Chapter 236

Chapter 236
Emily's POV

I led Stefan away from that guy, keeping my hand light on his arm. My peripheral vision caught the man still bent at the waist, frozen in that awkward bow.

He was scared shitless. Stefan's rules in this circle really were that strict.

We passed a few tables of guests. I kept my expression pleasant, but my ears were sharp.

"...talking business with Ashford is fine, but the approach has to be clean. Sending women? That's a death sentence."

I nearly stumbled. Someone actually said that out loud?

Another voice, lower: "Ashford never drinks or smokes at these events. Always home before nine. His wife must have him on a tight leash."

My chest tightened. They all thought I was the one controlling him. That I was some kind of... what? Demanding wife who monitored his every move?

The thing was—it was all performance. We'd rehearsed this together.

Stefan's hand found my waist, steering me toward a cluster of important-looking people in dark suits. He exchanged brief pleasantries, his voice flat and professional. Then his eyes cut to mine. Just for a second.

I knew that look. He wanted out.

God, he's exhausted. These past few months with the campaign have been brutal.

I turned to the host with my warmest smile. "Thank you so much for a wonderful evening. Unfortunately, we need to head out."

The older woman's face fell slightly, but she recovered quickly. "Of course, Mrs. Ashford. We completely understand."

As a candidate's wife, I had to nail these moments. Polite but firm. Warm but not desperate to please.

Stefan's hand tightened on my waist as we moved toward the exit. I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

The cold hit us the second we stepped outside the hotel. Wind whipped snow into my face, and I gasped.

Stefan was already shrugging out of his wool overcoat. He draped it over my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. The fabric still held his body heat from inside.

Snowflakes landed on my shoulders, melting instantly. A valet hurried over with an umbrella, shielding us from the worst of it.

"The car's ready, Mr. Ashford," someone called.

I spotted Jonathan behind the wheel of the Rolls-Royce, idling at the curb. Thank God. My feet were killing me in these heels.

The inside of the car was warm. Almost too warm after the shock of cold air. I sank into the leather seat, adjusting my skirt where the wind had messed it up.

"You know," I said, keeping my voice light, "you could handle those small situations yourself. You don't always have to call me over."

Stefan didn't respond immediately. He was staring out the window at the falling snow.

I continued, "Everyone in that circle thinks you're miserable now. They're all saying I control you way too much."

The truth was more complicated. I'd never interfered with his business decisions. I just managed his diet, his sleep schedule, made sure he was taking care of himself. That was my job—the deal we'd made.

But ever since William dropped out and Stefan became the candidate, the sycophants had multiplied. And the tactics some of those socialites and actresses used? Disgusting.

He needed me to be the barrier. The scary wife who kept everyone else at arm's length.

I remembered that incident with the current governor's daughter. Stefan had been giving a speech at the State House, and that woman's eyes had been all over him. Hungry. Possessive.

That night I'd been walking by the lake when my phone rang. Stefan's voice was tight: "I'm at the Royal Restaurant. There's been a... situation with an unlawful individual."

By the time I got there, his security had the governor's daughter restrained. Stefan was fine. Completely unruffled.

But he'd pulled me into his arms anyway. "She had inappropriate intentions. I was frightened."

Bullshit. He could've handled her himself with one dismissive look.

I'd understood immediately what he wanted. He needed me to play the role—the protective Mrs. Ashford warning off anyone who tried to climb their way up through him.

And tonight? Same thing. Someone sent him a "fragrant gift," and he'd called me in to establish dominance.

It was his way of claiming me publicly while also making me feel secure. Smart, actually.

The car still hadn't moved. I glanced over. Stefan was looking out the window, but the streetlights kept shifting across his face. He seemed... far away.

He'd been quiet for too long.

Then he turned, and his voice came out low and rough: "Have you found a sense of belonging in all these campaign events?"

My breath caught.

I studied his face in the dim light. The tight set of his jaw. The way his hands gripped his knees.

This isn't about the campaign.

"What are you talking about?" I asked carefully.

"I think you love this work more than I do." His throat worked. "You're incredibly enthusiastic about it."

Oh God. He's scared.

It hit me then—what this was really about. The medical report. The diagnosis that had shattered something fundamental in him.

He thinks I'm throwing myself into the campaign to avoid him. To avoid dealing with... us. With what we can't have.

My chest ached.

He's afraid I'll leave him. That I'll decide he's not enough anymore. That this "failure" of his body makes him incomplete.

"Stefan—"

"I know I've been..." He stopped, his voice rough. "Distracted. With everything happening. And you've been handling so much on your own."

He's apologizing. For something that's not his fault.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and shifted across the seat. His eyes widened slightly as I climbed onto his lap, my dress bunching up around my thighs.

"Emily—"

I cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to look at me.

"Listen to me," I said quietly. "Don't you remember? When we came to Washington, the whole point was for you to become a senator. And for me to become a senator's wife. That was our goal."

His hands came up to my waist automatically, but uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

I leaned in closer, making sure he couldn't look away.

"Stefan. Everything I do—all of it—is for you. For us."

"But—"

"No." I pressed my thumb gently against his lips. "Whatever you're thinking right now—whatever you're afraid of—you're wrong."

His jaw clenched under my palm. I could feel the tension radiating through his entire body.

"That medical report," I whispered. "That diagnosis. It doesn't change anything between us."

His eyes squeezed shut. Pain flashed across his face.

"You've been so busy with the campaign," he said hoarsely. "I thought maybe... maybe it was easier for you. Not having to think about—"

"About what we talked about? About wanting a family?"

He flinched.

"Stefan, look at me."

It took him a moment, but he did. His eyes were darker than usual, almost black in the dim light.

"I'm not avoiding you," I said firmly. "I'm not running from this. I'm building something with you—for you. This campaign, this life we're creating together. It's all for us."

"Even if I can't give you—"

"Stop." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Don't finish that sentence."

I shifted closer, eliminating any space between us.

"After you're elected," I continued, softer now, "these obligations will decrease significantly. We'll have our normal life back. And then we'll figure everything else out. Together."

"Emily..."

"I mean it." I rested my forehead against his. "Adoption. Surrogacy. IVF. Whatever path makes sense for us—we'll explore it. But right now, the only thing I need is you."

His arms tightened around my waist almost convulsively. He buried his face against my neck, and I felt him shudder.

"I'm sorry," he muttered against my skin. "I just... I see you working so hard, and I wonder if—"

"If I'm compensating for your perceived inadequacy?" I pulled back to look at him. "Stefan. You're not inadequate. You're the person I chose. The person I keep choosing."

His throat worked. For a moment, I thought he might cry.

Instead, he kissed me. Hard and desperate and full of things he couldn't say.

I responded with everything I had, pouring reassurance and certainty into the kiss. Trying to make him understand: I'm here. I'm staying. Nothing changes that.