Chapter 53

ASHER

I found myself waking up in the afternoon, having unintentionally dozed off in the armchair I had pulled up to the window to watch the sunrise. The girls were whispering in the kitchen behind me, and even though I was awake, I stayed still for the first few minutes, eavesdropping on their conversation as they prepared a salad and grilled chicken for lunch.

They chatted about everything and nothing at all. Maddison was the one who initiated the conversation, and she also played the role of peacemaker among the other two, gently coaxing them into discussing how I had been treating them.

I was pleased to hear that I had been both welcoming and respectful. Eb said I was welcoming, and Addison confirmed I was respectful.

But that only brought back memories of last night. Eb shouldn’t have come to my room, but I should have put a stop to things the moment she sat on my bed.

I’m the adult here; I’m the one who knows right from wrong. I never paid her for her body.

I paid to give her a break. I wanted to help her and Addison escape from the recent horrors they had experienced.

But somehow, the roles had reversed, and it seemed like I had exploited Eb in a way no sixteen-year-old should ever be exploited, especially in her condition. She wasn’t in her right mind; she was recovering from what was probably the worst addiction she could have.

And that’s why I was disgusted with myself. I was taken by surprise when Maddison approached me with a bowl of salad and shredded chicken.

“Lunch before work?” she asked, as if she had known I was awake all along.

Clearing my throat, I thanked her, taking the bowl carefully to avoid any contact.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

She smiled and left as quickly as she had come, and I watched her reflection as the three of them gathered at my dining table to have lunch.

I ate my meal, enjoying the food as much as one can enjoy a salad. And I noticed that Eb didn’t eat a single leaf; she just pushed the food around in her bowl with a slightly trembling hand.

I guess the real withdrawal symptoms had truly begun, and the sight of it made me feel inadequately comforted, but I couldn’t enable her use of a drug that would ruin her. And that’s why we’re stopping the drugs too—tit for tat, you know?

Once I finished my lunch, I stood up, drawing all eyes to me. It was awkward, to say the least, as I walked past the table into the kitchen to rinse my bowl under the tap before placing it in the dishwasher.

Three pairs of eyes followed me the entire time, the sound of running water filling the awkward silence. I almost lost my temper and asked what the fuck they wanted, but I managed to keep my anger in check, finished my task, and prepared to leave the apartment.

It was only when I was opening the apartment door that Maddison rushed after me, slipping through the door to stand with me in the hallway.

“What?” I snapped, rudely.

“Your fridge is a little empty. Would you like me to do the groceries?” she asked timidly, as if she felt the question was inappropriate.

“Oh. Uh, no. I’ll do them on the way home,” I stammered, looking at her as she glanced at the elevator.

“Okay. Ebony’s lactose intolerant…” she informed me.

Ebony, of course. Why hadn’t I figured that out already?

“Any other demands?” I asked casually.

“Nooo.” She drew out the word as if she were considering saying something else but didn’t have the courage to say it.

I waited a few minutes, staring at her in silence as she stared back at me, but she said nothing more, so I nodded silently before walking off. She was still standing outside my apartment door when I entered the elevator, leading to a few tense seconds of intense staring as the doors closed.

You know, the kind of staring that would be in a movie where two quarreling lovers communicate through tense silence until they are ready to fuck and make up. Yeah, it felt exactly like that, yet we weren’t lovers, and we hadn’t exactly fought, either.

And that thought disturbed me—disturbed me just as much as last night’s encounter with Ebony. Ebony, what a beautiful name.

Much better than Eb, and it suited her. But it wouldn’t be polite to start using that as her nickname when she hadn’t introduced herself that way.

Ha, who am I kidding?

Maddison has often asked me to call her Hope. But I can’t bring myself to play along with her charade—to feed into this illusion she’s created of a good life.

The elevator doors slide open, pulling me out of my thoughts. The lobby is a hive of activity.

Guests are checking out, others are checking in. Some are heading for breakfast, while a few are returning from the gym or spa, making their way toward the elevator I’ve just stepped out of.

My father’s empire is humming along as it always does.

Atty is at the front desk, engaged in a lively conversation with a guest. I can’t help but admire my brother’s ability to be so outgoing here, when he’s so reserved at home and in public.

He loves his job here. It gives him a sense of belonging—something he craves.

I make my way to the restaurant and order a sandwich to go. It’s only a few minutes before the waitress returns with my order in a bag.

Her smiles are meant just for me. I thank her as I take the bag and head back to the elevator, ready to go down to my car.

But when the elevator doors open, I’m met with a sight I was hoping to avoid.

I guess I wasn’t imagining things earlier…

Fennick is leaning against my car, phone pressed to his ear, talking loudly about a new shipment.

I shudder to think what that shipment might contain, and I dread the fact that it’s arriving tonight.

I don’t want this information, nor do I want a reason to go to Sanctum to find out what—or who—he’s brought.

His conversation comes to an abrupt end when he spots me. His eyes light up like Christmas lights as he ends his call.

“Asher,” he greets me with a grin. “How are my girls?”

I frown, his earlier words about visiting them at the club once a week echoing in my mind.

Shit, I forgot about that promise in the first week.

“They’re great, actually. So great that we’ve lost track of time in the bliss of my apartment,” I lie.

“Come, get in my car, boy. We have some talking to do,” he says, gesturing to a sleek, black car with heavily tinted windows parked in my dad’s—Tyler’s—spot.

I want to decline, to tell him I’m too busy. But I know that would only make things worse, and I’m not sure who I’m dealing with here.

“All right then,” I say, walking toward his car while I still have the option to choose.