All Chapters of Ashes Of Sterling - A Tale Of Revenge: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The table was long, white linened, and crowded with curated power. Crisp suits, crystal glasses, laughter calculated in polite increments. The Bennetts were exactly what I expected, wealthy, affable, and eager to be impressed. Derek sat at the head, speaking fluidly about vision, legacy, prestige. But every now and then, his eyes cut to me. A silent nudge. My cue. Not only did I review the project, I dound errors and even ways to improve on the architectural design. Sorry, Mr. Dawson, but I just had to put my hands in the mess. Even if it ment stealing a project. “…I know that what you first agreed with Mr.Dawson was something different but I believe that by creating transitional thresholds between the original structure and the new wing, we preserve the building’s historical narrative while still allowing for the glass installation to feel organic, rather than imposed,” I explained, one hand delicately tracing the rim of my wine glass as I spoke. The older Bennett, Charles, nodded,

“You know…” Derek said under his breath as he reached for his water, eyes glinting with mock betrayal, “when you said spicy… I wasn’t imagining melting my tongue off.” I laughed, nearly choking on my own bite as I set my taco down, covering my mouth with one hand. The spice was real, molten lava disguised as salsa roja but the burn was worth the look on his face. “Hey,” I said, catching my breath and waving toward his glass, “you picked the place. This must be some true to core Mexican chef, because I’m pretty sure my face matches my red dress right now.” He glanced at me, then did a double take. Not at the joke, at the dress. “Not a complaint,” he said quickly, grinning. “Just an observation.” I rolled my eyes and sipped my water, letting the coolness fight off the fire still curling on my tongue. Derek looked me up and down with mock scrutiny, then raised an eyebrow. “It’s not just me, right? You’re dying too?” “Absolutely,” I said. “But I’m handling it with more grace than you.”

He bent his head, brushing his lips over mine so gently it almost didn’t count as a kiss, something inside me lit. He didn’t pull away immediately. He just rested his forehead against mine, both of us suspended in that impossible moment where nothing else mattered. No Jack. No world. Just the warmth of his breath, the weight of his attention, the slow, dangerous burn of being seen. Because as close as he was, as much as he surrounded me, I saw past all of it, past the designer suit, the smirk that had probably undone a hundred women before me, the magazine covers, the family name whispered through cocktail conversations and boardrooms. His heartbeat wasn't reckless. It was steady. Controlled. Lonely. He looked like a man used to being wanted, not known.And I saw it then. In the pause between his breath and mine, in the way his fingers, still linked with mine, curled just slightly tighter as if he didn’t want me to let go, I saw the flicker of something raw beneath all the confidence.

Derek’s hands felt too good on my body. It’s like they were made for this,for holding my waist, skimming the dip of my back, tracing lazy circles against my spine like he already knew how I liked to be touched. Like his skin remembered mine from a life I never agreed to live. Every time he reached for me, something inside me twisted. Not in fear. Not in dread. In want. That hot, terrible kind of want that curls low in your stomach and steals your breath. His fingers didn’t wander aimlessly, they belonged. As if no matter where he placed them, they fit in like a perfect peace of a fucking puzzle.My brain? My brain hates him. Hates his last name, hates family, but my body…My body lights up under his touch like it’s waiting for a spark only he can deliver. And I hate that more than anything. Because I’m not supposed to want this. I’m not supposed to want him. And the worst part? The more I tell myself it’s just strategy, just chemistry, just part of the game, I start to wonder if I’m the

I mean, I should feel relieved. Lucas’s support, his approval, was supposed to be a win. A major one. It opened doors most people in this company would kill to even knock on. It meant the Ashford patriarch, the puppet master himself, was easing my way into their inner circle. Into their family. And yet… something was eating at me. Like I was staring straight at something important, but my eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to see it. A shape in the fog. A warning in the silence. I stood at the window of my office, watching the city shimmer beneath the late morning light, pretending like the view could ground me. But my thoughts kept twisting inward, dragging me back to that office, his eyes, the way he said if or when you decide to become a part of my family. I knew when I stepped onto this path that none of this was going to be easy. That breaking into a dynasty like theirs would require precision, patience, and more nerve than most people could stomach. But I thought I had it all mapped o