The days passed by, and Ashton gradually recovered from his injuries. However, as his body healed, he seemed to drown himself even deeper in work. Late nights in his study, endless calls, and documents scattered across his desk became his new routine. Vivie watched as he exhausted himself, a deep worry settling in her chest.

One evening, she stepped into his office, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. The dim glow of the desk lamp cast a soft shadow over his face as he stared at his laptop, his fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. She walked towards him hesitantly, placing the coffee cup down beside him. “You should get some rest,” she murmured softly, hoping he would listen.

Ashton didn’t even glance at her. He only gave a short nod, his focus still on the screen. A pang of disappointment shot through her, and she let out a small sigh, turning to leave. But before she could take a single step away, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. A startled gasp left her lips as she found herself sitting on his lap, her hands bracing against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton murmured against her temple. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

She wanted to stay mad, to push him away, but the way his lips brushed against her skin, the warmth of his embrace—it was impossible. “You always do this,” she huffed, crossing her arms in faux defiance.

He smirked, his fingers tracing slow circles on her waist. “I know. But you always forgive me, don’t you?”

Before she could protest, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Her anger melted away almost instantly, and she sighed into his touch. Ashton deepened the kiss for a moment before pulling back, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

He continued working, his one arm still wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. Vivie, now bored, absentmindedly let her fingers trail along the column of his throat, tracing over his Adam’s apple. The way it bobbed under her touch fascinated her. She did it again, watching as his jaw tensed slightly.

Ashton caught her wandering fingers, his grip tightening around them. His voice was low, husky. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.”

Her face flamed at the insinuation hidden behind his words. She quickly withdrew her hand, mumbling under her breath as she rested her head against his chest. It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her.

Ashton worked in silence, occasionally glancing down at her peaceful face. Once he was done, he scooped her up effortlessly, carrying her to their room. He placed her gently on the bed, tucking the blankets around her before slipping in beside her. His arms wrapped protectively around her waist as he pulled her close, inhaling her familiar scent before closing his eyes.

The next morning, Vivie woke up to an empty bed. A small frown creased her forehead as she reached for her phone. A single message from Ashton stared back at her: Left early for important work. Don’t skip breakfast.

She sighed, brushing her fingers over the words before rolling out of bed. The mansion felt strangely empty without him. She wandered aimlessly, reading books, talking to the maids—one maid in particular, Clara, who was like a mother figure to her.

As days passed, Ashton’s wounds healed, but the scars left behind were deeper than just the physical ones. He buried himself in work, staying out late, rarely speaking. Vivie noticed, and every night, as she sat beside an empty chair at dinner or lay in bed alone, the distance between them felt insurmountable.

One evening, after another failed attempt to get him to sleep early, she placed a fresh cup of coffee beside him on his desk. When he only nodded in response, she sighed in disappointment and turned to leave. But he caught her wrist, pulling her onto his lap once more.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again.

She frowned. “Stop apologizing if you’re not going to change.”

This time, he kissed her. A soft, needy kiss that made her forget everything for a moment. As she melted into him, her fingers trailed over his neck, feeling the tension there. But then, his grip on her waist tightened.

“I need to know,” he whispered. “Tell me about your past.”

Her body stiffened instantly.

“Ashton…”

“Tell me,” he demanded. “What did they do to you?”

Her heart pounded, fear curling around her throat. “Why?”

His gaze darkened. “Because I need to know who I’m going to destroy.”

Tears filled her eyes as she finally broke, whispering the painful truth of what had been done to her. And when she was done, Ashton held her close, his voice like ice as he promised, “Anyone who touches you will face hell.”