Tears for the Golden Boy, Heart for the Rebel

A vicious slap snapped my head to the side. To protect his shiny new girlfriend, Spencer actually laid a hand on me. I tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood in my mouth.

I stared coldly at the man I had secretly loved for years, every illusion I held about him shattering to dust.

The girl shrank against Spencer's broad chest like a terrified little rabbit. But from an angle he couldn't see, her lips curled into a mocking, triumphant smirk.

That single slap woke me the hell up. Chapter 1 Spencer had always found me annoying, but he had never laid a hand on me before.

That slap snapped me out of whatever delusion I had been living in. He did not even spare me a second glance as he pulled his arm back from his new girlfriend.

Sitting in the back of my van, I refused to let a single tear fall. I stared at my phone screen until the names blurred together, finally hitting Asher's contact.

It rang forever before he picked up, the loud, chaotic background noise of a garage bleeding through the speaker. "What now?" he demanded, his tone carrying its usual edge of impatience.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady, but a slight tremor betrayed me. "Asher, someone hit me.

Where are you right now?" The roar of engines on the other end of the line died instantly. When he spoke, his voice was pure ice. "Say that again. Who touched you?

Send me your pin." I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning stark white. "It was Spencer," I said, my voice dropping. "His new girlfriend played me, and he actually slapped me.

I am done with this. I am coming to find you." A heavy beat of silence followed. "I am at the garage. Bay 6. Put a mask on and use the back door.

Do not come strutting in drawing a crowd." The van finally lurched into motion. I grabbed a makeup wipe, aggressively swiping at my face.

My assistant, Maya, leaned in, wincing. "Sloane, do not rub so hard. It is already red enough, and we have a shoot tomorrow.

Go easy." I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I just got my heart metaphorically and literally stomped on. Let me look the part." Maya just stared at me.

Up front, my driver, Jared, chimed in. "Exactly. You are a great actress, Sloane.

Anyone online saying you cannot act is blind." I pulled out my compact mirror, inspecting the swelling on my cheek. "Let them talk.

Free speech and all that." Geared up in a ballcap and a mask, I slipped through the back door of the garage, knowing the layout by heart.

I spotted Asher immediately, his back to me. He was standing under a car raised on a hydraulic lift, wearing a tight black tank top that hugged his muscles.

As he turned his head to speak to someone, I caught the familiar sight of a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.

I walked up behind him and tapped his bare shoulder, the skin hot and the muscles tight over his frame. He had one hand braced against a car door.

He barely turned his head, shooting a glance over his shoulder.

The cigarette bobbed as he spoke. "You made it." I pulled down the edge of my mask to expose the angry red mark. "Spencer hit me." He frowned, his jaw tightening. "You asked for it." He turned back to the lifted chassis, his attention seemingly snapping back to the engine. "Go wait inside.

I am busy today." Spencer and Asher were brothers, but they were polar opposites—down to their very bones.

If they did not share the same last name and those identical, dark, piercing eyes, no one would ever guess they were related.

Spencer had always been the golden boy, cold, disciplined, and untouchable.

He coasted through life on a pedestal, armed with Ivy League degrees and a flawless track record, stepping seamlessly into their father's corporate empire.

Asher, on the other hand, was his exact opposite. Chapter 2 Spencer was the golden boy to every teacher; Asher was the thorn in their side.

Every single rule printed in the school handbook, Asher broke it. The only thing he seemed immune to was teenage romance; the guy just lacked that specific wiring.

He had no patience for guys, and he found girls just plain annoying.

He coasted through his mandatory schooling, and then his father "donated" heavily to a university abroad so he could continue coasting there.

When he finished, he came back and opened this auto shop and modification garage with a bunch of his equally questionable friends, even managing the city's racing circuit.

The cars I saw parked in their bays—the ones I could actually name—were worth more than I made busting my ass for an entire year. It was a wildly lucrative business.

Getting a spot with Asher was near impossible; he was incredibly in demand. The prices, naturally, were astronomical.

I stood in Asher's private office restroom, scrubbing violently at my cheek with cold water. I was trying to cover up the ugly, red finger marks with thick concealer.

I did not want him to see me looking this pathetic. I waited forever before Asher finally walked in holding a firstaid kit. He frowned, closing the distance between us.

He smelled sharply of cold tobacco and motor oil. "Are you just bored, trying to mess with him? Do you really like him that much?" "And you just assume I started it?" I shot back.

He reached out, his hand gripping my chin to inspect my cheek. "Then why else would he hit you?" I felt a sudden shift in the air.

His fingers were rough but hot, carrying that mix of grease and smoke. He held my chin in a grip that allowed no argument.

With his thumb, he swiped hard across my cheek, wiping away the thick layer of concealer, exposing the bright red, swollen handprint to the harsh light.

I watched the dark depths of his eyes instantly brew into a violent storm—it was pure, unfiltered murder.

I knew my makeup skills were good enough to fool Asher, who usually couldn't tell lipstick from lip gloss, but if he started applying ice and ointment… he would definitely notice something was off.

I jerked my head back. "Don't touch it. It hurts." "You are just going to let it stay swollen?

Do you not have a shoot tomorrow?" He clicked his tongue, looking down at me with impatient eyes, his thick lashes casting shadows over his dark irises. "I will ice it when I get home tonight…" I grabbed his elbow. "Don't look," I muttered, trying to turn my head to escape his gaze.

But he stepped forward, backing me up until my hips hit the edge of the large desk. He caged me in, his massive frame enveloping me, cutting off any route of escape.

He paused for a second. "Stop being so dramatic.

Put the ointment on or don't." He dropped the kit and walked around the desk. "Let's go get dinner," I said, following him. "I have things to do tonight." I was pissed. "You always have things to do.

You are busier than I am, and I am a massive star." He snorted a cold laugh as he rummaged through a cabinet with his back to me. "Massive star.

Right." He pulled out a set of keys and glanced back at me, probably thinking I looked ridiculous with my swollen face. "I have a meeting tonight. Real business.

Don't cause trouble." "Then I am coming with you. I will stay quiet. I won't say a single word." "Why would you come?

Go find something to do." He grabbed a fresh set of clothes, looking like he was heading for the shower. "I have nothing to do.

I am bored." Usually, he would tell me to go bother Spencer.

But today, the reality was that Spencer had just slapped me across the face, and I was a working actress who kind of needed her face.

Asher frowned, looking back at me. "Use your brain. Think about it. Do you think it's a good idea?

You want someone to recognize you, post it online, and then you come crying to me again?" "I will wear a mask.

And a hat," I promised. "We are eating and talking business, and you are going to sit next to me geared up like a bodyguard? Go home." In the end, I managed to tag along.

I wasn't about to waste this opportunity. I would be an idiot to let it slip away. Chapter 3 He drove in cold silence, his expression lethal.

I sat in the passenger seat, happily adjusting my hat and mask. "I swear, I will just be a piece of furniture next to you tonight. I will not talk. I will not eat.

Look," I dropped my voice, sniffing pitifully, "I had a brutal day. Is it a crime to want my best friend's company?" "What good is my company?" he shot back. "We grew up together!

Nobody else compares. You are literally number one in my heart!" He let out a cold scoff, not even sparing me a glance.

He tossed a pack of cream cookies onto my lap with a scowl. "You are practically skin and bones.

Eat something." I ripped open the wrapper. "This is the industry standard weight, for your information." "Standard my ass." I never expected Asher's real business to take place in a VIP booth at a nightclub.

It was definitely safe for me, though. The lighting was dark and dangerously ambient.

Asher sat right next to me, his massive frame effectively acting as a human shield, blocking me from view.

I huddled in the corner of the leather sofa, spacing out as I stared at the man beside me.

There was a small tattoo just behind his right ear, right over the corded muscle of his neck. A minimalist blackink hawk.

The lines were simple, but the predatory intensity was captured perfectly. Staring at it in the dim light, it almost looked like it was about to take flight.

He was talking to the guys across the table about a racing club.

It sounded like they were putting together their own circuit, tossing around names of pro and amateur drivers. "Watch yourselves." His voice suddenly cut through the noise, dropping an octave into absolute ice.

That snapped me back to reality. I peeked around his shoulder and saw one of the guys across from him aggressively making out with a gorgeous girl right on his lap.

Asher suddenly reached out. His large hand gripped the back of my head, forcing my face flush against his rocksolid chest.

His deep voice vibrated above my head. "Don't look at that trash.

Close your eyes and sleep." I had a little makeup on, but I still pretended to shift unconsciously, rubbing my cheek against him.

Just as I thought about pushing my luck, Asher's hand slid up to the nape of my neck. His fingers were cool, his grip clamping down with a silent, absolute warning.

I instantly behaved. I had zero interest in their business talk, but just being caged against him like this cured any boredom. The slap I took earlier today was suddenly worth it.

I was busy calculating how to permanently attach myself to his schedule when I felt his fingers idly combing through the ends of my hair.

It was an incredibly subtle motion, but sitting this close to Asher, every nerve ending in my body was on high alert.

I swallowed down that spike of adrenaline, holding it in until their meeting wrapped up and we were driving back.

Sitting in the passenger seat, I turned toward him. "Why were you playing with my hair back there?" He threw the car into drive, rolling down the window and checking the rearview mirror.

His attention was not on me at all. "Are you insane?" "Why were you touching it?" "Stop being annoying." "Are you secretly obsessed with me?" I rested my chin in my hand, tilting my head to study him.

Watching the sharp, lethal cut of his jawline and the shadows cast by his lashes, I could not stop myself from smiling.

Chapter 4 He finally shot me a look. "Sit up straight." "Answer my question first." He clicked his tongue. "What question?" "Asher," I said, leaning in. "What exactly is your type?" I kept my eyes locked on his face, refusing to miss a single microexpression. "Why do you care?

Sit back, or I am calling your assistant to come drag you out of here." I pouted. "Could you try being gentle for once?" "Stop whining." "What kind of girl do you actually like?" He suddenly slammed on the brakes.

In the dim light of the car cabin, he turned to me. His dark eyes locked onto mine like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

His voice was husky, dripping with a raw, predatory hunger. "I like the one sitting in my passenger seat right now." My breath caught in my throat.

When we pulled up to my apartment building, I dragged my feet getting out of the car.

I shuffled around to the driver's side and leaned through his open window, resting my chin on my arms. "What now?" he demanded. "I am sad." A heavy pause stretched between us.

Finally, he reached out, his large hand awkwardly patting the top of my head like I was a stray puppy. "Enough." His index finger traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face toward the distant streetlights to inspect my cheek.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I remembered the thick layer of blush I used to fake the swelling.

I practically threw myself backward, putting distance between us. "Okay, you can go now. I am going to go be sad by myself.

Bye, bye." He frowned, shooting me a sharp glare before putting the car in gear and peeling out of the dropoff zone. He was always so aggressive. Rough expressions, sharp words.

But to me, he was the gentlest man I had ever known. The next day at the commercial shoot, by some twisted stroke of luck, Spencer's shiny new girlfriend was on set.

The whole thing was just a performance, and once the cameras stopped rolling, I had zero interest in acknowledging her existence.

I sat in the makeup room, happily plotting how I was going to crash Asher's evening plans.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the twofaced girl drop her vicious eyerolling routine. She suddenly melted into a puddle of sugary sweetness and drifted toward the door. Wow.

Spencer was incredibly clingy, sneaking away from his corporate meetings just to check on her.

But my scenes were done, and I had no desire to play the villain in their little romance. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop a triumphant smirk from breaking out.

Keep it up, Spencer. I thought about the phone call I made to my mom last night, playing the devastated victim. It was the absolute peak of my acting career.

Spencer was his family's golden boy. My stepdad, Marcus, naturally wanted to lock down a corporate alliance by marrying me off to him.

It put my mom in a terrible position, and I had to play the obedient stepdaughter to keep Marcus happy.

Besides, Marcus had already leaked the rumor at all his private country club dinners, claiming that I had been desperately in love with Spencer for years, that I would marry no one else, and that I was chasing him relentlessly.

Because my mom was caught in the crossfire, I could not be the one to actively reject the arrangement. I had to engineer a scenario where Spencer dumped me.

If they had filmed my crying performance last night and put it on a streaming platform, I would be sweeping the award season.

I leaned against the vanity mirror, practically glowing as I fired off a string of texts to Asher. "I want tacos tonight." "Extra carne asada." "Smothered in hot sauce and lime." "I want to see a movie, too." "And I want to go shopping." "Come shopping with me!" "I got my paycheck.

I am rich now. I will buy you clothes. Pick whatever you want." Obviously, he left every single one of them on read. Today's shoot was for a major cosmetics brand.

I was part of an ensemble cast, just three or four of us, but there was no way that little twofaced girl had the clout to book this gig without Spencer pulling strings.

I clicked my tongue mentally. Come on, Spencer. Lock it down. Take her home. We were not even shooting in the same studio.

I was in a great mood, nailed my takes in one go, and wrapped early. I grabbed Maya and headed straight for the exit.

But down in the underground parking garage, Spencer's assistant blocked my path. Chapter 5 Sitting in Spencer's luxury SUV, my skin crawled. The driver's seat was empty.

Spencer sat next to me, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. "Is your face alright?" It felt like walking out of a final exam, only to have the professor drag you back by the collar, saying you had missed half the test.

I quickly recalibrated my role in this little drama: the heartbroken, abandoned dog giving up on her onesided love. "I am fine," I replied coldly.

He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over me in a slow, analytical assessment that made me sick to my stomach. To distract myself, I let my mind wander.

If it were Asher sitting beside me, and he actually took the time to look at me like that, I would be thrilled.

But Asher would probably rather stare at an exhaust pipe than look at me. "Alright. You can go." Spencer finally spoke, his tone indifferent.

He pulled a silver lighter seemingly out of thin air, the sharp click echoing in the quiet cabin as he lit his cigarette. I was speechless.

The man had his assistant intercept me in a parking garage just to ask that one question? I spun around, practically leaping out of the car.

I sprinted across the concrete floor to my van. Only when the door slammed shut did I feel safe. Sitting in the back seat, I dialed Asher's number.

This time, he picked up on the first ring. "I am not in the city." That was his opening line. "Where are you then?" "East River." "What are you doing out there?" I could hear his patience snapping. "Working." I instantly shifted gears, dropping my voice into a pitiful, wounded tone. "I got to my shoot today, and guess who booked a gig on the same set?

That little twofaced girl. And Spencer showed up, too. Just seeing them made my cheek throb all over again.

It was humiliating, and now I'm just… sad." He let out a sharp scoff. "You sent me a dozen texts. You didn't sound sad to me." "I was putting on a brave face!

I didn't want to drag you down with my emotional baggage." "Then why are you dumping it on me now?" "Because I realized friendship means sharing the burden.

I can't process this alone. I am coming to find you." He clicked his tongue, a heavy sigh carrying over the line. "Since when are you this clingy? How old are you?

Is it not going to be a massive pain to drive all the way back tomorrow morning?" "I have tomorrow off," I said softly. "I don't start filming again until the day after." Asher didn't say another word before hanging up.

But with him, silence was a "yes." I couldn't wipe the massive grin off my face. I slapped Maya's shoulder. "Rate that performance.

Scale of one to ten." She handed me a bottle of water, throwing up two thumbs. "Ten out of ten, Sloane.

Give the woman an Oscar." I turned my face toward her, examining my reflection in the dark window. "Should I take this makeup off and do something more natural?

The lip color from the shoot is a little intense." "Are you kidding? It looks incredible! Leave it. You look stunning." I pressed my hands against my cheeks, feeling the heat rise.

She batted my hands away. "Stop touching it! You are going to ruin the base!" It took two hours of driving before we reached East River.

I had planned to sneak up on Asher and surprise him, but the second I stepped out of the van, I saw him standing at the intersection. The sky was bruising purple as the sun set.

He was standing with another man, both of them smoking in the wind, deep in conversation.

Chapter 6 The moment I stepped out of the van, the biting wind hit me, making me shiver violently. Asher walked over.

Before I could even open my mouth, he threw a heavy, oversized puffer jacket over my shoulders. The wind wrecked my carefully styled hair and makeup.

I couldn't believe the temperature drop between the city and out here in the fall. I pulled the jacket tighter around myself, shivering again.

I looked at him, wearing nothing but a longsleeved hoodie. "Are you freezing?" He started buttoning the jacket for me.

He pulled the fabric so hard I stumbled a step forward. "Not everyone is as highmaintenance as you." I grinned, pushing my windblown hair out of my face. "Do I look good today?" "You look like a mess," he said, pressing a large hand to my back and shoving me forward.

Maya and Jared had no interest in hanging around the middle of nowhere, so I sent them home for the night.

I followed Asher as he carried my designer purse, heading toward the hotel. East River was still under construction, a halffinished tourist trap with half the amenities closed off.

Everything was brand new, and naturally, it was completely dead. Stepping into the lobby, the heat finally kicked in.

Asher split off from the guy he was talking to earlier and headed straight for the restaurant on the ground floor. I jogged to keep up with his long strides.

The dining room was practically empty, but he still steered us to a booth in the far corner. Asher picked up the menu. I rested my chin in my hand, watching him.

He handed the menus back to the waitress before I spoke up. "You didn't even ask what I wanted." "I already know what you want. Stop being annoying." Fair point.

I had eaten more meals with Asher than I had with my own mother. "Where am I sleeping tonight?" His fingers tapped away on his phone screen. "In the street." "Let me share your room.

I am too scared to sleep alone. Maya isn't here, and this hotel is empty. It is creepy." Asher didn't even look up. "Keep dreaming." "I am serious. I am actually freaked out.

Just book a suite. If I stay with you, I won't be scared." He clicked his tongue. "Why are you so clingy? You invited yourself out here, and now you want to sleep in my room.

How old are you?" I muttered under my breath, "I didn't say we had to share a bed." He shot me a sharp look, pulling a key card from his pocket and sliding it across the table. "I have plans tonight.

You take my room." The food arrived. He had a simple plate of pasta.

Meanwhile, a massive spread of tacos with extra carne asada, a slice of cake, sweet pastries, and hot chocolate piled up in front of me.

I hesitated, eyeing the sugar. "Isn't it a bad idea to eat this much sweet stuff so late?" He stirred his pasta, letting out a cold scoff. "Don't eat it, then.

Go starve." "Asher, if you keep being this mean, you are never going to get a girlfriend." He narrowed his dark eyes at me but didn't say a word, just took a bite of his food.

I reached across the table and poked his arm. "What are you doing tonight?" He ignored me. "Asher. You know I just got my heart broken.

This is when I need emotional support the most. You are my best friend. You are all I have." I rested my chin in my hands, staring at him. He didn't even flinch.

His expression remained a stone wall. Clearly, words weren't going to work. Time to default to just being shamelessly stubborn. After dinner, he walked me upstairs to his room.

He pointed out the bedroom, the bathroom, and the thermostat, and then turned to leave.

Chapter 7 He stepped into the elevator, and I was right on his heels, slipping into the neighboring car.

I caught up to him outside, tapping him on the shoulder while hidden behind my mask, glasses, and hat. He turned around, and within a second, his expression soured.

I gave him a cheeky grin, making sure he could see the crinkle at the corners of my eyes. "Sloane." He ground out my name. "Present!" I chirped.

His brow furrowed into a deep V, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. "Do you ever listen to a word I say?" I looked up, meeting those dark eyes headon.

I grabbed his warm hand, my fingers lacing firmly through his, refusing to let go. "I don’t care where we’re going," I said, my voice firm and impossible to argue with. "I’m with you tonight.

You’re stuck with me. Besides, look at me—I’m a ninja.

No one is going to recognize me." Ever since Marcus started his oneman PR campaign about my "obsession" with Spencer, he had been forcing me to hover around him like a desperate shadow.

I’d spent months acting like a brat, playing the villain just to get Spencer to dump me, even going as far as letting his new girlfriend set me up for a slap.

I hated that version of myself. Only with Asher could I just be.

I could be difficult, I could be sweet, and I didn't have to carry the weight of being the "perfect daughter." He gave me a sense of security that not even my mother could provide.

Around her, I was always the obedient, submissive child, making her life easier by absorbing Marcus's toxicity. But everyone has a breaking point.

That was why I moved out the second I turned eighteen. Of course, Marcus wasn't about to let his "investment" go that easily.

Asher stared at me for a long beat, then finally let out a heavy sigh. He didn't pull his hand away as he started walking. We walked for about thirty minutes.

Halfway there, Asher stopped to ask if I was cold. I looked down at my massive puffer jacket and bundledup frame and shook my head.

We stopped in front of a pair of rusted iron gates with peeling red paint. Asher reached out and gripped my wrist, pulling me toward him. Under my mask, my lips curled into a smile.

I let my fingers relax, following his lead as he guided me through. The sky was a bruised charcoal now.

As we passed through the iron gates, the muffled roar of a crowd and the scream of engines grew louder.

We moved through a rough, corridorlike building until we reached rows of metal bleachers. The night was lit up by the harsh glow of floodlights.

Groups of guys and girls were hanging around a line of highend motorcycles. I glanced at Asher. His expression remained cool, almost detached.

As we reached the center of the crowd, he still hadn't let me go. Someone tossed him a cigarette. He caught it with one hand, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it.

Back in high school, my mom’s life had been even more precarious than it was now, and I had spent those years keeping my head down, trying to be invisible.

Asher had been the school’s resident rebel, cutting class more times than I could count.

I knew he was out doing things like this—chasing adrenaline—and I’d wanted to go with him, but I never could.

By the time I had a little freedom in college, he had already left the country. "Who’s this, Asher?

Didn't hear anything about a new girl." A guy leaning against a bike gave me a suggestive look, eyebrow arched. "Mind your business," Asher snapped.

Asher’s eyes sliced through the guy like a blade, sharp and dangerous. The man flinched, his smirk vanishing as he shut his mouth instantly.

Satisfied, Asher pulled me even closer, his arm heavy and possessive over my shoulder. It was a silent, dominant claim, marking his territory in front of everyone.

I stood there, feeling the frantic, happy thud of my heart against my ribs.

The guy let out a nervous chuckle. "Trixie is going to be devastated." "That’s her problem," Asher said, his tone flat. He didn't even blink.

Chapter 8 The guy’s gaze dragged over me, slow and suggestive. Asher’s arm tightened, pulling me a step behind him.

He let out a sharp click of his tongue. "You got a staring problem?" Asher asked, his voice dead flat. "Damn, Asher.

Not even going to introduce us?" "If you've got that much free time, go make yourself useful in the pit," Asher snapped.

Hidden behind my oversized glasses and face mask, I felt invincible. Besides, I was a Clist actress at best; standing next to someone like Asher, I wasn't worried about paparazzi.

His hand pressed against the small of my back, guiding me away from the crowd. "Where are we going?" I murmured, leaning in close.

He shot me a sideways glance. "Want to get out of here and go for a ride?" "Are you racing?" I asked, my eyes widening.

He let out a low hum, gesturing vaguely at the line of gleaming, highend bikes. "I'm not racing them.

Just taking you out." "What is this whole setup, anyway?" I asked as he led me away from the floodlights. "A buddy of mine organized it.

Private circuit." "You bankrolled it?" "Yeah." I glanced toward the massive banner draped across the main building.

In the top left corner was a familiar black hawk, wings spread midflight.

Asher bypassed the main pit area, weaving through a maze of shipping containers until we reached the back of an abandoned warehouse.

He grabbed the edge of a heavy tarp and ripped it back. Sitting in the shadows was a sleek, matteblack street bike, the chrome accents catching the dim moonlight.

It was the first time I was seeing this side of him up close. He looked in his element—relaxed, but carrying a sharp, underlying intensity.

I was still drowning in his massive puffer jacket. Earlier, I’d unzipped it because I was getting warm. Asher stepped into my space, the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

Without a word, he grabbed the zipper and pulled it all the way up to my chin, locking me in. "You're going to freeze on the road," he muttered.

I grinned up at him. "Since when are you this sweet to me?" He looked down, his expression unbothered. "If you don't actively try to piss me off, I don't actually enjoy yelling at you." I had to take off my mask and glasses to put the helmet on.

I tipped my face up, giving him a full view of my professional glam. "Do I really look that bad?

I literally shot a massive campaign today." "Take a look for yourself," he deadpanned. I dug my compact out of my bag and snapped it open.

Sure enough, after a day of fake crying, rubbing my face, and sweating in a puffer jacket, my flawless makeup was a smeared, raccooneyed disaster.

I pulled a makeup wipe from my purse and started aggressively scrubbing it off. Asher just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, watching me in silence.

When I was done, he reached out, taking the wipe from my hand, and gently swiped a patch of eyeliner I'd missed near my temple.

I swung my leg over the bike, wrapping my arms tight around Asher's solid waist. I rested my helmet against the hard plane of his back.

As the engine roared to life, the deep vibration shot up through my legs, making my whole body hum. He suddenly dropped one hand from the handlebars.

His large palm clamped over my hands locked at his waist, and he yanked my arms tight, dragging my chest flush against his back like he was trying to fuse us together.

The bike launched forward. The cold night air whipped past us, tearing through the gaps in my clothes and stinging my eyes until I was forced to squeeze them shut.

Asher ignored the main circuit. Instead, he tore down a dark access road leading up the mountain.

Over the deafening roar of the engine, I could just barely hear the sharp crack of the starting pistol from the track below. The brutal climb didn't end until we hit the summit.

When he finally killed the engine, I realized we had taken the winding switchbacks all the way to the peak. The wind was vicious up here.

I buried my face in the collar of the oversized jacket, turning to look at him. He stood casually against the rusted green guardrail.

The wind plastered his shirt against his torso, outlining every cut and ridge of his corded muscles.

He cupped his hand against the wind, lighting his cigarette with a blank, unreadable expression.

In that dim, blue moonlight, the sheer, raw masculinity rolling off him was intoxicating.

I stepped up beside him, bumping my shoulder against his arm. "Let me get a hit of that." He shot me a freezing look. "Don't push your luck." I grinned. "What's on your mind?

Trixie?" Chapter 9 He finally shot me a dark look over his shoulder. "You are practically begging for a lesson." I scoffed. "Hit a nerve?

You can't even handle a simple question." "Keep pushing, and I will leave you stranded right here on this mountain." "So who is Trixie?" "How the hell should I know?

Trixie, Pixie, whatever. You are a constant headache." I opened my mouth to fire back, but my phone violently vibrated against my thigh. I dug it out of my pocket.

Marcus’s name flashed brightly across the screen. The teasing smile froze, sliding right off my face. My jaw locked tight.

I swiped to answer. "Hi, Marcus." I could hear the sickening drop in my own voice—the instant shift from relaxed and free to hollow. I stared dead at the toes of my boots.

In my peripheral vision, I felt Asher's gaze snap toward me, sharp and assessing.

Marcus’s voice oozed through the speaker, coated in a thin layer of fake warmth that couldn't hide the absolute control beneath it. "Sloane, dear.

Clear your schedule for the day after tomorrow. Come home for dinner.

Your mother misses you." Subconsciously, I hunched my shoulders, bowing my head like I always did when I dealt with him. Suddenly, a large, cool palm pressed against my forehead.

I flinched. Asher's hand firmly pushed my head up, forcing my spine straight.

I stared up into his dark eyes as I forced words out of my tight throat. "The day after tomorrow… Is it just you and Mom?" "Oh, we're having dinner with the Spencers.

Your Spencer will be there, too. Make sure you dress up and look perfect." The sickeningly sweet, calculating tone made my stomach turn.

I stared blankly at the jagged silhouette of the mountains in the distance. "Yeah.

Understood." "Good girl." A thirtysecond phone call, and I felt like the marrow had been sucked straight out of my bones.

I hit end, shoved my hands deep into my pockets, and just stared into the pitchblack void of the canyon.

The silence stretched forever before I finally spoke, my voice barely carrying over the wind. "I still don't get why she married him. She traded our peace for his cage.

She has spent years walking on eggshells, swallowing her pride, practically terrified to breathe too loud in her own house." "If it were up to me, I would take the broke, struggling life in a heartbeat as long as I didn't have to look over my shoulder.

And she had me. I was growing up.

I was going to hustle, I was going to make the money, and I was going to give her a life where she didn't have to answer to a man like that." Asher’s voice was flat, stripped of any comforting warmth. "A single mother raising a kid isn't the romantic struggle you think it is.

You only see the suffocating control. You don't see that she secured a massive financial shield to keep you safe." Of course he would say that.

He was born with a silver spoon crammed in his mouth.

He could burn the world down, and there would always be an army of lawyers and family money waiting to sweep the ashes under the rug.

It was exactly why he moved through life with this lethal, untouchable arrogance—he never had to answer to anyone. He never had to read the fine print of his own existence.

He would never understand what it felt like to be a parasite in someone else's mansion, the suffocating weight of owing your survival to a man who saw you as property.

He didn't know what it meant to shrink yourself down just to survive.

I just shook my head, swallowing the bitter taste in the back of my throat. "When are we heading down?" His brow pulled tight. "You're pissed." "No." He stared me down.

I held his gaze without flinching. This was it.

This dangerous, wildly arrogant man who didn't give a damn about anyone or anything—this was exactly why I had been hopelessly drawn to him for years. "What is Marcus forcing you to do?

Is he backing you and your mother into a corner?" I slapped a hand against his solid bicep, forcing a light tone. "None of the above. Stop analyzing everything. Let's go.

I'm exhausted." I spun around and took a step toward the bike. He didn't move a single inch. Instead, his massive hand shot out, wrapping like a steel vise around my wrist.

With one brutal tug, he yanked me backward. I stumbled, my boots skidding on the gravel before my spine collided hard against his solid chest.

The raw, heavy scent of tobacco and hot skin instantly overwhelmed my senses.

I snapped my head up, my pulse hammering against my ribs, and stared up at him. "What are you doing?" His jaw was locked tight, his thick lashes casting dark shadows over his intense, predatory eyes.

His thumb pressed heavily into the racing pulse at my wrist.

His voice dropped into a dark, absolute command. "I think that is exactly what I should be asking you." Chapter 10 I grinned, tugging on his sleeve to pull him toward where the bike was parked. "I am perfectly fine.

Let's go." "If something is going on, tell me," he said, his voice low. I nodded, throwing him a cheeky smile. "Oh, I will.

You are my absolute favorite person to drag into my messes." It was late by the time we made it back to the hotel. Asher dropped me off and immediately headed back out.

The races were wrapping up, but he still had business to handle with the guys putting the new club together. I didn't see him at all the next day.

East River had a ton of undeveloped land, and it seemed like his crew was staking out territory for their new headquarters.

Hanging around the empty hotel by myself was incredibly boring, and since he was actually swamped, I didn't want to be a distraction.

I packed up and headed back to the city that afternoon. I had a cast and crew dinner for my new show that night. Maya picked me up.

In the van, she kept studying my face from different angles until I finally snapped. "What are you staring at?" "Are you in a bad mood, Sloane?

Did things not go well with your hot childhood best friend?" I shook my head. "When do things ever go smoothly with him? I just didn't sleep well.

I am exhausted." She immediately dug an eye mask and a pair of AirPods out of her tote bag. "Catch some sleep, then.

You have a long night of networking ahead." In the new series, I was basically highend background scenery—the third female lead, playing the male protagonist's younger sister.

I barely had any scenes in the early episodes.

After the kickoff dinner, the Bunit was starting production out in the middle of nowhere, which meant I was officially moving to a rural backlot.

I left the city with the crew that same night. I practically lived out of my van anyway, so relocating was easy. My first day on set was pure chaos—running, jumping, and wirework.

We shot the same intense sequence all day long. By the time I finally wrapped and dragged myself out of the studio, the sky was bleeding a deep, aggressive red.

When I climbed into the van, I saw two missed calls from my mom.

Since I was already heading back to Marcus's place for his mandatory family dinner anyway, I didn't bother calling back. I rushed through the massive front doors of the estate.

Marcus had an obsession with gaudy, excessive luxury.

Pushing open the double mahogany doors, the blinding glare from the crystal chandeliers hit me like a physical blow, making me squint sharply against the harsh light.

A handful of people were already gathered in the center of the massive living room. I pasted on a polite, practiced smile, walking over to greet them one by one.

They were all older business associates of my stepdad. Scanning the room, I didn't spot Spencer anywhere. A tiny knot of tension in my chest instantly loosened.

When I reached Marcus, his lips curled into a rigid, hollow smile. But his narrow eyes behind his designer glasses were cold, pinning me down with a clinical, evaluating stare.

He didn't say a single word to me. Instead, he tilted his head, shooting a sharp, commanding look at my mother. My mom immediately stood up, looping her arm tightly through mine.

She murmured something about needing to talk to me upstairs. The second we were behind the closed door of my old bedroom, she told me to change.

After a brutal day on set, I was practically dead on my feet. I was wearing an oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and wornout sneakers.

My makeup was scrubbed off, and my hair was twisted into a messy, lazy bun. I stared at her, swallowing down my exhaustion, and gave a silent nod.

I turned toward the closet, planning to grab a decent blouse and slacks, but my mom stepped in front of me and pulled the doors wide open.

Inside hung a row of brandnew, highend designer dresses.

She pulled out a sapphireblue, offtheshoulder gown, forcing a bright smile. "Marcus says you are a grown woman now, and since you are in the entertainment industry, you need a wardrobe that reflects that.

Wear this one. It will look stunning on you." I just stood there, looking at my mother.

I looked at the deep lines bracketing her eyes, the sheer, crushing exhaustion masked by that tight, brittle smile. I didn't say a single word.

I just grabbed the dress from her hands and locked myself in the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bed waiting for me. When I stepped out, the silk clung to every curve.

She stepped forward, gently pulling my hair tie loose, letting my hair cascade heavily over my bare shoulders.

I sat down at the vanity and applied a fresh, flawless layer of makeup. "Is this enough?" I asked, my voice completely flat.

My mom smiled, smoothing her hands over my bare shoulders. "Yes.

My daughter is absolutely beautiful." I let out a dry, breathy scoff, the corner of my mouth twitching into a hollow smirk.

Chapter 11 I headed downstairs and took a seat on the side sofa in the massive living room. Marcus and the boys' father, Mr. Vance, were deep in conversation. Mr.

Vance tried to keep the topics light and casual, but Marcus relentlessly steered every sentence back to their business ventures and corporate projects.

Just listening to him drained the life out of me. Finally, the housekeeper walked over to ask when they should serve dinner. Mr.

Vance laughed, pulling out his phone. "Let me rush them. These kids have zero manners.

It is one thing to never visit their own home, but to be late for dinner at your house is unacceptable." Marcus's gaze, dripping with a fake, sickening smile, stuck to me like a venomous snake. "It's good for young people to be busy.

But our Sloane here has been waiting for Spencer so desperately, I doubt she can even stomach her food." I forced the corners of my mouth up into another stiff, hollow smile. "Asher, where are you?" Mr.

Vance barked into the phone. "I told you to come to Marcus's house for dinner… What is taking so long? Where is your brother? … You aren't together? Hurry up.

We are all waiting on the two of you." A sharp pulse throbbed wildly at my temple. Asher? Mr.

Vance pocketed his phone and went back to chatting with Marcus. "The older one gives me some peace of mind. But the younger one… Marcus, you know how he is.

He has been a complete menace since he was a kid." "He refuses to listen to anyone.

He has been back in the country for two years, and I can count the number of times he has visited home on one hand.

Honestly, his mother and I always say we should have just had two girls. Look at Sloane.

So obedient." I had been in the entertainment industry for two years, exclusively playing pretty, silent background characters.

It seemed I was permanently stuck playing that exact same role in my real life. I sat on the plush leather sofa, my stomach twisting into tight knots.

For the first time in my life, I genuinely prayed Asher would ignore his father's orders and stay away. I felt pathetic and suffocated in this house.

I didn't want him to see me like this. But the heavy oak double doors suddenly swung open. Two towering figures stepped into the entryway. Asher and Spencer.

My facial muscles froze. I had no idea how to look at him. Marcus shot me a sharp, commanding look. He immediately took control of the room with a booming laugh. "Spencer!

If you had taken any longer, our Sloane would have worried herself sick." My mother and Mr. Vance chuckled along on cue.

Marcus's eyes bore into the side of my head, a silent threat. I forced myself to stand.

I walked straight up to Spencer. "Spencer." Only then did I dare to look at Asher, who was standing two steps behind his brother.

My eyes barely grazed his jawline before I snapped my gaze away. I couldn't meet his eyes. I didn't dare.

I gave a stiff nod. "Asher." I saw the heavy set of keys dangling casually from his fingers. I knew exactly which car he drove today.

I noted the careless, effortless way his dark clothes draped over his frame. I knew every tiny detail, every habit, every rhythm of his life.

Yet standing here, inside this suffocating, gilded cage of a house, he felt alien. It felt unreal.

If he hadn't walked through those doors today, I probably would have followed Marcus's silent script.

I would have thrown myself at Spencer for the hundredth time, playing the desperate fool. The cold, brutal truth finally snapped into focus.

In Marcus's eyes, it didn't matter how much Spencer despised me. It didn't matter how he treated me.

As long as Spencer wasn't legally married, and as long as he hadn't brought that new girlfriend home to meet his parents, I had no choice. I was required to chase him.

My undying love for him had to remain an unbreakable, pathetic performance. Because I had to be the good daughter. I had to be grateful.

My mother and I had eaten his food and lived under his roof for years. This was my job. This was my only value. What was the point of an investment if it didn't yield a return?

Chapter 12 The massive marble dining table was set. The crystal chandelier overhead glared with an aggressively bright light. I was seated directly next to Spencer. Mr.

Vance patted Asher on the shoulder as they sat down, placing Asher perfectly in my direct line of sight. "Sloane, after dinner, take Spencer out to the gardens for a walk," Marcus said. "You young people shouldn't be cooped up in here with us old folks anyway." I hadn't looked up, intentionally ignoring his silent cues, so he forced the issue by calling me out loudly across the length of the table.

My fingernails dug into my own thighs under the table. I had a sudden, overwhelming urge to flip the plates, smash the crystal, and walk right out the front door.

I was already drowning in this pathetic life; what more could I possibly lose? I took a slow, deep breath, forcing my lungs to expand.

I turned to Spencer, whose face was a mask of cold, barelyconcealed disgust, and flashed him the brightest, fakest smile I could muster. "Spencer, do you have some free time after this?" His eyes slid toward me for a fraction of a second.

His voice was flat, stripped of any emotion. "I have a conference call later." I kept the plastic smile glued to my face and nodded smoothly. "Of course. Work comes first.

Don't worry about it." What else was I supposed to do? I mechanically shoved food into my mouth, tasting nothing but ash.

I actually used to have these delusional fantasies about Asher. As if I ever stood a chance.

I was nothing but a useless parasite, a pathetic stray dog desperately clinging to his older brother's leg.

To the rest of the world—and probably to Asher himself—I was just a vain, golddigging opportunist with zero selfrespect.

I looked down at my bare arms exposed by the offtheshoulder silk.

Surrounded by men in casual tshirts and relaxed buttondowns, my hypercurated "elegance" was a screaming, neon sign of my desperation.

A sickening crawl of a million invisible ants moved under my skin, an agonizing itch that I couldn't claw out. The suffocating torture of dinner finally ended.

I was actually grateful for Spencer's absolute indifference. Part of me genuinely wished he would just backhand me across the face again right here in the dining room.

At least then the physical sting would distract from the utter humiliation. After dinner, Marcus and Mr. Vance set up a chessboard. Spencer disappeared into the study for his call.

I expected Asher to walk straight out the front door. As he passed by me, I stared blankly at the rough, faded denim of his jeans.

He was always like this—the exact antithesis of his brother. I had heard people gossip that Spencer meticulously selected the specific material of the buttons on his tailored suits.

Asher, on the other hand, just existed in heavyduty work jeans, wearing them in the garage and everywhere else without giving a damn. I just wanted him to leave so I could breathe.

But his towering frame suddenly stopped dead in front of me, radiating an undeniable, suffocating pressure. His massive hand shot out, clamping around my wrist in a brutal grip.

His voice was cold, hard, and left no room for argument. "Come with me." I didn't look at anyone else. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as Asher dragged me out the front door.

I rarely ever refused him. Honestly, I never had. Whatever he said, I listened to and internalized.

It was a habit carved into my bones since middle school—since the days he used to scale the school wall just to sneak me snacks, or when he would scowl impatiently while gently bandaging my scraped knees, or when he would grab the strap of my backpack with a completely deadpan face and drag me all the way home.

But right now, the tidal wave of selfloathing was suffocating me. I was exhausted. Asher pulled me down the cobblestone path cutting through the massive estate gardens.

The heavy autumn chill had fully set in, and the wind carried a biting, physical cold. I rubbed my bare arms, the hem of my silk dress rustling sharply against the overgrown grass.

Asher finally stopped walking and turned around. I leaned back against a small stone table, feeling the heavy weight of his gaze burning into my skin. "Cold?" I shook my head.

He had deliberately positioned his large frame upwind, blocking the biting breeze. Without the wind, the air was bearable. Then, dead silence.

A long beat passed before his dark, gravelly voice cut through the night. "Do you really want to marry my brother that badly?" Chapter 13 My nerves snapped taut.

I looked up at him, a towering shadow in the dark. The blinding lights from the mansion couldn't reach us here. Only a thin, pale slice of moonlight spilled over the garden wall.

This was exactly what Marcus wanted, and the one thing I was desperately trying to avoid. "Speak," he ordered, his voice a low rumble.

A bitter, selfdeprecating laugh scraped up my throat. "What? Are you going to save me?" His jaw clenched, a dark crease forming between his brows.

I immediately dropped my gaze to my shoes. "Sorry." "Or is your stepdad forcing you to marry my brother?" he asked, completely unbothered by my little outburst, his tone dropping into deadly calm.

A sudden, hot sting hit the back of my eyes. Asher was the