ASHTON
After bringing Bailey back to her cottage, I finally decided to pay Lynda a visit. She had been calling nonstop, and my anger had been building ever since I learned what she did to Marie’s shop. Seeing her ridicule Bailey at the country club, surrounded by her friends, shattered the last of my restraint.
Now I stood in front of Lynda’s two story townhouse, tucked into a quiet, well kept neighborhood. It struck me that I had never been inside. I had always dropped her off and left. Occasionally, she showed up at my house, usually to talk about plans for social gatherings. The realization made me note that I needed to change the access code to my own place. She rarely visited, yet she had always moved through my life as if everything I owned already belonged to her.
I knocked. Movement stirred inside. The door unlocked.
Lynda stood there in her pajamas, hair loose, face bare. She froze when she saw me, surprise flickering across her eyes before she forced herself to breathe.
“Let’s talk, Lynda.”
She stepped aside. “Come in, Ashton.”
Without her makeup, designer clothes, and dark glasses, she looked exposed. Vulnerable in a way I had never seen before.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked.
“I am not here for that,” I said. “I am here to give you one chance to confess what you did to the bakery. Your revenge has gone too far. You wanted my attention. You have it.”
Her lips trembled. “It is a little late, isn’t it? I tried to meet you. You blocked me.”
“I already said everything the other day.”
She laughed bitterly. “You played me the entire time while I was planning our wedding. No wonder you never cared. You kept your distance.”
“You should have read the signs,” I replied. “You only pushed for a real marriage after you heard Marie left her bakery to Bailey. You knew it was only a matter of time before she came back.”
Her laughter sharpened. “So you let me make a fool of myself over a girl from your past.”
“She was never just a girl,” I said. “She is the mother of my son. A truth you chose not to reveal. Worse, you pressured Bailey to abort my child.”
As I spoke, my gaze drifted around the living room. It was neat, carefully arranged. Then I saw the photos lined along the shelves. Too many of them. Lynda and me at galas, lunches, social events. Perfect angles. Professional shots.
I picked one up.
We looked like lovers. She was laughing, eyes bright, her hand resting on my shoulder.
“Do we look good together?” she said softly as she stepped closer. “This was taken after we announced our engagement. You looked so at ease, like I lifted the weight of your family business from you.”
“No,” I said flatly. “I was pretending to laugh because the board was watching.”
“Photos never lie,” she insisted. “Look at them. We were happy. People admired us.”
I was about to shut her down when something caught my eye. A photo hidden behind the others. I set the frame in my hand down and pulled it free.
Lynda stiffened.
My blood rushed violently.
It was a photo of me asleep on a bed, my bare back exposed, a white sheet draped low over my waist.
“When did you take this?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“You don’t remember?” she whispered. “It was the morning after we spent the night together at the hotel.”
“You took this without my knowledge.”
“I couldn’t help it,” she said, eyes shining. “You looked so peaceful. That night was the best night of my life. I fell in love with you then. Meeting you again was fate. I only needed to make you see that we were meant to be together.”
