Chapter 13 Circus
Veronica's POV:
I woke up to the sound of chaos outside... overlapping voices, hurried footsteps, and the relentless clicking of cameras.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. I buried my head under the pillow, too tired to care. But the sound only grew louder like something sharp, insistent, shouting. I just couldn't sleep after that.
With a groan, I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled toward the window. And what I saw made the sleep drain out of me completely.
A crowd of reporters was gathered outside the gates of the Ashford beach house, microphones raised, cameras flashing. They were swarming the housemaids at the entrance, shouting over one another.
“Can you confirm what happened to Miss Whitmore last night?”
“Was she assaulted by the intruder?”
“Does the victim have any physical injuries?”
What the actual hell…?
The house staff looked completely overwhelmed. One of them, poor Clara, tried to keep her composure as she faced the chaos.
“Miss Whitmore isn’t here. We don't know who she is. This isn't her residency,” she insisted, her voice trembling. “Please leave.”
But the reporters pushed back, waving their press badges and notes.
“This is the right address! We have confirmation the arrest happened here last night!”
I froze. My pulse spiked.
The incident... the attack, the rescue, the cops... it had all gotten leaked.
Someone must have tipped off the media.
Dread filled my chest.
I didn’t care about the headlines or the gossip. Let them write whatever they wanted.
Judgement wasn't new to me. I’d already been judged by the world before.
But if my father found out…
No. No, no, no.
If he saw this on the news, he’d know exactly where I was hiding.
He’d send his people to drag me back home and force me to marry Chase!
I gripped the edge of the curtain, my knuckles turning white. The thought made my throat tighten.
This couldn’t be happening.
I spun around and reached for my phone on the nightstand, panic clawing at my chest. But then I froze again.
Who should I call?
Theo? He’d know what to do, he’d handle this calmly, logically.
Or Max… who would storm out there and send every reporter running with his fighting skills and fury.
“Ahh…” I groaned, pressing my palms to my temples. “Why does everything have to be so damn confusing?”
For a long moment, I just stood there, caught between two numbers on my phone... two brothers, and I was equally feeling for them.
As if the universe had finally decided to give me a break, my phone buzzed. Theo’s name flashed on the screen.
I exhaled in relief and answered immediately. “Theo....”
“Veronica,” he said, “I got the news about everything. Just don’t step outside, alright? Max is already on his way. He’ll handle the reporters.”
“Okay,” I said quietly, sinking back onto the bed.
“I’m trying to manage the narrative from here,” he continued, sounding just like comfort and sincerity. “I’ve already contacted a few media outlets. I’ll make sure your name doesn’t come out.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Thank you, Theo. Really.”
The call ended, and I sat there for a few seconds, clutching the phone. Both of them were out there... cleaning up my chaos, fighting the world for me in their own ways.
All of this just made me feel too much.
A few minutes later, I heard the roar of an engine outside and then a deep, aggressive, and unmistakably Max’s tone.
I rushed to the window.
Max was already striding toward the crowd, black sunglasses on, dressed in his usual careless attire which were ripped jeans, half-buttoned shirt, tattoos glinting under the morning light.
His mere presence made people step back.
Reporters surrounded him instantly, cameras flashing like lightning.
“Mr. Ashford!” one shouted. “Is it true you were involved in an altercation here last night?”
“Mr. Ashford, what’s your connection to Miss Whitmore?” another called.
Max ignored them at first, his jaw tight, his steps purposeful. But the crowd pressed closer, microphones shoved in his face, the crowd's voices were overlapping.
Then one reporter’s voice cut above the rest that was sharp, mocking: “So, Mr. Ashford, you’re known as the irresponsible, womanizing Ashford brother. Care to comment on that?”
From my window, where I was looking down at the scene below, I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Don’t react, don’t react…” I whispered under my breath. “Please, Max, not now.”
But of course, he reacted.
In one swift motion, Max snatched the microphone from the man’s hand. “You want a comment on my personal life?” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Here’s one.”
And then... he shoved the mic back, the force sending the reporter stumbling onto the pavement.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
“Oh God,” I muttered. “To add fuel to the already burning fire…”
The cameras were already flashing again which were capturing every angle, and every flicker of anger on his devilishly handsome face.
“What I do with my life,” Max thundered, his voice rising above the chaos, “is none of your damn business! You all will never comment on this.”
The crowd fell silent. His tone wasn’t just rage... there was something raw beneath it. Something that sounded like exhaustion… and hurt.
And at that moment, watching him from above, I realized that this wasn’t the first time he’d faced this kind of humiliation.
The world had already written his story long before he ever got the chance to tell it himself.
Perhaps that was why he was showing off anger, he was just too tired of people judging him for who he was.
Just then, another car pulled up—
He stepped out, looking as smart and handsome as always, and his composure cutting cleanly through the chaos.
“Everybody,” Theo said, his tone calm but commanding, “take a step back and leave the premises. This is private property. If you don’t clear out in the next sixty seconds, I’ll have the police handle it.”
His words carried quiet authority that was not loud, but powerful enough to make several reporters lower their cameras.
But the one Max had shoved earlier wasn’t ready to back down. Still holding his bruised pride, and probably smelling a sensational story to publish as a drama, he straightened his jacket and snapped, “Not so fast, Mr. Ashford. We’ll be filing charges against your brother, Maximilian Ashford, for physical assault.”
Max’s jaw tightened. His icy-blue eyes darkened, and his expression shifted into something almost predatory.
“Oh, really?” he said, his voice low, dangerous. He took a slow step forward, his arched brows furrowing like a devil about to strike. “You want to play that game? Go ahead. But be ready for the consequences.”
The reporter stumbled back a little.
Meanwhile, Theo went closer to him. “Max…” he said. “You really have a talent for turning every situation into a circus, don’t you?”
Max smirked, glancing sideways at his brother. “What can I say? The crowd loves me.”
Theo shot him a look... the kind that said we’ll talk later... before turning back to the reporters, his tone crisp and decisive.