“Because he doesn’t like to be told no.”
There are a hundred things I should be doing right now, probably more, but instead I soak up what I know will be the final seconds of peace for the day.
Rowan mutters under his breath, his shoulders tight with tension.
I want to ask what he’s seeing, but instead I choose to preserve the time I have in Asher’s arms while I stare at his bare back.
It’s not until he turns around, my phone clutched tightly in his hand with regret etched into his face, that my stomach bottoms out.
The article was bad enough, but I didn’t consider what else could be out there. Social media posts with trolls dragging me through the mud. My clients waking up to find out the woman who manages their portfolios is being railed by the ex-stepfather and his son.
Oh god.
I dart out of Asher’s arms, not stopping until my knees hit the tiles in front of the toilet, and my body heaves, dispelling the little contents my stomach held.
Was I naïve to think people would continue to see me as more than my relationship?
Was I stupid to think my track record would be enough for my clients to overlook whatever was happening in my personal life?
Was I a fucking idiot to believe my grandfather would ever let me go?
A hard body drops down beside me and gathers my hair into his fist, holding it, and me, steady through another series of heaves.
I don’t need to look up to know it’s Asher. The way he holds me is different from Rowan, and right now his softness is exactly what I need as I watch everything I’ve ever worked for slip away right before my eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ASHER
The number of times I’ve seen my father rattled wouldn’t even take up one hand. He’s always been the calm in the storm, steady as the world burns around us.
But this has him shaken, and I don’t know how to hold both of them together.
Hannah is being faced with losing everything she’s built from the ground up, while also being bullied on the internet by strangers who have nothing better to do with their time than judge someone’s relationship and choices, all because her grandfather hasn’t been able to sell her off like a commodity.
Meanwhile, Rowan is dealing with the fact that he’s partially to blame for her pain. He could have let her go. He could have talked me out of pursuing her. He could have shut down this whole plan and allowed her to live a normal life with some fucker that Jeffrey saw fit.
But it’s just as much my fault as it is his. The difference is that I refuse to feel bad for being happy, for making Hannah happy. I’m never going to regret that, and I have no plans to back down from this fight.
I’m not usually the strategic one in the family. I can kill a man with my bare hands. I can negotiate with the best of them. ButI don’t make plans. I’m usually too much of a hothead to think clearly enough for any kind of strategy, but apparently, I’m the calm one right now.
I reposition Hannah so she’s in my lap with my body holding hers in place as she heaves over the toilet bowl.
I fucking hate seeing her sick or in pain. The first time she had cramps around me, I was ready to burn the fucking city to the ground, and this is no different, but at least this time I have someone to blame.
Jeffrey fucking Malone’s days are numbered.
Rowan stands in the doorway, his eyes flicking between his phone and our girl, like he doesn’t know what to deal with first.
“I’ve got her,” I reassure him, and that’s all the permission he needs to slip out of the room, his voice low as he gets straight on a call with someone to deal with this.
Hannah’s sobs rack through her body almost as violently as her heaves, hot tears falling against her cheeks and splashing onto my arm around her middle.
“You’re okay,” I murmur. “You’re safe.”
“I’m going to lose everything,” she chokes out.
I drop my forehead to her shoulder. I don’t want to lie to her or give her false hope, because realistically, I can’t force her clients to keep working with her, and I can’t change anyone’s opinion about our relationship, but I also don’t want her to lose hope.
