Chapter 4

Lyara:

Ashworth Villa. 

Everyone in the city knew where it was. It wasn’t some fortress with armed guards and electric fences. It was an old two-story house with a wooden fence and a rose garden. Victor Ashworth lived there because he said he wanted to stay close to the people.

But should I go there? Or the police station?

The police would demand my ID. They’d demand to know why a homeless pregnant woman had a video of a murder plot. They’d lock me up for obstruction or worse.

Victor Ashworth’s villa was ten blocks away. If I ran, I could make it in a few minutes.

Run, Lyara. Run before you lose your nerve again.

I took off.

***

The Ashworth Villa looked nothing like a billionaire’s mansion.

No black iron gates. No security guards with earpieces. Just a weathered wooden fence that I could easily climb if I had to. The roses in the garden were overgrown and wild, like no one had time to trim them in months.

The front door was wide open. A man in a suit came out, talking urgently into a phone.

I pushed through the gate. It creaked loudly. I froze, listening. No one stopped me.

I sprinted up the stone path and yanked the front door open without knocking.

Big mistake.

I slammed straight into something solid. Something warm. Something that smelled like expensive cologne and morning rain.

“Whoa. Careful!”

Two strong arms caught me before I fell flat on my face.

I stumbled back, gasping, and looked up.

He was tall. At least 6’3”. Broad shoulders that filled out a black tailored suit jacket perfectly. His chest was solid muscle under the fabric, not the soft paunch of a desk executive. 

Sharp jawline. Straight nose. Dark brown hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration. And eyes, ice blue, sharp, piercing, the kind of eyes that saw right through you.

Ethan Ashworth.

Victor Ashworth’s grandson. Ashworth Group’s CFO. The man business magazines called “the Ice Prince” because he rarely smiled and he never lost.

He held me steady for two seconds before letting go like I’d burned him.

“You alright?” His voice was low. Controlled. No warmth in it at all.

I swallowed, trying to find my voice. “I—I need to see the chairman. It’s urgent. It’s about—”

“He’s not here,” he stepped around me, keys jingling in his hand. “And I’m in a hurry, so unless someone’s dying—”

“Someone is!” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “Or he’ll be if you don’t listen!”

He paused. His ice-blue eyes narrowed as he really looked at me now. Ragged hoodie. Dark circles under my eyes. Pregnant belly hidden under loose fabric.

He was assessing me like I was a security threat.

“Who are you?” He asked. Cold. Direct.

“I’m—” I opened my mouth, but the words stuck in my throat. Lyara Lane? Lia from the corner store? The woman with no address and no money? None of it felt right.

He sighed and turned toward the driveway, where a sleek black Mercedes was idling with the engine running. “I don’t have time for this.”

I watched him walk away. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt.

He’s leaving. He’s actually walking away.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I grabbed his sleeve before he could open the car door.

He stopped. He didn’t look at me. He just stared down at my hand on his jacket like it was something dirty.

“You’re Ashworth’s heir. The old man's grandson…” I muttered, my voice trembling but determined.

He glanced at me now. Slowly. Reluctantly. “Yes.”

“I can save him,” I said. The words came out in a rush, breathless. “I have evidence. I have a video. It proves he didn’t do it. It proves he was framed.”

He turned fully now. His eyes raked over me from head to toe. 

He looked at me like I was a street performer asking for change.

“You?” He said. The word was dripping with disbelief and a hint of mockery. “You want to save my grandfather?”

I nodded, breathing hard. Sweat was sticking my hoodie to my back. “Yes.”

Before he could say another word, I cut him off. My voice shook, but it didn’t break.

“If you refuse to listen to me, I’ll go away with the evidence. And whatever happens to your grandfather… it’ll be on you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

He stared at me. Really stared. Like he was trying to figure out if I was lying, or desperate, or both.

The car engine idled behind him. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter hovered over Ashworth Heights.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, woman.”

“I know a man’s life is on the line,” I shot back. My hands were trembling, but my voice was steady. “And I know I’m the only one who can prove he didn’t do it.”

His eyes dropped to my stomach for half a second. His expression flickered. Something unreadable crossed his face.

Then he stepped closer. Too close. I could smell cedar on his suit jacket.

“You think a random woman is going to stop a murder investigation?” He said quietly.

I held his gaze. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t look away.

“Listen to me,” I said. “Or watch your only relative go to prison for something he didn’t do.”

His jaw clenched. He glanced at the car, then back at me.

For a moment, I thought he’d shove me aside and drive off. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Show me the evidence...” He demanded.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers were trembling so badly that I almost dropped it on the stone path.

I opened the gallery. The video thumbnail stared back at me.

His eyes locked onto the screen.

I pressed play.