Chapter 142 Chapter One hundred and forty-one
ARA
The first time I met Sasha, I thought she was rude, entitled, and painfully condescending.
But watching her now, after everything she had endured, guilt pressed heavily against my chest.
Even after surviving the warehouse, after the bruises and the fear and the humiliation, she was back on her feet, waging war against a world that had rarely been kind to her.
Strength didn’t always look gentle. Sometimes it looked like Sasha.
“Just in case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Slade, Slade Senior and Jimmy didn’t pull in the feds and cops until they were certain they controlled every variable,” Sasha said, tapping rapidly on her tablet with her stylus, the sharp clicks filling the room.
Her posture was rigid, shoulders squared like she was standing in front of a firing squad instead of standing across the room.
“Variables like what?” Thayne asked, leaning back slightly in his chair, his tone measured but threaded with impatience.
“Fighting them back using their own modus operandi, for one,” Sasha replied without looking up. “They assumed you’d remain in the shadows to preserve your public image. But you didn’t. You stepped into the light and fought them directly.”
Thayne dragged a hand down his face before lightly slapping his forehead.
“Sasha, I think you need more rest than you claim you’ve had. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“She’s right,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Both heads turned toward me.
“See? Your wife gets it.” Sasha threw her hands up in triumph, completely forgetting the tablet balanced loosely between her fingers.
It slipped.
The device hit the floor with a dull thud that echoed louder than it should have.
Sasha froze for half a second, lips tilting sideways in mild annoyance before she bent to retrieve it, brushing imaginary dust off the screen like dignity could be wiped back into place.
“Trying to protect your mother’s image won’t work if we’re not transparent about everything,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “Jimmy is banking on being the loudest voice in the room while we scramble to hide pieces of the truth. If we keep censoring ourselves, we’re practically handing him the microphone.”
Her words lingered in the air, heavy and uncomfortable, because deep down, we all knew she wasn’t wrong.
“Ring our lawyer now. On your way out, tell Stuart to assemble a nine lined convoy to pick Nick up. Jimmy wants hell, we'll serve it hot for him.”
“All right. Bye, Ara. Pregnancy suits you.” She winked at me.
“Thank you. Remember to rest more, your boss means well for you.” I pinched Thayne's neck as I spoke.
“What did I do? I told her she needed more rest.” He whined.
Sasha chuckled as she left to carry out her orders. A minute later, we heard bickering.
“It's Sasha and Stuart again. Those two are like cat and rats.”
“I'll go check what the problem is.” I offered, squeezing his shoulder lovingly as I left.
I heard a soft moan, followed by a breathless whisper.
“Stuart… fuck.”
I should have turned back right then. I should have cleared my throat, made my presence known, done something remotely polite.
But there was a war brewing around us, chaos pressing in from every direction, and curiosity, reckless, shameless curiosity nudged my feet forward instead.
One cautious step past the corner of the corridor and the scene unfolded.
Stuart had Sasha pinned gently against the wall, one hand braced beside her head, his body angled protectively rather than aggressively. It wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t frightening.
It was… charged.
Sasha’s tablet hung loosely from her fingers at her side, forgotten, while her other hand clutched the front of Stuart’s shirt like she needed something solid to anchor herself.
Their foreheads were nearly touching.
“You’re impossible,” Stuart murmured in a low voice, strained in that way people sounded when they were losing an argument they didn’t want to win.
“And you’re insufferable,” Sasha shot back, but the bite in her tone lacked its usual venom.
“You just recovered from a terrible experience where you were tortured, and…. Sasha, the least you can do is slow down.”
Ah. So Stuart knew about her kidnap and everything that happened after. No, not just that. Stuart, the stony, military guy, liked Sasha.
“And the least you can do is stop treating me like glass.” She said in a small voice.
Silence stretched between them. It was hick, complicated, and alive with everything neither of them was brave enough to say plainly.
Stuart’s jaw flexed.
“You scare me,” he admitted quietly.
That seemed to steal the fight right out of Sasha.
Her grip on his shirt softened.
“I know,” she whispered.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The hallway lights hummed overhead, distant footsteps echoed somewhere far away, but here, in this narrow pocket of space, the world felt paused.
Stuart exhaled, his shoulders dropping as if surrendering to something inevitable.
“You drive me crazy,” he said.
Sasha’s lips curved, tired but genuine. “Right back at you.”
And that was my cue. I pivoted silently, retreating the way I came, a small smile tugging at my mouth despite everything unraveling around us.
I couldn't ruin this moment for them.
Five hours later, me, Thayne, Sasha, Stuart and our lawyer were seated in a conference-like room the hotel management provided as soon as Thayne asked for it.
“Two hours to make a decision, or Jimmy gets the court to fry Thayne. Sorry, Mr. Slade.” Sasha said, breaking into soft, tortured gasps in between her words.
Stuart was seated beside her, and his left hand was kind of moving…. Like it was…. Like he was pumping his arm.
Oh, shit. He was doing something to her.
“What decision?” Thayne asked, completely oblivious to the silent storm unfolding beneath the table.
I blinked. Then blinked again. Because Stuart’s hand was definitely moving, slow, deliberate motions hidden by the polished wooden tabletop.
Sasha’s posture was rigid, her shoulders drawn tight, breaths coming out in small, uneven bursts she was clearly trying to disguise as stress.
Oh. Oh, my God.
I dragged my gaze away before I could accidentally make eye contact with either of them and combust from second-hand embarrassment.
Focus, Ara. War. Murder. Court. Not… whatever this was.
Sasha cleared her throat, straightening slightly.
The movement earned her a brief sideways glance from Stuart, one that carried a warning, a promise, and something dangerously close to amusement.
“The decision,” she continued, voice steadier now, “is whether we go public with everything before Jimmy does.”
Our lawyer adjusted his glasses, sliding a folder across the table.
“He’s filed preliminary motions already. Character assassination, financial misconduct, conspiracy allegations. If this reaches court without preparation, it becomes a spectacle rather than a defense.”
Thayne leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
“He wants noise,” Thayne murmured. “Confusion. A battlefield where truth is just another weapon.”
“Exactly,” Sasha replied quickly, too quickly. Her knee jerked slightly against the underside of the table before she forced herself still.
“If we release evidence first, we control narrative timing, framing, and emotional impact.”
I risked another glance. Stuart looked like a statue carved out of patience and poor decisions.
Sasha looked like she was fighting for her life while simultaneously winning an argument.
I pressed my lips together.
This meeting was going to be long.
“When do we release the rape footage?” I asked quietly, pulling the conversation back to its axis.
The room sobered instantly.
“We'll release it tonight. News headlines hit harder at night.” Our lawyer said.
"Is there any chance Nick got raptured into the sky? He's not here yet." Sasha muttered.
Nick stumbled into the room, panting. He was wearing a clown costume, and his wig looked more like a bird's nest than hair.
“I ran all the way here, dressed like this, because I didn't want to be pursued.” He collapsed into the nearest chair and sighed.
“Are you waiting until we all grow old and die before you tell us exactly why you ran?” Thayne asked impatiently.
“The tape was stolen.” Nick said weakly.