Chapter 8 Crying on his shoulders
Veronica's POV:
I was supposed to stay in the Ashford family’s Malibu beach house for seven days... hidden away, figuring out my entire life.
Seven days.
How ridiculous was that? How could anyone rebuild themselves in a week?
The thought felt absurd, and yet here I was.
I sighed, rubbing sunscreen along my arms before stepping barefoot onto the sand. The morning sun shimmered across the waves, golden and gentle, as if mocking how chaotic my life had become.
Far away, I was able to see a little girl, running around her father, building a sandcastle. My heart burned immediately at that sight.
While I'd been that little... things were simple. But now everything seemed difficult.
Right now, all I wanted was my father to love me. To look at me with pride instead of disappointment. To see that even though I was born a girl, I could do everything a man could—better, even. But I had no idea how to prove that.
And if I failed to impress my father... then I’d be forced to marry the man I hated.
Chase.
The name alone made my stomach twist. Memories clawed their way back—his manipulation, the way he used my body and my heart. Three years of living as his shadow, only to be seen as his personal servant.
Now, every time I closed my eyes, the past replayed like a film I couldn’t shut off.
The silence of the beach house didn’t help either.
Penny was working late all week so she couldn't call me, and the neighboring resorts were too quiet—no laughter, no music, just the endless rhythm of waves and my own thoughts gnawing at me.
The anxiety crept in slowly, squeezing my chest, making my breaths shallow. I pressed a hand against my sternum, trying to steady it, but it felt like my body wasn’t my own anymore.
Breathe, Veronica. Just breathe.
I needed to feel alive again... to remember I wasn’t just a ghost of who Chase turned me into. I was more than my pain, wasn't I?!
Then I remembered one of the maids mentioning a small beach bar nearby. Maybe there, surrounded by strangers and soft music, I could feel… normal. Or at least talk to someone who didn’t look at me with pity.
I slipped into a sun-dress, brushed my hair, and added a touch of lip gloss. For once, I didn’t want to look broken.
I wanted to look like someone who still had control.
And with that, I walked out toward the bar, the evening breeze kissing my skin.
The beach was alive that time, twilight touching the sky... music thumping, laughter spilling across the sand, waves glimmering under strings of golden lights. People were dancing, drinking, touching, and living.
And me? I had no idea how to fit in with any of them.
So I started with the bar.
“One martini, please,” I said, sliding onto a stool.
One martini turned into two. Two turned into five.
Before I knew it, I was laughing with strangers, swaying to the rhythm of a song I didn’t even know. There were attractive men in swim trunks, women in glittering bikinis, and for once, I felt like I belonged somewhere that was... wild, anonymous, free-spirited.
But freedom wasn’t enough. Not yet.
I wanted to feel alive.
So I climbed onto one of the wooden tables, barefoot and fearless, and started to dance. Music pulsed through me. People cheered, whistled, and raised their glasses. For a fleeting moment, I wasn’t Veronica Whitmore... the broken fiancée, the disappointment, the girl begging for her father’s love.
I was the center of attention. And God, that validation felt addictive.
A stranger handed me a different kind of shot from below... a clear liquid, sweet and burning. I didn’t think twice. I downed it.
But within minutes, the world started spinning. The lights blurred. The laughter faded into a low hum. I reached for balance, but my knees gave way.
Then strong arms caught me.
And everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was slipping through gauzy curtains. The familiar scent of sea breeze and linen told me I was back in the Malibu beach house. My head throbbed. My throat burned.
And someone was sitting beside the bed.
Green eyes... warm, sweet, steady, worried, too close.
Theodore Ashford.
“How did I end up here?” I rasped. “I was at the beach.”
He frowned, his jaw tightening. “The beach?... Veronica, if I’d gotten there just ten seconds later, then you would’ve woken up in a stranger’s bed. Some git gave you a spiked drink with date rape drug.”
My heart stopped. “What? My drink was spiked.”
He didn’t answer, just looked at me...
I pressed my palms against my temples as the migraine pulsed behind my eyes.
Flashes from last night came in fragments... me dancing on the bar table, strangers cheering, hands reaching toward me, voices blurring together. Men circling below, their laughter growing louder, hungrier.
And then… that drink.
Someone handed me a shot. I couldn’t remember his face. Just the burn, the dizziness, the sudden drop into nothing.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “That stranger must have really spiked my drink…”
Theo’s expression softened, his green eyes shadowed with quiet concern.
“Thank you for saving me,” I said hoarsely. “How did you even know where I was?”
He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure how much to tell me. “One of the maids called. Said you’d gone missing. I was nearby... had a meeting with a client. I came as soon as I could.”
My vision blurred again, but this time from tears. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice cracking.
Before I could stop myself, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his neck. The moment I felt the warmth of him, inhaling his scent of comfort which was solid, steady, and real—something inside me broke.
I buried my face against his shoulder and sobbed. Not graceful tears of a maiden... the kind that come from months of being too strong for too long.
Theo’s arms came around me, firm yet gentle. He held me close, his chin brushing the top of my head as he whispered, “It’s alright, Veronica… Just let it out. You’ll feel better. You don’t have to hold it in anymore.”
Listening to his voice that was low and soothing, was like hearing a sweet music... every word of his melting through my walls of misery.