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“These terms are… generous,” he admits, removing his glasses as he finishes the final page. “First right of refusal on rent-controlled units in the new development, full relocation assistance, moving costs, and a stipend for temporary housing during construction. This is significantly more than your husband’s initial offer.”
“To be frank, my husband’s initial offer was insulting.” My tone remains professional despite the way my stomach twists at the word husband.
Marcus sets down the document and studies me for a moment. “Mrs. Ashford, may I also be frank?”
“Please.”
“You don’t sound like an Ashford.”
Because I’m not. I’m a prisoner dressed in designer clothes with a name I didn’t ask for.
Folding my hands on the table, I offer him a tight smile. “I’m trying to change the way The Ashford Group operates.”
“Well, regardless, I see no issues getting my clients to accept this revised offer. Though, between the elderly and those working multiple jobs, getting everyone together takes time.”
“How much time?”
“Three days. Maybe four.”
I calculate quickly, realizing I’ve already used nineteen days of the three weeks Vance gave me. Wife or not, he will grant me more time. Hating every word as they leave my mouth, I rebut, “I can give you twenty-four hours.”
“That’s not enough time, Mrs. Ashford.”
“That’s all I have.” I lean forward, dropping the corporate mask. “Please. I’m trying to prevent my husband from doing this his way.”
Marcus’s face pales, understanding immediately my subtle insinuation that all the whispered rumors about the Ashford brothers are true. My way is cordial; Vance’s will be brutal. “Twenty-four hours,” he agrees quietly. “I’ll do my best.”
After gathering my things and shaking his hand, I take the elevator to the lobby. The Ashford Group tower looms a few blocks away. I rehearse my speech to Vance as I navigate the crowded sidewalks—it’s a short delay, but a victory, nonetheless.
The executive floor is quiet when I arrive, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the marble floors as my heels click over it, in beat with my heart hammering.
Laughter filters through the heavy silence, growing louder as I stride closer to Vance’s corner office. The glass walls that normally offer an unobstructed view of the city are covered, the blinds drawn closed, only allowing thin vertical slivers of visibility. Shadows of two figures close together move behind them, Melanie standing beside Vance’s chair as she leans over him.
The intimate cadence of their conversation seeps through the glass, muffled but unmistakable. “You’re distracted today,” Melanie purrs, her voice carrying enough for me to hear.
“Only because I’m thinking about tonight.”
I should walk away and pretend I didn’t hear a word, but my feet are cemented to the spot, my traitorous eyes drawn to the gaps in the blinds. Through the narrow spaces, I notice Melanie’s hand resting on Vance’s shoulder.
This marriage is a transaction—my life as his wife in exchange for Kierra’s tuition and my professional survival—it’s not supposed to hurt. He doesn’t owe me fidelity. We aren’t in love. I hate him, his cruel arrogance, and the way my body betrays me in his presence. Yet, my chest feels like it’s being crushed.
Taking a breath and drawing every bit of confidence an Ashford should have, I push the door open with more force than necessary. Vance looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable. Melanie’s dark eyes meet mine in challenge, her fingers flexing around his shoulder, making my blood boil
“Sweetheart,” Vance drawls, the endearment dripping from his tongue like honey laced with poison. “What do you need?”
The casualness of how he can call me sweetheart with her hand still possessively placed on his body sends me spiraling. My carefully prepared speech evaporates. The twenty-four hours I need, our victory, and every other word I’ve cultivated are gone. Instead, all I can think about is how the sight of him with another woman makes me want to scratch her eyes out.
“Mrs. Ashford.” Melanie smiles, her faux grin almost as artificial as her silky tone. “I didn’t realize you were stopping by. Vance and I were just—”
“Finishing,” Vance interrupts, his eyes never leaving mine.
“No… Um…” I stammer, my voice unlike my usually confident self. “I can come back later.”
“Nonsense.” Vance shifts in his seat, shrugging Melanie’s hand off casually. “Melanie, that’ll be all. Close the door on your way out.”
Her smile tightens when her eyes flicker to me with undisguised contempt before she smooths her expression into professional neutrality. “Of course, Mr. Ashford.” She gathers her tablet and walks toward me, pausing at the threshold just long enough to deliberately brush my shoulder with hers as she passes.
“Now,” Vance says, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “What did you need?”
