Chapter Eight.

Asher's POV.

The city lights flickered beneath his bedroom windows as Asher stood still, his jaw locked and shoulders rigid. The text on his phone glowed ominously in the dim room.

Madeline: We need to talk. You owe me that much.

He didn't owe her anything.

But the ghost of the past often knows where the cracks in the armor lie, and Madeline knew just where to press. She always had. Stunning, venomous, and dangerously persuasive—Madeline had been a drug he could never fully quit. Until Audrey.

They came back from the birthday dinner and she softly excused herself, and left him alone in the living room. He has been quiet and lost in his thoughts on the drive back home.

He knew she planned to slowly waltz into his life again, and he didn't understand why. Madeline made it quite clear the last time that she didn't want to deal with him any longer, so what changed?

The sound of Audrey's soft footsteps padding down the hall brought him back to reality.

Audrey.

And while he couldn't disagree, she had been on his mind much more than he would have liked. And he welcomed every thoughts of her, because they brought him peace.

She was upstairs, probably organizing baby things again or nursing another emotional swell from the hormone tides.

She'd been unpredictable lately—tears over cereal commercials, laughter at things that weren't funny, mood swings that caught him off guard. But it only made her more real, more... human. And lately, Asher found himself needing that reality more than he admitted.

Still, he texted Madeline back: Tomorrow. 7PM. Parkview Lounge.

Audrey's POV.

Audrey felt it in her bones.

Something was off.

Asher had been distant for the past few days. She'd seen him stare at nothing for minutes, and when she'd asked if he was okay, he'd offered that usual, clipped "I'm fine" she no longer believed.

Don't get her wrong, she knew Asher was the embodiment of a cold demeanor, but this was much worse. Something was wrong.

She knew she had no right to pry. Their marriage was transactional. One year. One baby. Freedom from Mason. But even fake marriages had feelings attached eventually, didn't they? And she knew this from how lately, her heart seemed to beat faster when she was around him.

Especially when she caught the way he watched her sometimes—like during the dance at the dinner party. How he never let his eyes leave her. How they trailed from her head down to her toes, leaving a sweet fire in it's path.

Or two nights ago, when she'd curled up on the couch sobbing over a documentary about dolphins. He hadn't laughed or judged. He'd pulled her close, stroked her hair, and whispered, "You're not alone, Audrey."

And that whisper had stayed with her. It echoed in her dreams and reverberated in her wake.

Asher was beginning to awaken something deep within her.

Asher's POV.

The next night….

Madeline arrived at Parkview Lounge wearing blood-red lipstick and a black silk dress that clung to her like sin. Heads turned, but Asher didn’t flinch.

He sat at the farthest booth in the dim lounge, one hand loosely curled around a whiskey glass, the other resting tensely on the table. His black suit was tailored, pristine, as cold and composed as his face.

"You're still the most handsome man in any room," Madeline purred, sliding into the booth opposite him.

"You asked for one meeting," he said, his tone clipped, his expression unreadable. "This is it."

Madeline tilted her head, her glossy hair cascading over her shoulder. "One meeting isn't enough for old friends. I missed you."

He raised a brow, unimpressed. "Is that what we are now? Friends?"

"You know we were more than that, Asher."

He took a sip of whiskey. "We were a mistake."

She recoiled slightly, but quickly masked it with a slow smile. "You don’t mean that. I know you, Asher. You were obsessed with me."

He looked at her, eyes cold as obsidian. "Yes. I was."

And he had been. Madeline had burned through his life like a wildfire—intoxicating, chaotic, irresistible. Her presence had been both thrilling and terrifying. He had once mistaken that fever for love. But now, sitting across from her, all he felt was exhaustion.

Still, a part of him studied her. Her beauty was undeniable, every feature carefully crafted like she’d stepped out of a magazine. But there was now a sharpness to her beauty—something that cut rather than soothed.

"What is this really about, Madeline?" he asked.

"I want to start over. Rebuild what we had."

Asher laughed coldly.

"Let me guess; you've seen me in the gossip tabloids, and now you want to manipulate me into giving you a seat beside my empire."

She leaned in, voice softer. "You don't love her, Asher. That girl you're playing house with? She's temporary. You and I, we're fire."

Asher leaned back, folding his arms. "Audrey is peace."

The words slipped before he could stop them. And yet, they rang with a quiet truth.

Madeline scoffed. "Peace? You used to crave the high. The power. What happened to you?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he let his mind drift—not to Madeline, but to Audrey.

Her soft smiles when he brought her flowers every evening. The way she instinctively reached for his hand when a storm made the ground shake. The sound of her voice when she talked to their unborn child.

It was strange, this feeling. Foreign.

Like a silent ember slowly catching fire. Not the consuming blaze he’d known with Madeline, but a warm, steady burn. It was... comfortable.

It made him want to go home. Made him crave presence over adrenaline. It left a quiet glow in his chest he didn’t understand—but he wanted more of it.

He glanced at Madeline again. Beautiful. Manipulative. Cold.

And suddenly, he felt nothing.

---

That night, Asher walked into his mansion and found Audrey curled up on the floor of her bedroom, her shoulders shaking.

"Audrey?" His voice cracked as he rushed to her.

She looked up, cheeks streaked, mascara smudged. "I can't find the baby's sock. The tiny green one. It had ducks on it."

He blinked. "You're crying over a sock?"

"Don't judge me! I can't help it! It's the hormones, I swear!" she wailed.

He didn’t judge. He didn’t speak. He just gathered her in his arms and pulled her close.

She clung to him, burying her face into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

"Nothing’s wrong with you," he said quietly, brushing her hair away from her face. "You’re growing a human. That’s enough."

He carried her to the bathroom, running a hot bath with lavender oils, testing the temperature like a man who’d done this a hundred times.

Oh, the things he'd do to see a smile on her face.

When she was settled, he sat beside the tub, rolling his sleeves up, watching her with an unreadable expression.

"You don’t have to stay," she said softly.

"I know," he replied. "But I want to."

And he did.

When she fell asleep later, curled into the sheets, eyelashes still damp from the bath, he watched her for a long time. Something in his chest tightened. This wasn't the same man Madeline had once seduced and destroyed. This wasn’t the man who needed control over everything.

This was a man starting to feel things he had no name for.

The next evening, Asher met Madeline one last time.

"I'm done," he said, voice firm, cold. "No more dates. No more meetings. It ends here."

Madeline's smile didn't falter. It just shifted, snake-like.

"So you're choosing her? The walking hormone cocktail with a burning need to cry her eyes out every second? Oh please."

His jaw tightened. "Don’t talk about her."

She leaned in. "You know what I think is adorable? You thinking you can just walk away. I know about your little contract marriage. Billionaire pays a woman to bear his heir? The press would devour you."

Asher didn’t flinch. "You leak anything, and I’ll bury you in court."

She smiled wider. "You always were good at threats. But do you remember Gerald?"

His stomach dropped. Gerald was the closest thing he had to a father. Until he vanished unexplainably.

"Your butler. Sweet old man. Loyal, wasn’t he? He caught me sneaking in... company. Said he’d tell you. Then he vanished."

His blood ran cold as realization set in. "You killed him."

She tilted her head. "Let's just say... some problems solve themselves. And if you’re not careful, Audrey might become one too."

That was it.

The last thread snapped. The illusion shattered. He finally saw Madeline for what she was: a narcissistic, calculating murderer.

He stood slowly. "You come near her, and I swear, I won’t just ruin you. I’ll destroy you."

He walked out into the night, the air thick with unease. Every footstep behind him felt too deliberate. Shadows stretched longer than they should.

He had always known Madeline to get whatever she wanted–that was one of the many qualities he admired about her. But now, that was the quality he dreaded the most.

He was about to open his car when the hairs on his neck stood. He turned back and was met with a dark alley.

Somebody was watching him.

A pit formed in his stomach, cold and heavy.

And in that moment, he knew—the storm hadn’t passed. It had only just begun.