Asher

James transformed what was supposed to be an intimate moment between Emma and me into an extravagant spectacle.

The rehearsal dinner he insisted on has unfolded like a grand circus, a parade featuring politicians, media moguls, and business tycoons strutting around as if competing in a peacock display.

Throughout dinner, a profound sense of detachment and disbelief invaded me. I could hardly muster more than a few words in the sea of pretentious small talk and forced smiles.

Amid the chaos, though, Emma stands out like a vision. Her gown, a shimmering midnight blue, hugs her like a second skin, captivating everyone in the room. Her hair, a dance of intricate curls, adds to the allure. Yet, beneath the glamour, a palpable tension lingers in her movements.

Max told me he heard James is planning to run for governor and things are finally starting to make sense. As a master puppeteer orchestrating this political performance, he's proudly parading Emma as a prized possession.

And God, she looks stunning. I can hardly believe we're getting married tomorrow. But there's something different with her today. She has always been against this kind of high-society charade, so I can't understand why she's easily playing the role of the perfect daughter.

The way she smiles, nods, and engages in pleasantries with everyone makes no sense. It's like she's embracing the charade her father has cooked up and is okay with pretending she's fine with this circus.

I've strategically distanced myself from James all night, opting to observe from the shadows. In contrast, Emma is just basking in the spotlight, a willing marionette in her father's elaborate show.

Throughout the night, we've exchanged only a few words and some fleeting glances—laden with unspoken questions and a yearning for a connection that this grandiose display seems determined to prevent.

But as the night wears on, my patience wears thin. The frustration within me reaches its peak, and at some point, I grab Emma's hand, pulling her into a quieter corner of the lavish ballroom.

"What the hell is going on, Emma?" I ask.

Her eyes reveal a mix of desperation and something indecipherable. "Asher, please, not now. I'll explain later."

"Later?" I frown. "This was supposed to be about us, about our damn wedding, not some show for the city's elite."

A wince crosses her face, and for a moment, I think I've struck a nerve. "I know, and I'm sorry, but my father—"

"Your father turned what was supposed to be an intimate moment between us into a goddamn show," I cut her off, frustration boiling within me.

Emma's eyes flicker with a hint of regret, swiftly replaced by composure. "I can't explain everything now, but I promise I'll talk to you later. Just not here."

"I can't believe you're embracing this whole charade," I mutter, irritation clear in every word. "You've always hated this whole high-society crap. And now you're eating it up, smiling for the cameras like you've been rehearsing this shit your whole life."

"Can we please go back inside?" She looks at me with a silent plea in her eyes, but the chaos surrounding us makes it challenging for me to think straight.

"Did you hear anything I've just said?" I search her eyes, but she just shakes her head and goes back to playing the perfect daughter, smiling for the cameras and eating up the attention.

Fuck! I let out a frustrated breath as I navigate through the sea of extravagantly dressed guests to get to the bar. I need a drink. Or maybe several. Anything to numb the indignation building up inside me.

As I down my scotch, Max appears beside me, his expression reflecting the same uneasiness I feel.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, his annoyance matching mine.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I have no idea. Tonight was supposed to be a rehearsal dinner, not a damn political circus."

"Do you think..." Max starts, but before he can elaborate, a familiar figure appears at the edge of the room.

Milo Montgomery.

His presence sends a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of the battles our family has faced in the cutthroat business world.

Milo, with his notorious dodgy history, has falsely accused our father of embezzlement—a scandal that has left a lingering stain on our family name.

The Sullivan conglomerate weathered the storm, relying on the resilience built over decades of hard work and dedication.

However, Milo's malicious intentions to tarnish our father's image continue to cast a long shadow over us, and his presence tonight will definitely bring a revival of those insidious allegations.

With dark eyes that seem to pierce through the veneer of civility, Milo strides into the room with the commanding presence of a predator surveying its territory.

His sinister smile, a trademark that mirrors his unapologetic ruthlessness, plays on his lips as he navigates the crowd. There's an unmistakable air of arrogance about him; an attitude that screams defiance and challenge.

As he moves through the room, his gaze locks on James and they share a subtle nod as if acknowledging their shared agenda.

He extends a hand toward James, sealing what seems like an unspoken pact that goes beyond the surface-level camaraderie seen by others.

I might be new to this world but that handshake is a transaction of power; a symbol of an alliance forged in the murky depths of their shared interests.

The sinister smile remains on Milo's face, a knowing expression that suggests secrets and machinations hidden beneath the veneer of camaraderie.

"Is James out of his mind?" Max explodes by my side. "After everything that son of a bitch did to tarnish our father's reputation, he has the audacity to invite him here? To such an intimate moment of all things? What kind of message will this give to the world?"

I shake my head, my hands closing into a fist. "Looks like James is trying to make a statement. He wants to show the world we're still vulnerable, that he's the one in charge when it comes to merging the Sullivans and Cavendish names."

"Fuck this!" Max shakes his head. "The media will interpret this alliance as a validation of Milo's accusations against us. Why the hell is James doing this?"

"I don't know... It doesn't make sense." I keep my eyes on them. "But he'll fabricate a narrative that will benefit him and cost us dearly. That's for sure."

As Milo approaches James and Emma, a sickening realization settles in my gut. My heart starts racing and my mouth goes dry.

Emma knows too well about the history between our father and Milo.

And she's standing by her father's side, smiling and nodding and fucking shaking Milo's hand.

Before I can do anything, James takes the center of the stage for a speech. He begins, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm delighted to share with you tonight not just a celebration of love but also a glimpse into the promising future that lies ahead. Tomorrow my only daughter is getting married and I couldn't be happier for her."

My jaw tightens as I listen, the undertones of his words unsettling. James proceeds to compliment Emma's qualities, expressing his excitement about welcoming me into the family, especially now.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. What does he mean by "especially now"?

Emma smiles and nods at her father, seemingly in agreement with whatever plan he has set in motion.

A knot tightens in my stomach, a sense of betrayal creeping in as I watch James continue his speech, weaving a web of political aspirations and business endeavors. 

The way Emma looks at her father sends a sharp pang through my chest. The woman I thought I knew now appears to be willingly entangled in James's web of schemes.

As if feeling the weight of my gaze on her, she looks at me. Her lips tremble. It's barely visible, but I notice it. How could I not when I'm consumed with love for her?

A love that clearly doesn't mean the same for her.

Her eyes hold mine, pleading for understanding, but I'm tired of her pleading looks and elusive explanations.

Fuck this! I've had enough.

Without a word, I turn on my heel, intending to escape the suffocating atmosphere of this place. But just as I reach for my car, Emma catches up with me.

"Asher, please don't go," she begs, her voice strained.

I laugh bitterly, the sound cutting through the tense air. "You've already let your father turn this night into a mockery. I won't be part of his charade any longer."

She reaches for my arm, desperation in her touch. "I didn't know Milo would be here. I swear, I—"

"You swear?" I pull away, my tone laced with sarcasm. "Your father paraded a man who tried to ruin my family, humiliating us in front of everyone. And you, Emma, played your part really well tonight."

"Asher, no, please—"

"Tomorrow, the media will have a field day with speculations about our 'powerful alliance.' Congratulations."

Her eyes widen, a mix of regret and panic. "Asher, please."

"You know too well my father died trying to prove he was innocent," I shout, unable to control myself.

"Ash..." Her eyes fill with tears, only fueling my rage.

"What does James want?" I ask, trying to make sense of things. "He's reviving those accusations and dragging our family's name through the mud again. And for what?"

"Look." She runs her fingers under her eyes. "We're getting married tomorrow. Merging our last names is as important for my father as it is for your family. I'm sure he won't do anything to tarnish—"

"He won't?" I look at her in disbelief. "He already did."

"Ash, let me talk to him—"

"You know what?" I shake my head, anger boiling over. "I'm done with your half-ass explanations, Emma. Actions speak louder than words, and tonight you've shown me everything I need to know."

_____

A/N: Oh boy... What now, guys?

Have I told you how much I appreciate each one of you? Your comments, votes, cheering, and support mean the world to me!

XOXO

Celeste