Chapter 11 Fighting with Max
Veronica's POV:
An hour later Theo had to leave. “Client in Malibu,” he said, apologetic and businesslike. He kissed my forehead as he stood. “Text me if you need anything. Don’t stay up too late.” Then he was gone, and there was only quietness around me.
Working alone suddenly felt harder. The prototype still needed polishing; the rendering stalled on my screen, a spinning icon that mocked me. If I could just finish this one build, I told myself, I could log off and breathe.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the tension from my neck, when sudden, pounding party music erupted from downstairs, shaking the entire beach house that was quiet before.
“What the hell…?” I muttered, pushing myself up.
As I looked down the railing, I froze. There was a party happening in the living room downstairs. And right in the center of it—was Maximilian Ashford.
Max was shirtless, revealing all of his tattoos which were intricate designs that run across his sculpted chest and curled down his back, dark and sinuous, as if each mark had its own story. Around him, girls laughed and reached for him, their attention was feeding the easy arrogance in his grin. He held one of them close, his hand settled low on her waist, his laughter was loud and careless.
I let out a sigh, shaking my head in disbelief. How could these two brothers be so completely different?
Theo was smart, sweet... every movement thought through. While Max was chaotic and reckless. Fire to Theo’s calm water.
I went back inside to continue my work. But the music was too loud, making concentration impossible.
That was it. I was going to shut that bastard down.
“Knock it off, I’m working upstairs!” I called down to Maximilian Ashford, who stood shirtless in the middle of the chaos, his mouth still on some girl’s lips.
Max turned at the sound of my voice, his blue eyes catching the light... glinting with pure mischief. “Veronica… darling…” he drawled, a slow smile curving across his face, looking as if devil's reincarnation.
Before I could react, he strode toward me and pulled me into a sudden embrace, my chest collided over his bare body. The heat of his bare skin made me shiver, and I pushed against his chest instinctively.
“Please,” he murmured close to my ear, his breath grazing my neck, “play along.”
Then, louder, for the room to hear: “Finally, you’ve come to join the party, my darling.”
The girl he’d been kissing turned around, anger flashing in her eyes. “Who the hell is she?” she demanded.
Max ran a hand lazily through his dark hair, the ink on his pale skin shifting with the movement, each tattoo catching the gleam of the lights. His grin widened. “She’s… kinda my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? What the hell was he playing at?
The girl’s face twisted in shock. “I should’ve known you’re a bad boy,” she snapped, before throwing her drink at Max.
The liquid splashed across his chest and dripped down his tattoos, glistening in the light.
A few people turned to look... then just as quickly went back to their drinks and laughter, as if this was just another Max Ashford special.
I stood frozen for a second, equal parts stunned and disgusted.
Max only chuckled, running a hand through his wet hair, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Thank you for the save, Veronica,” he said with a grin. “I was trying to get rid of her anyway. You gave me the perfect out.”
He grabbed a bottle from the counter and held it up toward me. “Drink? You’ve earned it.” He winked, his long lashes catching the light like he knew the effect he had on people.
God, what a jackass.
Not only had he disrupted my work, but he’d used me to dump that poor girl… and now he was flirting with me?
I let out a humorless laugh. “Do you seriously think I’d get involved with you after what you just pulled? You humiliated her, Max. In front of everyone. Poor girl, I feel bad for her."
“Poor girl?” he echoed, a smirk devilishly. “You don’t know Isla. She’s already engaged to some corporate big shot—only chasing me because I’m a better option. Trust me, she’ll be fine. That one knows how to land on her feet.”
He leaned against the counter, his tattoos shifting across his skin as he moved. “And for the record,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “I’m not the ‘typical bad boy’ you think I am. I’ve had real relationships—a few serious ones, actually. Not every woman’s been a fling.”
I met his gaze, searching for a trace of truth, but all I saw was charm—practiced, effortless charm. The kind that had probably fooled a hundred women before me.
“Sure,” I said flatly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He smiled again, a small, knowing curve of his lips that only made me angrier.
“Just stay away from me,” I said sharply. “And lower the damn music.”
Without waiting for a reply, I turned and stormed toward the kitchen. The laughter, the music, the smell of alcohol—it all felt suffocating.
I grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water, and took a long sip, trying to cool the fire still burning in my chest.
Just as I lifted the glass to my lips, I heard footsteps behind me.
Assuming it was Max coming to pester me again, I didn’t even turn before snapping, “You — I told you to stay away from me—”
But when I spun around, the words caught in my throat.
It wasn’t Max.
The man standing there wasn’t smiling, wasn’t familiar in a comforting way... yet something about his face clawed at my memory. Sharp jaw, small scar near his lip, eyes I’d seen before…
And then it hit me.
He was the stranger from the beach bar. The one who’d handed me that drink. The one who had spiked it.
“You,” I hissed, my voice trembling. “How dare you spike my drink? I’m calling the police.”
He only smirked, his expression cold and cruel. “I dare you to do that, sweetheart.”
Before I could react, his hand shot out... gripping my wrist with terrifying strength.
“Let go of me!” I struggled against him, but he yanked me toward the back door of the kitchen, the one that led straight out to the private beach. The glass in my hand shattered as it slipped from my fingers.
“Please,” I gasped, panic flooding through me. “Okay, fine, I won’t call the cops. Just let me go.”
He leaned close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath, his smirk widening. “How can I let you go, sweetheart? You danced like that, showing off yourself, made me crazy... and now you think you can just disappear?”
The words made my stomach turn.
I tried to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong... dragging me farther outside, the sand cold beneath my bare feet, the sound of the waves drowning out my voice as I screamed, “Let me go!”
“Help—! Somebody help!” I screamed, my voice raw as his hands moved over me. Panic slammed through my chest like ice.
“I can’t stop thinking about you since that night,” the man said, his words crawling over my skin. I felt bile rise. “No—please, don’t hurt me. Please—” I begged, the sound coming out smaller than I felt capable of making. I’d never pleaded like this in my entire life.
A new voice cut through the noise, deep and cold as ocean water. “He won’t let you go if you keep on pleading with him.”
I turned and saw Max standing in the doorway, eyes hard and furious, every inch of his posture coiled like an animal ready to strike. The stranger’s grip tightened for a second... then faded as Max stepped closer, jaw clenched.
“Ball your fists and smack him in the face, Veronica,” Max growled. There was no teasing in him now... only command and intensity.
I was no fighter.
I never had been.
All my life, I’d taken the hits — from bullies in school, from my father’s words, from Chase’s cruelty. I had always endured, never resisted.
But something about Max’s voice — that raw, commanding tone, and the fierce fire in his eyes — seemed to awaken something buried deep within me.
“Ball your fists,” he’d said again. “Hit him.”
And for the first time in my life… I did.
My fist connected with the stranger’s jaw, hard enough to send pain shooting up my arm. He stumbled backward, eyes wide in shock.
“You... you bitch!” he spat, clutching his face.
“Well done, Veronica!” Max’s voice cut through the chaos, rough but proud. “Now step back.”
Before I could breathe, Max lunged at him. Then they both engaged into a fist fight, fast and brutal. The stranger tried to block, but Max was faster, sharper... every movement precise and fueled by rage.
Then, in one desperate motion, the man pulled a small pocket-knife from his jacket.
“Max!” I screamed.
Max turned just in time, but the blade grazed his arm, leaving a thin line of red before he twisted the man’s wrist, yanked the knife away, and slammed him to the sand.
It was over in seconds. The stranger groaned in defeat, and Max, breathing hard, pulled out his phone. “This is Maximilian Ashford,” he barked into it. “Send the cops to Ashford Beach House. Now.”
Max turned to me, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath. “Are you okay, Veronica?”
For a second, I couldn’t answer. My gaze had fallen to his arm... where a small cut glistened against his skin, just beneath the intricate black of his tattoos.
“Your arm…” I whispered, reaching out before I could stop myself.
He glanced down, then back at me with that half-smile that was both sensual and tender. “It’s just a scratch.”
But when my fingers brushed his skin, a strange warmth like that of a burning fire shot through me...
Our eyes met. His blue gaze held mine with an intensity that made the world blur around us.
And in that suspended heartbeat, I knew something had shifted... inside me, and between us.