1
MEREDITH
The business kills Dad first, then comes for me.
Days after his heart gives out at his desk, I'm sitting in an attorney's office while the vultures circle—my father's empire now a corpse they're eager to strip.
I never wanted this. Never will. Not in a million years.
"...and to my daughter, Meredith Claire Ashton, I leave the entirety of Ashton Collective, including all subsidiaries, properties, and assets, to be managed at her sole discretion..."
Gerald's voice fades to white noise as the room tilts. Eight hundred million dollars. Fifteen thousand employees. Twenty-seven luxury brands across nine countries. All of it mine.
I grip the armrests of my chair, the leather cool beneath my sweating palms. Gerald drones on about transfer procedures and signing authorities, but I can't focus. Instead, I count breaths. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. The technique Cole taught me when panic threatens.
Cole. He stands three feet behind my chair like always. I know because I've measured the distance a hundred times in my mind. Close enough to reach me in seconds if needed, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. I don't need to turn to know he's there, a solid wall of muscle and safety. His presence ripples through the air like heat off asphalt.
The scent of mahogany and leather fills the room, expensive and suffocating. Underneath lingers the phantom smell of lilies from yesterday's funeral—cloying sweetness that turned my stomach. I'll never be able to tolerate lilies again.
"...contingent upon quarterly reviews for the first fiscal year..." Gerald continues, but I'm stuck on the question pounding through my head.
Why would Dad do this to me?
He never pressured me to follow in his footsteps. Never insisted I join the family business. "Be happy," he told me when I graduated college. "That's all I want for you." When I decided to get my MBA anyway, he seemed pleased but not triumphant. When I asked to work in Special Projects rather than executive training, he agreed without argument.
For three years, I've been learning the business from the ground up—analyzing acquisitions, reviewing financials, sitting in on strategy sessions. But always in the background, never leading, never deciding. Never once mentioning that one day, all of it would be mine.
"Ms. Ashton?" Gerald's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Do you have questions about the terms?"
All eyes turn to me—Aunt Patricia with her perfectly coiffed hair and narrowed gaze, Uncle Charles with his poorly concealedresentment, cousin Trevor with his perpetual smirk. I hate them all so freaking much. They weren't there much for Dad unless they needed something, but now they don't even make it a secret how disappointed they are.
I clear my throat. "No questions at this time."
Gerald nods, closing the folder with a soft thump. "Well, that concludes our business today. I'll have my associate prepare the documents for transfer of ownership."
The room empties of attorneys, leaving me alone with my father's family. The silence stretches taut until Aunt Patricia breaks it, her diamond bracelets clinking as she leans forward.
"Well, darling," she says, voice honey-sweet and just as sticky, "this is certainly a surprise."
Uncle Charles snorts. "Shock is more like it. Robert never mentioned making such a drastic decision."
"The board won't stand for it," Trevor adds, examining his manicured nails. "No offense, Merry."
"Exactly." Aunt Patricia nods. "The board meeting is in one week. They'll question your ability to lead. You have no experience running a company this size."
"I've been working in the business for three years," I tell them, wishing so badly they would just go away.
Uncle Charles laughs. "Special Projects isn't leadership, Merry girl. You've never led a board meeting. Never closed a major deal."
"That's why we need to move quickly," Aunt Patricia says, leaning closer, and it takes every effort not to push her away."You need to appear stable. The board needs to see you with a strong partner, someone who understands business, someone with the right connections."
My stomach drops. "Wait, what? What are you suggesting?"
"Brian Percy." She smiles, triumph already gleaming in her eyes. "His father's media empire would make an excellent partnership with Ashton Collective."
Oh God. Brian Percy.
The bane of my existence throughout high school. With his Italian loafers, custom-made suits, and a face you forget a second after meeting him.
