All Chapters of Ashes Of His Regret : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ESMERALDA'S POV I can't leave. I know I should. Know I'm only torturing myself by staying. But my feet won't move from this spot on the sidewalk across the street from the building. I watch as more furniture is carried out. The dining table where we hosted our first dinner party. The couch where Julian proposed. The bookshelf I spent weeks organizing. All of it disappearing into trucks. My phone rings. Lila. "Where are you? I thought you were just grabbing clothes." "I'm still at the penthouse. Julian's here. With Vivienne. They're moving her in." "What? Esme, you need to leave—" "I can't." My voice cracks. "I can't leave, Lila. This is my home." "It's not your home anymore. Come back here. Please." "I will. Soon. I just..." I trail off, watching as a new delivery arrives. A crib. White and expensive and perfect. For Vivienne's baby. "I have to go," I whisper. "Esme, don't do anything—" I hang up. The sky is darkening. Hours have passed. The movers are finishing up, tru

DAMIEN'S POVI'm late for a meeting when I almost kill her.The car tears around the corner I'm going too fast, I know, but the investor presentation starts in ten minutes and I can't afford to be late—when she steps off the curb without looking.No warning. Just suddenly there, directly in my path.I slam the brakes. The car screams, tires screeching against asphalt. I swerve hard, missing her by inches.My heart hammers against my ribs."Jesus Christ," I breathe.She's frozen in the middle of the street, eyes wide, pale as death. Like she doesn't even realize she almost died.Someone's screaming a woman on the sidewalk, probably the friend who was calling to her.I should drive on. Should get to my meeting. This isn't my problem.But something makes me stop. Makes me roll down the passenger window and lean across the seat.She's still standing there, trembling. Lost.And then I see her face.Really see it.Those eyes. That bone structure. The way she holds herself even in shock.My

JULIAN'S POV"Mr. Voss, we need to discuss the document requests from your ex-wife's attorney."Richard Patterson, my lead counsel, sits across from my desk looking far too serious for what should be a non-issue."What about them?" I don't look up from the contract I'm reviewing. The Singapore expansion is taking all my attention. Esmeralda's desperate flailing is barely a blip on my radar."She's requesting access to business communications between Voss Industries and Morrison & Associates from three years ago. Specifically relating to client transfers and—""Denied." I sign the contract with a flourish. "Motion to quash or whatever you need to do. She's on a fishing expedition.""Yes, but the request is quite specific. She seems to have some preliminary evidence—""She has nothing." Now I look up, irritated. "David Morrison ran a failing company into the ground through his own incompetence. If his bitter daughter wants to blame me for his business failures, that's her problem, not m

Esmeralda's POVI stare at my reflection really look at myself for the first time in weeks and barely recognize the woman staring back.Gaunt. That's the word. My cheekbones jut out sharply, my collarbones like knife edges. The shadows under my eyes are so dark they look like bruises. My hair, even freshly washed, hangs limp and lifeless.I look like a ghost.Or maybe I am one. A ghost of the woman I used to be."You okay in there?" Lila calls from the living room."Yeah," I lie.I pull out my phone, muscle memory from checking it obsessively for messages from Julian that never come. Instead, I scroll back. Way back. To photos from before.Before Julian. Before the marriage. Before everything fell apart.There. A photo from five years ago. Me at an art gallery opening, laughing at something off-camera. My hair is longer, styled. My face is full, glowing. I'm wearing a red dress that shows confidence I don't remember having.I look alive.What happened to that woman?I know what happen

ESMERALDA'S POVI'm on the treadmill when Lila texts me.My phone buzzes on the machine's holder, and I glance down mid-stride.Don't freak out. Just hear me out. Coming home early. We need to talk.My stomach tightens. That's never good. "We need to talk" is never good.I finish my run thirty-five minutes today, a new personal best and head back to the apartment, my shirt soaked through, my mind racing through possibilities.Did something happen? Is she kicking me out? Did Julian do something new?When I walk in, Lila is sitting on the couch with her laptop open, looking simultaneously excited and nervous."What's wrong?" I ask immediately."Nothing's wrong. Sit down.""Lila—""Sit. Down." She pats the cushion beside her. "I promise it's not bad. It's just... potentially terrifying."I sit slowly, still breathing hard from the run. "You're scaring me.""The Metropolitan Museum is hosting their annual winter gala in two weeks." She turns her laptop toward me. "Black tie. A-list only.