The Argument

Chapter Four

Ashley's POV

As I stepped into the dining room, the scent of fresh coffee and buttered toast filled the air.

Seated at the long marble table was Charlotte, flipping through the pages of a high-end fashion magazine.

My stepmother was always polished—flawless makeup, designer outfits and an air of sophistication that screamed "fashion diva."

"Ashley, please join me for breakfast." She said, barely looking up as she turned another page.

Suppressing a sigh, I pulled out a chair and sat down, serving myself some food. I ate in silence, my mind preoccupied with yesterday's events.

Then, as if reading my thoughts, Charlotte spoke. "Ashley, who was that boy who dropped you home yesterday?"

I kept my gaze on my plate, stabbing a piece of fruit with my fork.

"What boy?" I asked casually.

"Don't play games with me," She said, her tone sharp. "I saw you arriving on his motorcycle. The outdoor cameras don't lie."

I met her gaze, unfazed. "My tires were flat, so he gave me a ride home."

"I don't want you associating with those kinds of people." She smoothed a hand over her sleek hair, her brown eyes narrowing slightly.

I rolled my eyes.

"He's not a criminal, Charlotte." Even as I said it, I wasn't sure why I was defending Tyson. The guy had definitely slashed my tires—there was no doubt in my mind. And he was going to pay for it, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Charlotte pursed her lips. "You're here for a fresh start, Ashley. Don't ruin it."

I scoffed, but before I could say anything else, my father entered the room, dressed sharply in a navy suit and tie. He took his seat at the head of the table.

"Your car is being taken care of," He announced while pouring himself a cup of coffee. "It should be good as new by the weekend. Though you still haven't explained how the tires went flat."

I shrugged, feigning innocence.

"So that means I can have my bike keys back?" I asked, already eager to reclaim my freedom since my car was temporarily out of commission.

"No," He replied without hesitation. "I don't want you roaming around the city on a bike just yet."

I scoffed, gripping my fork tighter, but before I could argue, Charlotte's voice cut in again. "What are you wearing?"

I glanced down at myself. "Are you blind? It's clothes."

My outfit consisted of a pair of denim shorts and a fitted white tank top, my long blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Ashley," My father's voice came, firm and authoritative. "Don't speak to your mother like that."

I stilled for a moment, then slowly pushed my chair back.

My mother?

Without another word, I stormed out of the dining room, my father's words echoing in my mind.

"He speaks as if she's my real mother."

She wasn't.

My biological mother passed away a few years ago. She and my father never got the chance to marry before she died, leaving behind me and my twin brother, Justin.

Eventually, my dad reconnected with Charlotte—an old college friend. A whirlwind romance later, they tied the knot and she became my stepmother.

Justin and I had been raised by Aunt Susan while our father and Charlotte traveled the world for business. But now, here I was—living under their roof while Justin had boarded out for university.

Frustrated, I walked into the living room and spotted Gracie, the housemaid, mopping the floor.

"Gracie," I said, stopping in front of her. "Hand over my bike keys."

She hesitated. "But your father said..."

I shot her a look.

"I know what he said. Now give me the damn keys."

She quickly pointed to the key holder by the wall. Without another word, I grabbed them and strode toward the garage.

Inside, rows of luxury cars gleamed under the lights—my father's prized possessions. But my eyes landed on what I really wanted.

My red bike.

I smirked, gripping the keys.

I swung my leg over my bike and fired up the engine, the deep rumble drowning out the morning quiet.

Rolling out of the garage, I pulled into the driveway, barely getting a moment of peace before Charlotte’s sharp voice cut through the air.

"Ashley, get off that rebellious thing!" She stood at the mansion doors, arms crossed, her expression a perfect blend of frustration and disapproval.

I smirked. "Or what?"

She gasped, clearly not expecting the challenge. "Or…or I’ll take away your credit card!"

I let out an incredulous laugh. "Seriously?"

Charlotte straightened, looking proud of herself, like she had just come up with the ultimate punishment.

"You know what?" I shook my head, gripping the handlebars.

"Do whatever you want. I’m almost nineteen. It’s not like I need your money." My voice hardened as the frustration I’d been holding in finally bubbled over. "Besides, you’ve already taken me away from everything that matters to me."

Her stance wavered slightly.

"Ashley, I only want what’s best for you," She said, her voice softer now as she stepped closer. "Letting you stay here was the only way."

I scoffed. "What’s best for me? You really believe that?"

She didn’t say anything, but I saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

"You tore me away from my friends, from my brother, from everything that makes me feel like myself," I continued, my chest tightening with emotion. "And don’t act like you care. You only pretend when Dad’s around."

Charlotte froze in her heels, her face paling slightly. "What…what are you talking about?"

I shook my head. "You can’t fool me with fake concern, Charlotte."

Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but no words came out. For the first time, she actually looked…hurt.

"I love you, Ashley," She whispered, blinking rapidly. "You’re like a daughter to me."

I studied her, searching for any sign of sincerity, but I wasn’t in the mood to be convinced.

Instead, I strapped on my helmet, meeting her gaze one last time. "Then prove it."

Without waiting for a response, I revved the engine and sped off through the open gates, leaving her standing there, watching me go.