ASHLEY’S POV
I tighten my jaw as memories surge back in—sharp, hot, and unwanted.
Brandon.
The bully….
That’s what I usually call him back in high school.
It’s been four years, but everything’s still fresh.
Every humiliation, every playful hard shove, every light slap and punches, every vicious laugh replays itself in my head.
Our eyes meet, and he raises a brow, the same look of disbelief mirrored on his face.
He looks as shocked to see me as I am to see him.
What is he doing here?
Why is he here, and who the hell is he to Warrick?
Or worse….
Did he come for revenge for what I did to him?
I blink, hoping it is a bad dream.
But the right half of his ear—half missing, that jagged scar,is all I need for my confirmation that it’s him.
I still remember that afternoon at school, the memories of that day make my hands go cold.
He attacked me and I panicked—then grabbed the electric saw on the workshop bench and swung at him.
It was all in self-defense though.
The blade rammed his ear, slicing it in half.
Later that day, I was expelled, but it didn’t end there.
His family also reported to the state authorities, and there were rumours that there would be lawsuits.
However, I never stayed to find out.
I fled to California to stay with Dad.
Three reasons I had to run away: to avoid jail, because Mum refused to hire an attorney for me and prove my innocence, and because Brandon’s gang started coming around our house every weekend looking to get even.
There is a fourth: the spanking on my ass from my stepfather when he punishes what he calls my “bad behaviour.” Mum always laughs it off—just like she laughs whenever I tell her Brandon hit me in places he shouldn’t.
She always laughs.
Always… yes, always.
So I left.
That night, after dinner, I go down on both knees and thank God I won’t have to see Brandon or his gang anymore.
Right here.
The memory of my hand on the saw, the sound of the blade, the feel of his blood,everything rushes back, leaving me dizzy and unsteady.
But here we are again, Brandon standing in front of me.
He’s no longer the big bad bully in a tight uniform.
He has grown and matured, but some things never change.
I still see the anger burning in his eyes as he stares at me.
“Bran, baby… Do you know her?” Quinn stands up from the couch and strides forward.
Bran’s gaze shifts from me to her.
“No,” he says firmly, glancing back at me.
“I don’t know her, mum…”
I freeze immediately.
“Mum?”
I almost stagger back but tighten my grip on the rail to find my balance.
Brandon is Warrick’s brother — he is my brother-in-law.
Oh God.
How the fuck is everything in here so damn complicated?
How can Brandon be my brother-in-law?
“Adams, what were you saying again?” Quinn turns to him.
“Did you make mention of a wife?”
”Yes, ma’am,” Adams says politely.
“She is Mr.
Harrington’s old lady.”
Quinn’s eyes narrow.
Her head snaps toward me, and the look she gives could strip paint off walls.
“That’s impossible,” she chuckles darkly.
“This has to be some kind of joke or something.
If my son Andrew is getting married, he would have told me.
And I don’t believe that he’d want to marry and…” Her eyes rake me from head to toe.
“…settle for someone like her.”
The words land like a hot slap across my cheeks.
I swallow hard, her words hanging in the air.
Brandon moves closer to his mother, sliding his hands into his pockets with a casual arrogance I remember all too well — the same dirty, proud smirk, the same tilt of his head that makes my stomach tightens.
“Andrew didn’t mention to me that he was acquiring an old lady either,” Bran says smoothly.
“And we spoke about three days ago. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
So I think all of this is bullshit.” A hint of arrogance colors his tone.
My stomach twists, but I force myself to stay still, not to flinch, not to give him the satisfaction he so clearly wants.
Quinn steps forward, her heels clicking against the floor.
“Adams,” she calls without looking at him, her gaze still pinned on me, “I don’t know what game you and this whore are trying to play, but last I checked, my son is single.”
”She’s lying,” Brandon says flatly.
“Or someone paid her to say she’s his wife.
Happens all the time with rich families.
Opportunists crawl out of the woodwork the second someone dies.
I’ve seen this a couple of times.”
”Mr.
Harrington signed the marriage agreement himself,” Adams says firmly, cutting through the tension.
“Two days ago.
I witnessed it.
So did Nonna.
It’s legal and binding.
I’m sorry… it’s all true.”
Quinn whips around to face him.
“You and…….W-who?……
Nonna?”
”Who’s Nonna?” Quinn asks, chuckling.
“The old bitch?”
Adams swallows, then nods.
“So apart from you and Nonna, who else is a witness?”
”Mr.
Warrick…” Adams begins, turning to her.
Brandon explodes into laughter.
“You must think we’re fools, Adams.
You and the old bitch could’ve conspired—he’s dead, we can’t ask him now.”
He crosses his arms, that arrogant smirk back in place.
“You still have time to tell the truth before we call the family lawyer.”
Before anyone can answer, Adams’s phone vibrates.
He glances at it,then exhales.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we need to go now, the funeral has started,” he says.
Quinn spins on her heel and stalks back to the couch.
She grabs her bag, her daughters rise and fall into step behind her.
Nonna comes out next and, with Adams trailing behind, escorts me toward the door.
As we near the exit, Brandon reaches out and catches Adams’s arm, pulling him back then he shut the door hard.