Chapter 45 45.

Chapter 45 45.
Chapter 45: Marcus POV

Ashley Martin. I don’t know what it is about her, but the moment she first walked into that boardroom as the Orwells’ representative, she started complicating my life in ways I never expected.

I’ve always had everything calculated, controlled, predictable. But her? She challenges me, argues with me, refuses to be intimidated by my name or my position—and somehow, instead of being annoyed, I find myself paying closer attention than I ever have to anyone else.

I still don’t fully understand where this concern for her and her baby is coming from. Logically, it makes no sense. I have no obligation here. She’s carrying another man’s child, and that man has clearly abandoned her. But logic has never felt quite so irrelevant as it does when it comes to her.

There is something inside me—something I can’t easily name—that makes me want to step in, to be involved in this journey that deadbeat father should be handling.

I can’t stand the thought of her dealing with the mood swings, the exhaustion, the relentless nausea all by herself. It feels wrong. Unacceptable.

I can’t stand the image of her walking into those clinics alone, sitting in waiting rooms by herself, listening to doctors explain things without anyone there to listen alongside her, to remember the details, to care.

I tell myself it’s just responsibility. That as someone who works closely with the Orwell family, it falls to me to make sure their representative—and her child—are safe and well-cared for. I tell myself it’s asset protection, as I said before. That it’s simply good business sense.

But I know the truth.

It’s more than that. It’s the way her eyes light up when she laughs, even when she’s laughing at me. It’s the way she tries so hard to act tough and independent, even when she’s clearly tired or worried. It’s the way she carries herself with so much spirit, even when the world hasn’t been kind to her.

So here I am, standing at the gate of Orwell Manor, having driven across the city just to check in—with no real business reason, no official meeting, no excuse other than the fact that I needed to see for myself that she was doing alright.

I spot her immediately, sitting in the garden with Simone. The afternoon sun catches her hair, and for a second, my breath catches before I can stop it. Then she looks up, and that familiar mix of surprise and wariness crosses her face—followed quickly by that sharp, intelligent gaze that always seems to see right through me.

I clear my throat, shoving my hands into my pockets to hide the fact that I’m more on edge than I’d like to admit.

“Ashley. Simone.”

Ashley stands slowly, one hand resting lightly on her stomach—a gesture that has become so natural to her now, and one that still tugs at something deep inside me.

“Marcus?” she asks, her tone equal parts confused and curious. “This is… unexpected. Is there a problem with the company?”

I shake my head, stepping further into the garden. “No. No problems. I was in the area, and I thought I’d stop by. See how you’re both doing.”

Simone watches me carefully, her expression knowing in a way that makes me feel slightly exposed. She smiles gently, though, and gestures toward the empty chair across from them.

“How thoughtful of you, Marcus. Please, join us.”

I sit, my eyes immediately drifting back to Ashley. She’s watching me closely, as if trying to figure out what game I’m playing this time. I don’t blame her. I’ve never been one to drop by unannounced—especially not for something as simple as checking in.

“I received the list of specialists you sent,” she says after a moment, her voice a little softer than usual. “Thank you. It was… very thorough.”

A faint sense of satisfaction settles in my chest. “Good. I wanted to make sure you had options. The best ones.”

She blinks, seeming caught off guard by the directness of it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I say simply. “But I did.”

The silence stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable—not quite. It feels like there are things left unsaid, things we’re both too careful to speak aloud.

Simone sets down her teacup, her gaze moving between the two of us with quiet understanding. “You know, Marcus, Ashley has her next prenatal appointment scheduled for the end of the week.”

My eyes flick to Ashley, and I see her send Simone a sharp look—one that Simone ignores completely.

“Is that so?” I ask, keeping my tone even, though my pulse picks up just slightly.

Ashley lets out a small, exasperated breath. “Yes. For gender ultrasound. Nothing major.”

“Still,” I say, leaning forward slightly, “it’s good to have someone there with you. To take notes, to ask questions you might forget in the moment.”

She opens her mouth, probably to argue that she’s perfectly capable of going alone—and she is, I know that—but before she can speak, I continue.

“I have a light schedule that day. I could drive you. If you’d like.”

The words hang in the air, heavier than I intended. I watch her face carefully—looking for irritation, for refusal, for anything that would tell me I’ve overstepped.

Instead, I see her hesitate, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer, something almost uncertain.

“I… I don’t know, Marcus,” she says quietly. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Think of it as a favor,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “No strings attached. Just… practicality.”

She studies me for a long moment, and I let her—let her see that I’m not asking for anything more than to be there. That I’m not looking for gratitude, or anything else. Just… to help.

Finally, she lets out a small breath, and a tiny, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Practicality. Right.” She shakes her head, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “Fine. But you’re buying the milkshake afterward. Doctor’s orders—extra calories, remember?”

A genuine smile tugs at my own lips—rare, but impossible to hide when it comes to her.

“Deal.”