008

Ashton’s POV

The doorbell rang again.

I didn’t have to check the security monitor to know who it was. She’d been showing up every couple of weeks like clockwork, acting like we were still in the same damn loop. Like she didn’t hear me the last five times I told her to stop coming.

I opened the door anyway, mostly because if I didn’t, she’d just keep pressing that button until the entire neighborhood knew something was up.

Valerie Monroe.

She walked in like she owned the place, all long legs and designer perfume, her heels clacking against the marble floor like it was a runway. Red lipstick. Gold hoops. Fitted blazer. Expensive and perfectly styled like always.

"Ashton," she said, tilting her head, smile fixed and fake. "I brought wine."

I stepped back, jaw clenched. "Why are you here, Valerie?"

She waved a hand like I was being dramatic. "Because I miss you. God, do I really need a reason? We were supposed to be married, remember? Our parents practically started planning the guest list before you pulled your disappearing act."

I shut the door behind her, not saying a word.

She placed the bottle of wine on the counter, then turned to me. Her eyes scanned my face, probably looking for some sign that I still cared. That there was something left between us. But there wasn’t. Not even resentment. Just... nothing.

"You broke it off two years ago," I said. "Why keep coming back?"

Valerie laughed, that light, musical laugh she always used when she was trying to deflect. "You never really gave me a reason, Ashton. One day we were engaged, the next, you were cold, distant, locked away in this place like some tortured artist. I kept thinking maybe you'd come around, realize you made a mistake."

I leaned against the kitchen island, arms folded. "I didn't make a mistake."

That wiped the smile off her face.

She blinked, lips parting slightly. "So that's it? You're just never going to give us a shot? Even after everything? My father’s company practically helped build your empire. Our families have history. We were supposed to be--"

"Meant for each other?" I cut in, voice low. "Don’t say that."

Her jaw tightened. She walked past me, heels loud on the floor, pretending to study the decor she’d seen a dozen times. But I could see the shift in her. That sharp edge underneath the smooth surface.

"So, there is someone else," she muttered. "That’s what this is, isn’t it?"

I stayed quiet.

She turned around slowly, and her eyes locked on the console table by the stairs.

Shit.

I followed her gaze too late.

There were two framed photos. One of Lily, blurry but beautiful, her eyes soft and smiling as she held up a handmade necklace on some beach market stand. And the other…

Nathan.

A small photo. Just him, sitting on the grass with ice cream all over his face, mid-laugh.

Valerie walked toward it, heels quieter now.

"Who is this?" she asked, lifting the frame.

My throat tightened.

She turned, holding it up. "You have a child?"

I walked over, gently took the frame from her, and placed it back on the table.

"Answer me," she snapped, her voice no longer calm. "You’ve been hiding a whole family from me? Is that why you ended our engagement? Because of her?"

I didn’t say anything.

Valerie’s nostrils flared. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I stayed. I waited. I kept hoping you’d come to your senses, and all this time you were shacked up with someone else? Raising a kid?"

I looked at her then. Right in the eyes. Cold and clear.

"They are none of your business."

She laughed again, but this time it wasn’t soft or pretty. It was bitter. Rough.

"So that’s it. You throw away years of history, throw me away, for some woman and her kid? Who even is she? Some social climber? A model? One of those charity types your mother always warned you about?"

"Stop."

"No, Ashton. I deserve answers!"

I stepped closer. Not aggressive. Just enough for her to finally feel how serious I was.

"You're right," I said quietly. "You do deserve answers. But not from me. And not about them."

She stared at me, stunned. The rage flickered across her face fast. Her eyes dropped to the photos again.

"Is that why you won't give me another chance? Why you keep shutting me out? Because you're in love with her?"

My jaw clenched. I didn’t answer.

That was enough.

Valerie took a sharp breath, stepping back, hand on her hip. Her red nails tapped against her thigh like she was trying to hold herself back from saying something worse.

"This isn’t over," she said. "You and I... we’re not over. You think this little distraction of yours is permanent? That you're gonna just disappear into some suburban fantasy with your secret family while the world forgets who you are?"

"Don’t go near them."

She froze.

I took another step forward, calm but firm.

"Whatever you think we had, it’s done. It's been done. You can throw tantrums, call your father, make all the threats you want, but you go near that woman or that child, I swear to God, you won’t like what happens next."

Valerie blinked, stunned by the seriousness in my tone.

"You won't even say their names," she whispered. "You're protecting them. From me?"

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

She took her purse off the counter, eyes narrow. "This isn’t over."

"It is."

She gave one last look at the photos before walking toward the door.

I didn’t follow her.

The door slammed behind her.

I stood there in the middle of my house, the silence creeping back in. My eyes dropped to the photo of Nathan again. His face. That tiny smile. My stomach twisted.

She knew now. And Valerie wasn’t the kind of woman who took rejection lightly.

I pulled out my phone, dialing James.

He picked up on the second ring. "Sir?"

"Double the security outside Lily’s house. No questions. Just do it."

James didn’t hesitate. "Yes, sir."

I hung up.

Then walked upstairs to my study, sat in my chair, and pulled open the drawer where I kept the ultrasound picture.

The one I took the day I finally tracked down her old medical records.

Nathan’s name was scrawled on the bottom.

My son.

And this time, no one was going to take him away from me.