I glanced up and saw the crowd gathering. Ashton tightened his grip and began pulling me away.
“Ashton, did you see what she did?” Lynda cried, rushing after us. She reached for his arm, but he shoved her hand away. The look he gave her was lethal.
“Stop lying, Lynda,” he said coldly. “Or I will tell the truth and let the entire town hear it. And stop calling me.”
“Just leave it,” Donna sneered. “Let’s see how long she lasts in this town.”
My steps faltered, but Ashton kept moving.
“Leave it, Lynda,” someone urged, probably Angela. “This is not the time or place.”
Then I heard it. Donna muttered it, but loudly enough to cut deep.
“Homewrecker.”
I snapped.
I spun around and walked straight toward Donna. She barely had time to react before my fist connected with her face, sending her crashing to the ground.
Screams erupted. Angela cried out. Lynda stood frozen, shaking. Chaos exploded around us.
I did not care.
I stood over Donna, breathing hard, my voice steady and merciless. I thought I might have broken her nose.
“That,” I said, “was for what you did to Marie’s bakery.”
Chapter 31
BAILEY
After the chaos I had caused moments earlier, Ashton pulled me away from the club, ushered me into his Porsche, and drove off without a word. He stayed silent the entire way while my hands trembled. Eventually, we ended up at his place.
“Stay here,” Ashton said as he led me to one of his luxurious leather sofas. “I think I have a pack of meat stashed somewhere in the fridge.”
He left me there and headed toward his open concept kitchen.
While waiting, I took in my surroundings, impressed by the industrial elegance of his spacious two story apartment in the heart of town. The building was old, yet it had been remodeled with impeccable taste, preserving its raw, aesthetic charm. Exposed brick walls met sleek steel beams, and massive floor to ceiling windows flooded the space with sunlight, illuminating polished hardwood floors that echoed softly with every step.
The living area felt open and airy, anchored by a deep chocolate brown leather sofa and a glass top coffee table framed in minimalist steel. A thick neutral toned rug softened the space beneath it. Across the room, a low bookshelf held a mix of art books and magazines, interspersed with framed photos, some of Ashton alone, others of him with friends. A few small potted plants added warmth, their greenery contrasting with the industrial palette.
The kitchen, just a few steps away, was sleek and modern, featuring a long stone island and high end appliances glinting beneath pendant lights. A discreet wine rack tucked into a corner hinted at quiet evenings spent alone, or perhapswith someone he trusted. Everything felt intentional. Nothing cluttered. Nothing out of place.
Even the staircase leading to the second floor made a statement. Dark metal rails and wooden steps appeared to float, leading to lofted bedrooms and possibly a study, all open enough to catch the afternoon light. Everything about the space reflected him, controlled, sophisticated, effortlessly stylish, yet quietly inviting if you knew where to look.
I sank into the sofa, letting the weight of the space and the quiet hum of the city outside settle around me. For a moment, I imagined how many times Lynda had been here, curled up in front of the massive fireplace while Ashton lounged nearby in a lazy chair, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, completely at ease.
“Show me your hand.”
I startled, dragged out of my thoughts as Ashton returned with a pack of frozen meat. I held out my hand, and he studied my knuckles. They were already red and swollen. A sharp sting flared as the cold pressed against my skin, and I swallowed.
“How do you know how to punch like that?” he asked, holding the pack there with careful pressure.
“I took a kickboxing class last year,” I said. “Only a few sessions before I quit. Maybe it stuck.” I sighed. “Or maybe it’s a sign I should sign up again. It’s clearly useful.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “You do have a temper, Bailey. I would recommend anger management instead.”
I glared at him. “Very funny.”
