LOGINDamian Cross walked into the Ashford Group building on a Monday morning carrying a folder and what was left of his pride.It was not much of either.The contract Raymond had sent over on Friday was three pages long and outlined in precise detail what his role as an external contractor would involve. Document processing. Vendor liaison. Administrative coordination across two of the group's smaller accounts. Work that a competent junior staff member could handle blindfolded.He had read it three times hoping it would say something different.It did not.He had signed it anyway.---Claire met him in the lobby and handed him a visitor's pass and walked him to a small office on the ninth floor that had a desk and a chair and a window that looked into another building's wall. She showed him the shared drive he would be working from and the contacts he would be liaising with and she answered his questions with perfect professionalism and zero warmth and left him there with a cup of coffee a
The Harlow Foundation event was mine.Not personally. The foundation had reached out to the Ashford Group three weeks earlier about a corporate sponsorship for their annual medical charity gala and I had handled the partnership myself and when the invitation came for the event I had accepted because it was the right thing to do and because the cause was one I believed in.Dee was in Singapore for two days. He had offered to cut the trip short.I told him not to.I could handle a gala.---Claire had my dress delivered to the office that afternoon and I changed there and checked the mirror once and went downstairs where Jonas was waiting with the car. Raymond had sent a security detail ahead to the venue, two men I trusted, and I arrived at seven with Claire beside me and the kind of quiet confidence that came from having nothing to prove to anyone in that room.The gala was held in the Meridian ballroom, with high ceilings and soft lighting, and the careful elegance of a room where a
The meeting was Damian's idea.He had called Raymond directly and requested thirty minutes with Mrs. Ashford to discuss the outstanding conditions on the proposal. Raymond had called Claire. Claire had checked the schedule and confirmed Thursday at two.Iris arrived at two exactly.She came through the conference room door with Claire behind her and a folder under her arm and she sat down across from the man on the other side of the table and opened the folder and looked at him.Damian Cross was exactly what his file said he was. Well dressed, well spoken, the kind of man who had learned early that a good first impression could carry him further than preparation. He had a quality about him that probably worked well in most rooms. Confidence sitting just at the edge of charm.It did not move her."Mr. Cross," she said. "Thank you for coming in."He smiled. "Thank you for making the time Mrs. Ashford.""Walk me through the conditions you can meet immediately," she said.He went through
Damian Cross had never been good at sitting with guilt.He was good at burying it. That was different. He had buried the memory of that night the way you bury something you do not want to find again, deep and without a marker, and he had told himself that what happened was necessary and that Lyra had brought it on herself and that moving forward was not the same thing as running.He had been moving forward for a year.The apartment looked different now. Sienna had redecorated within two months of Lyra leaving. New furniture, new colours, everything was replaced in a way that was supposed to feel like a fresh start and mostly just felt like a woman marking territory. He had not complained. He had told himself it was what she needed.He told himself a lot of things these days.---Sienna was still in bed when he came downstairs at seven thirty.She was always still in bed at seven thirty. She had been, for as long as he could remember, a woman who woke up when she felt like it and treat
One year later.The news broke at six in the morning.By seven it was on every financial platform in the country. By eight the gossip columns had it. By nine there were already people gathered outside the Ashford Group building with cameras and questions and the restless energy of a city that had just been caught off guard.Darian Ashford was coming home.Raymond got the call at five forty-five.He was Dee's personal secretary and had been for six years. In those six years, he had learned one thing above everything else. When Dee moved he moved without announcing it and without explaining himself and Raymond's only job was to make sure the ground was ready before the foot landed.He had three hours.He made fourteen calls before the sun was fully up.By the time the private jet touched down Raymond was standing on the tarmac in a dark suit with a leather folder under one arm and a tablet in the other. Jonas stood beside the lead car, broad and still, eyes already sweeping the open spa
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the ceiling.White. Clean. Still.The second thing I saw was Dee.He was in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me. He smoothed his expression out the moment my eyes opened but not fast enough. I saw it before he covered it. A man who had been sitting with something heavy for hours and had learned to carry it without showing.I tried to sit up.Every nerve in my body refused."Don't," he said.I lay back and let the room come to me slowly. Private facility, not a ward. No shared walls, no trolleys rolling past outside, no overlapping voices from the corridor. Deep quiet, the expensive kind. Someone had splinted my hand and elevated it on a pillow beside me. There was a drip running down my left arm. I read the bag above me the way I always did, out of habit, and whoever had set it up knew exactly what they were doing."How long?" I asked. My voice came out rough and strange, like something borrowed."Since yesterday e







