Chapter 6

Katherine fixed her disheveled hair, took a deep breath, and yanked open the front door. Standing outside was Lucas, dressed in casual clothing and holding a paper bag in his hand.

"Morning, Katherine." He flashed her the polished smile of a pop idol, waving the bag in his hand.

"I heard you say yesterday that Asher walked out, and I figured you'd be starving when you woke up. So, I walked three blocks to get these burritos for you. Have some before they get cold."

The morning temper Katherine was about to blow was swallowed back down. But as the hot steam wafted from the bag, the greasy smell of fried meat and cheap cooking oil hit her face and churned her stomach.

Before, the breakfasts Asher prepared were always beautifully plated, low-fat meals, with even the fruit juice temperature chilled down to the right degree.

She had quit eating greasy takeout food like this years ago. But looking at Lucas's puppy-dog eyes, she suppressed her nausea and took the bag. "Thanks, Lucas. That was sweet of you."

Lucas stepped inside, casually glancing at the wrecked kitchen and messy living room. A flash of glee glinted in his eyes, though his voice feigned shock.

"Oh my gosh, why is the place such a disaster? Honestly, Asher shouldn't have thrown a tantrum and ditched you like this."

He sighed, stepping beside Katherine and gently patting her shoulder. "Don't be too hard on him. Some guys just haven't grown up yet. Unlike me, I've had to take care of myself since I was a kid. A little housework is nothing to me."

Every word was calculated, subtly putting Asher down while making himself look considerate and dependable. He was practically oozing manipulation. Yet Katherine entirely missed the subtext.

Her face darkened instantly as she agreed with his point.

Asher was already 27 years old. Even though he was three years younger than her, when she was his age, she was already demolishing rivals in the business world.

How could he still be this childish? All over some fragile pride, he had left the house in a mess. Even Lucas, who wasn't in good health, knew to check on her. And Asher?

"Don't bring him up," she said dismissively, tossing the grease-stained paper bag onto the coffee table. "His life has just been too comfortable. He's bored out of his mind and throwing a ridiculous fit."

Lucas's eyes swiveled, and he probed, "So, where is Asher staying right now? He doesn't have any money on him, and living costs in Grimildale are so high. What if..."

"Let him starve to death for all I care!" Katherine gritted her teeth. "He wants to play tough? I'll snap his wings and see how far he can get."

With that, she dialed Jessica again, her tone frigid. "Find out where Asher is right now. Put someone on him and update me with his every move. I'd like to see just how long he can last out there without a penny to his name."

Lucas watched Katherine's stunning yet icy face, an imperceptible smirk playing at his lips.

...

At noon, the scorching heat waves rolled across the pavement.

This was the underbelly of the city. The asphalt softened under the intense sun, massive tower cranes spun overhead, and the roar of cement mixers echoed like snarling beasts, deafening to the ears.

Asher stood before a battered wooden sign.

Written across it in crooked red paint was a single line: [HELP WANTED, GENERAL LABOR, $150/DAY, PAID DAILY]

Five years ago, as a top graduate from Grimildale University, he wouldn't have spared it a second glance. Yesterday, dressed in a tailor-made loungewear, he would have scoffed at the dust clogging his lungs. But now, he was a broke nobody with barely 40 dollars to his name.

"Looking for work?" The foreman was a burly, beefy man who eyed him suspiciously.

Though Asher's clothes were a bit wrinkled, his skin was pale, and his fingers were long and slender. He was clearly someone who belonged behind a desk.

"Yeah," Asher replied curtly.

"For the record, that's cement dust over there, not powdered sugar. If you can't take it, don't complain later," the foreman warned, tossing over a sweat-stained set of work overalls and a yellow hard hat.

"Go haul bricks. Unload those two pallets over by the hoist."

Asher didn't mince words, nor did he so much as bat an eyelid. He quickly stepped into the shed to change and pull on the gloves, the lingering stench of dried sweat wrapping around him instantly.

"Get moving!" The foreman shouted at Asher as soon as he changed.

Gritting his teeth, Asher bent down and hauled up a stack of bricks.

Even through the gloves, the rough surfaces scraped against the tender skin of his palms, shooting sharp, burning pain straight through his nerves.

In the five years he had spent in the Spears household, the heaviest thing he had ever carried was Katherine when she was drunk out of her mind.

Back then, he had held her with utmost care, terrified of bumping or hurting her. Now, held in his arms were cold, hard bricks.

Heavy, filthy, but grounding.

All afternoon, he worked as if venting every drop of resentment accumulated over the past five years. Sweat stung his eyes, and the skin on his shoulders chafed raw, burning like fire.

"Watch out!" someone suddenly yelled nearby.

A wheelbarrow packed with gravel tipped over, veering straight toward him. Asher instinctively tried to dodge, but hours of hard labor slowed his reaction by half a second.

The rusted metal rim of the wheelbarrow gouged deep into his shin, blood instantly soaking through his pant leg.

"What are you doing? Trying to pull a scam?" the foreman swore, jogging over.

The surrounding workers paused their work, their eyes filled with pity or numb curiosity. Yet Asher didn't even grunt, just glancing down at the gash that was about two inches long.

He pulled a roll of black electrical tape from his pocket, folded a scrap of cloth over the wound, and wrapped it tightly to slow the bleeding.

His movements were swift and merciless, as if the leg belonged to someone else.

"I'm fine. I can keep working." He stood up, his face pale as paper, but his eyes burned with terrifying intensity.

The foreman froze, muttering under his breath, "Damn, what a beast!"

...

Dusk arrived, the setting sun painting the sky blood-red.

"Here's your $150," the foreman said, counting out a few crumpled bills.

Pausing for a second, he tossed over a bottle of iced water. "Take it. Normally, only guys who start in the morning get the full pay, and you show up at noon. But you got hurt today, so take the change and get yourself checked at a clinic."

Asher accepted it with both hands. "Thank you."

This was the first hard-earned money he had made through labor in five years. No handouts from Katherine—it was clean, honest, and heavy in his palm.

Uncapping the water, he threw his head back and gulped down half the bottle, grinning widely. His flash of white teeth stood out glaringly against his dirt-streaked face.

...

Night fell over the old apartment building.

On a chipped folding table sat a bag of spicy jerky, a small plate of roasted peanuts, and a cheap bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey.

Asher sat shirtless, cheap pain-relief patches slapped across his raw shoulders, with a rough roll of bandage wrapped around his injured leg.

He poured a full glass of whiskey and clinked it lightly against the empty air.

"To a new life!"

The harsh alcohol scorched down his throat, burning like a streak of fire straight into his stomach, bringing a sting of heat to his eyes.

"Damn, this feels good!"

It tasted even better than those expensive Lafite sitting in the Spears family's wine cellar. This was what freedom tasted like.

...

At Skyline, a landmark three-star Michelin restaurant downtown, a violinist played a soothing serenade as expensive perfume and the rich aroma of vintage wine filled the air.

Katherine was slicing her Beef Wellington with elegant grace, though an undeniable irritation clouded her delicate features.

Sitting opposite her was Lucas in designer couture, whispering sweet nothings into his livestream camera to maintain his gentle, aristocratic persona, occasionally throwing finger-hearts to his viewers.

Katherine's phone vibrated with a text message from Jessica.

[We found him, Ma'am. He's working as a day laborer at a construction site on the West Side.]

Attached right below was a candid photo. The image was slightly grainy, but she would recognize him even if he turned to ash.

Asher was wearing filthy, grease-covered work overalls, crouching by a gravelly roadside while chewing on a stale piece of bread. His face was streaked with dirt and soot, and the hands that had once only ever cooked fine meals were now packed with grime under the fingernails.

She could even see dark red blood soaking through his pants leg.

The silver cutlery slipped from her fingers, striking the plate with a sharp clash that drew attention from neighboring diners.

Her heart skipped a violent beat, her pupils shrinking sharply.

"How could this be? He would rather break his back at a construction site than come home, swallow his pride, and apologize?"

An inexplicable, bitter sting rushed straight up her nose, instantly followed by overwhelming rage and a sliver of terrifying panic at being abandoned.

"Katherine, what's wrong?" Lucas ended his stream, reaching across the table with concern.

Katherine paid him no mind as she stood up, snatching her purse. "We're done here."

Speeding toward the exit, she dialed her driver. Her voice quivered with an urgency and loss of control she didn't even realize was there.

"Get the car ready!" She barked into the phone. "We're going to the West Side! To Asher's old apartment! Now!"