chosen to keep the child. Soon after, Bailey and her mother left town. My plan worked. Their perfect love story collapsed. I lost my best friend, but watching Ashton fall apart filled me with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Fate, however, was not finished with me.
Three years later, I ran into him in another town. At first, I wanted revenge. I wanted him to be miserable. I wanted him to know Bailey had moved on without regret. He was angry and broken, and I was there to calm his storm. One night of too much alcohol led to a mistake.
I learned him then. His silence, his darkness, the rare moments of gentleness he showed only when he thought no one was watching. I let myself fall deeper until I confessed that I liked him and asked for something real.
That was when he pulled away.
“Ashton, I like you,” I said, staring at the glass in my hands. “A lot more than I planned to.”
