146. What a Conversation

Ashley sat across from Josh in the dim glow of the late afternoon, the television flickering silently in the background, casting shifting colors across their faces. The blinds were half-closed, slicing the sunlight into golden bars that lay across the floor and furniture like ribbons of fading warmth. Their living room, usually a space of idle comfort, felt suspended in a strange, weighty stillness. There was no music, no hum of casual conversation—only the faint rustle of steam rising from the two cups of tea on the coffee table.

Josh cleared his throat. “So... how are you feeling? After the basement incident, I mean?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, both hands cradling his cup as if it could warm more than just his fingers. His voice was low, careful, but his eyes betrayed him—dark with concern, clouded by something deeper. Ashley sat back against the cushions, her legs tucked beneath her. She wrapped both hands around her own cup, its porcelain still warm against her palms. The bruises beneath her skin had faded, but the ache within remained.

She inhaled slowly, tasting the mint in the steam. “I’m... holding up,” she said. “Physically, at least.”

Josh nodded, though the motion was slow, distracted. “I’m sorry, Ash.” The words came out heavier than intended. “I’ve been stretched too thin the past few weeks. I couldn’t be there like I should have been.”

Ashley didn’t respond. She merely watched him as he fumbled with guilt and regret, letting him speak.

“I know I promised to help figure this out. To keep you safe. But between the investigation, the firm, and everything else... I couldn’t manage it. I failed.”

She studied the tension in his shoulders, the fine lines etched around his mouth. Exhaustion clung to him like dust. There was guilt in his voice, yes, but underneath it—Ashley sensed something else. Something older. A fear that had taken root long before the attack.

“These things happen,” she said gently. “We can’t always control them.”

“But I should have tried harder,” he muttered. His eyes dropped to the tea between his hands. “And now the investigation’s stalled. No suspects. No evidence. Nothing.”

Ashley tilted her head. Her gaze was firm, but not cold. “Then what’s really going on?”

Josh hesitated. His thumb rubbed the rim of his cup, as if gathering courage. Finally, he sighed. “It’s business. My business, my mother’s firm. I left the Korean branch under my grandfather’s care when I moved here.” He paused, jaw tightening. “But things fell apart. Fast. The firm is unraveling. Clients backing out. Internal audits, threats of lawsuits. And my mother’s law office? It's on the edge of collapse.”

Ashley’s spine straightened subtly. “You said everything was under control. You told me not to worry.”

“I thought it was,” he whispered. “I thought I had time.”

Outside, the sun dipped lower, bleeding soft orange into the walls. The sound of distant traffic seemed to hush, as if the city itself was leaning in to listen.

Ashley exhaled through her nose. “I knew something was wrong.”

Josh looked up, startled. “You did?”

She offered a faint, weary smile. “I know your silences too well. The way you disappear into yourself when you're cornered. I figured you were hiding something.”

His shoulders slumped further. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Too late,” she said, her voice without malice. “But I get it.”

They sat there for a moment, the words between them settling like dust.

Then Ashley spoke again, quieter. “When you say things are outside your control... are we talking about more than just business?”

Josh’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward, fingers tightening around her cup. “The control you thought you had—was it really yours? Or were you depending on others to keep the illusion alive? People, systems, influence that never really answered to you?”

Josh didn’t answer immediately. But his silence said enough.

“I told myself you were just tired,” Ashley continued. “That the distance between us was temporary. But it wasn’t just distance, was it? It was misdirection. Secrets. Deals I never saw.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. “You think I orchestrated something?”

“No,” she said. “But you let yourself believe you could fix everything by pulling strings in the background. You thought you could protect everyone that way. Even me. But that kind of control... it always comes undone.”

Josh rubbed his eyes, as if trying to wake from a long, painful dream. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“So did I,” Ashley replied. “Until the lies got louder than the truth.”

A long pause followed. The tension in the air had changed—not dissipated, but no longer sharp. There was something sorrowful in it now. Almost intimate.

Josh reached for his cup again but didn’t drink. He stared at the liquid, watching the reflection of the ceiling fan spin within it.

“My grandfather knew what was coming,” he said finally. “He warned me. Told me to stay out of the U.S. until we could clean things up quietly. But I came anyway. For you.”

Ashley blinked. “For me?”

He nodded. “I thought I could fix things here. Fix us. But instead... I made it worse.”

Ashley looked at him, her expression unreadable. Then slowly, she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Her fingers were steady, warm.

“Maybe we’re both a little broken,” she said. “But at least now we’re done pretending we’re not.”

Josh swallowed hard. The pressure in his chest threatened to crush him.

“I’m scared, Ash,” he admitted. “Not just of the firm, or the case, or whoever did this to you. I’m scared of what happens next. What happens to us.”

Ashley gave a small nod. “So am I. But that doesn’t mean we stop. It means we move forward with eyes open.”

Josh looked at her hand, then into her eyes. “Do you still believe in us?”

There was no immediate answer. Only silence. Then—a whisper.

“I believe in the truth. Let’s start there.”

Outside, the last light of day faded into night, painting the walls with twilight. The television screen glowed silently. Between them, their tea had gone cold. But something else had warmed—a fragile, tentative understanding, planted in the wreckage of everything they had once tried to control.

And it was something.

Josh froze. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. The air between them stilled, dense with a tension neither of them could ignore now.

"The control you meant," Ashley continued, her tone calm but cutting, "is something that was never on the table, wasn't it? Something... off the books. Something my parents never agreed to."

Josh lowered his gaze, his fingers tightening around the cooling cup in his hand. His silence said more than any admission.

"The only agreement," she said, voice sharper now, "was the new city, Hana. Your family received development stakes there. But the rest? Your law firm? Your mother's business? They were never part of the deal. So when you came crawling to my parents for more, they said no. Because there was nothing left to give."

Josh felt like she had just stripped him bare. Her insight cut deep because it was true—completely, damningly true. Ashley had always been observant, but this... this was surgical.

"Ashley," he murmured, finally meeting her eyes. "You're not wrong. I just didn't know how to tell you."

She gave a bitter smile. "You didn't have to. I put it together when your mother called our house crying. When your grandfather started attending board meetings he never cared about before. When suddenly, our family lawyer was being consulted on your firm’s liabilities."

Josh pressed his palms to his face. His temples throbbed. "I didn't want you to be involved in this. I didn't want this marriage to become that kind of transaction."

Ashley exhaled slowly, watching him closely. Her voice was quiet, but the weight of it crushed the air between them. "But it already did."

The silence that followed was absolute. The television flickered in the background, still muted, casting faint movements on the walls like ghosts.

Then Ashley said something that made Josh's skin crawl.

"I want to live."

Josh blinked. "What?"

Ashley sat straighter, her eyes unreadable. "I want to live. That's what I want, Josh. Not your apologies. Not your guilt. Not this back-and-forth dance where I pretend not to notice what's being done behind my back."

Josh looked shaken. "Ashley... what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she said, firm now, deliberate, "that I'll help you. I'll play my part. I'll help clean up your mess. But only if you help me stay alive."

Josh felt a cold pit open in his stomach.

"Ash... do you think I'm the one trying to hurt you?"

She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "I think I don't know anymore. And not knowing terrifies me."

His voice dropped. "You think I'd do that to you?"

"I think," she interrupted, "that you've done a lot already. Maybe not with your own hands, but by looking away when you shouldn't have. By trusting the wrong people. By not listening."

Josh stood and began pacing the room, running both hands through his hair. "Jesus, Ashley."

"Swear it," she said suddenly.

He turned to her.

"Swear to me," she said, eyes locked on his. "That you will keep me alive. That whatever happens next, you're not behind it. That you won't let anyone else hurt me again."

Josh swallowed hard. He felt like his ribs were being crushed.

"I swear," he said hoarsely. "I swear to you, Ashley, I am not behind any of this. And I will do everything in my power to protect you."

She studied him for a long moment, her gaze cutting past his words, digging deep into the trembling sincerity behind them. Then she finally nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "Then let’s begin."

Josh sat down slowly again, feeling like the floor beneath him might give way. "Begin what?"

Ashley leaned in, voice low but focused. "You have enemies, Josh. But so do I. And the only way we both make it through this is by finding out who wants me dead and why. If it’s someone from your side, you deal with them. If it’s someone from mine... I’ll handle it. But we do this together. No more secrets."

Josh nodded numbly. "Together."

For the first time in months, their marriage sounded like a partnership.

Ashley looked away briefly, drawing in a shaky breath. Her hand grazed the table surface as if searching for some tangible thread to hold on to.

"Whoever is behind this," she said slowly, "they're not done. The attack in the basement wasn't an isolated scare. They’ve been escalating. And we both know it."

Josh's jaw tightened. "I can call in favors. Private security. Intelligence. Whatever you need."

"I don’t need guards at my door," Ashley replied calmly. "I need to know if I’m sleeping next to the devil. That’s a very different kind of protection."

He winced.

"You're not," he whispered. "You never were."

Ashley stood slowly, taking her cup with her and walking to the window. The blinds had parted just slightly, revealing the last amber light of the day. From where she stood, the city looked like it was burning.

"If you're lying to me, Josh," she said without turning, "I will burn every agreement our families ever made to the ground."

He nodded solemnly. "I understand."

The room fell quiet again, the television still flickering its silent parade of meaningless images.

Ashley turned back toward him, eyes clearer now. Determined.

"Let’s find out who they are. Together. And if I even suspect you for a second, I’ll walk away. For good."

Josh swallowed hard. "You won't have to."

Ashley walked past him and out of the room, leaving behind the echo of a new beginning—tense, dangerous, but real.

And Josh remained sitting, the weight of her warning pressing against his chest like a brand.