Chapter 55 55.
Chapter 55 55.
Chapter 55: Ashley’s POV
The Sunday dinner invitation hung in the air like a death sentence. Jessa Bryson didn't wait for an answer; she simply turned on her heel and glided toward the executive elevators, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and absolute dread in her wake.
"We're not going," I said immediately, the words tumbling out of my mouth the second she was out of earshot. I pulled away from Marcus, my hands trembling as I pressed them against my stomach. "Marcus, I mean it. I am not going to your family estate to be interrogated by your mother."
"Ashley, calm down," Marcus said, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone he used when a crisis was spiraling out of control. He reached for my elbow, but I stepped back, shaking my head.
"Calm down? Did you see the way she looked at me? She looks at me like I’m a criminal trying to steal the Bryson fortune!" My voice was rising, drawing the attention of the remaining lobby security. I forced myself to whisper, my teeth chattering from pure adrenaline. "She knows, Marcus. She knows this isn't normal, and she is going to tear me apart."
"She won't tear anyone apart," Marcus countered, his eyes darkening as he stepped closer, effectively blocking me from view again. "Because I won't let her. But we are going to that dinner."
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "Are you insane? You're throwing me to the wolves!"
"If we refuse, it confirms her suspicions," he explained, his analytical mind already spinning a web of defense strategies. "My mother is a cynic, Ashley. If we hide you away, she will assume you’re a liability I’m trying to cover up. But if you walk through those doors by my side, acting as if you belong there, it forces her to play by high-society rules. She won't make a scene if we don't give her a reason to."
"I don't care about high-society rules!" I choked out, a hot tear finally slipping down my cheek.
I cared about Simone. I cared about Nash. I cared about the tiny life growing inside me that had absolutely nothing to do with the Bryson bloodline. Going to that dinner meant sinking deeper into the quicksand, cementing the lie in front of the most dangerous woman in the city.
Marcus looked at the tear on my cheek, and for a fraction of a second, his unshakeable facade cracked. His hand moved instinctively, his thumb catching the moisture on my skin with a gentleness that completely caught me off guard.
"Trust me," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding intensity that made my heart skip a beat. "I’ve spent my entire life managing my family. Just stay close to me, and I will handle my mother."
I looked at him, feeling entirely trapped between the Orwells' secret and the Brysons' trap. I didn't want to trust him, but as I looked around the massive, intimidating lobby of his tower, I realized I had no other choice. Like it or not, Sunday was coming, and the lions were waiting.
The drive back to my apartment was silent, the tension inside the sleek black SUV so thick it felt hard to breathe. Marcus sat beside me, his laptop open, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he dictating a flurry of encrypted emails to his PR and security teams. He was already building a fortress around Sunday.
I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the neon signs of the city blur into streaks of light. My mind kept looping back to Jessa Bryson’s face. Bring your... representative. She hadn't even called me by my name.
When the car finally pulled up to my building, the two security guards Marcus had stationed at the entrance immediately moved into position.
"I'll have the detail escort you up," Marcus said, closing his laptop with a sharp snap. He turned his head to look at me, his eyes searching my exhausted face. "Get some rest, Ashley. Don't overthink Sunday. I'm drafting a comprehensive brief on my family's dynamics so you know exactly what to expect."
"A brief?" I let out a dry, humorless laugh, turning my body to face him. "Marcus, your family isn't a corporate takeover target. You can't just spreadsheet your way out of a mother's instinct. She knows I don't belong in your world."
Marcus stared at me, his expression unreadable in the dim interior light of the vehicle. "You belong wherever I put you, Ashley."
The sheer arrogance of his words should have made me angry, but the quiet, fierce gravity in his voice just made my heart do a dangerous, erratic flip. He wasn't saying it as a boss commanding an employee; he was saying it like a man making a vow.
"Goodnight, Marcus," I whispered, opening the car door before the driver could get it for me.
"Goodnight," he replied softly.
I hurried inside, the security guards keeping a respectful distance behind me until I was safely locked inside my apartment. The silence of my living room was a relief, but the peace didn't last long.
I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water, my hand trembling slightly as I lifted the pitcher. As I stood by the counter, my phone on the table buzzed. My chest tightened. Was it Marcus? Another corporate warning from his security team?
I picked it up. It was an international number.
My breath hitched. It was a text message from Simone.
Simone: Just landed in Zurich, sweetie! Nash is fussing over the medical transport, but I'm feeling okay. How is our little prince doing? Did you manage to get some rest after the meeting at Bryson Tower? Love you so much!
A heavy, suffocating wave of guilt crashed over me, so intense I had to grip the edge of the counter to keep my knees from buckling.
Our little prince.
Simone was halfway across the world, fighting for her life, trusting me completely with the most precious thing she had left. And here I was, trapped in a billionaire's web, getting ready to parade her biological son in front of the Brysons as a corporate shield.
I stared at the glowing screen, my vision blurring with hot, stinging tears. I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't burden her with the chaos here while she was facing chemotherapy. But typing a lie felt like tearing a piece of my own soul away.
With trembling fingers, I typed back:
Ashley: He’s doing great, Simone. Entirely safe. Everything at the tower went well. Just focus on your treatment. I love you too.
I pressed send, the phone slipping from my hand onto the counter. I closed my eyes, a single thought echoing in the dark corners of my mind, terrifying and unyielding.
If I survived Jessa Bryson on Sunday, I still had to survive myself.