---
Ashley didn't speak the rest of the ride. Not when the car slowed, not when it stopped in front of their hotel, not even when Kelvin stepped out without a word and didn't bother to hold the door.
She moved like a machine, her limbs stiff, her throat tight. The doorman greeted her kindly, but she barely managed a nod in return. All she wanted was to make it to her room, close the door, and pretend the world didn't exist.
Kelvin didn't look back as he entered the elevator. She waited for the next one.
Upstairs, she collapsed onto the bed without taking off her shoes. The heels pressed awkwardly into the mattress, but she didn't care. Her mind kept replaying his words, over and over again.
Just convenient.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn't supposed to care. This job wasn't supposed to matter. But somehow, in the chaos of it all, she'd started to lose track of the line between personal and professional.
And tonight, Kelvin had drawn that line in fire.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Vivian.
"Saw the photos. Are you okay? You looked… weirdly stunning but also like you were about to slap someone."
Ashley stared at the screen for a few seconds before tossing the phone aside. She didn't have the energy to talk.
A moment later, the phone buzzed again. This time, it was her mom.
"Sweetheart, I saw you on the news! Dinner with that big CEO and the Vincenzos? You looked like royalty! Call me when you can."
Ashley let out a bitter laugh. If only her mother knew the truth.
The knock on her door came a little past midnight.
She blinked, unsure if she'd imagined it. But there it was again—two firm raps.
Dragging herself to her feet, she cracked the door open.
A hotel staff member stood with a formal envelope.
"For you, mademoiselle. From Mrs. Vincenzo."
Ashley thanked him and took the envelope, shutting the door behind her.
Inside was a handwritten note in elegant cursive:
"Dear Ashley,
I know this may be last minute, but we're hosting a small brunch in 2 days, I'd be delighted if you joined us. You have a lovely presence, and I'd like the chance to know you better—away from the noise of business.
Warmly,
Chiara Vincenzo."
Ashley blinked at the note.
She didn't know what she expected, but this wasn't it.
A brunch invitation—after the night she'd had?
She folded the letter and set it aside, then reached for her laptop. There was still a meeting with Mr Vincenzo at his office and no matter what Kelvin had said, she wasn't going to be the weak link.
---
Next Morning
The sun filtered in gently through the curtains, but Ashley didn't feel rested.
She had spent the night tossing and turning, haunted by too many thoughts. Now, as she sipped on lukewarm coffee and slipped into her blazer, her mind was steel. She wasn't going to let Kelvin get into her head—not today.
Downstairs, Kelvin was already waiting. He looked well-rested, as if nothing had happened the night before. No apology. No acknowledgment.
"Ready?" he asked, not even looking at her.
She didn't answer. Just nodded once and stepped into the elevator beside him.
At the Vincenzos' office, the air was different—tense in a way it hadn't been the previous day.
Mr. Vincenzo's assistant greeted them with a nervous smile.
"Mr. Vincenzo is expecting you both. He's… in a bit of a mood this morning."
That didn't bode well.
Inside the boardroom, Mr. Vincenzo stood by the window, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.
"We have a problem," he said without preamble.
Ashley and Kelvin exchanged a quick glance.
"The proposal you sent over last night—there's a discrepancy. One of the figures doesn't align with our previous agreement."
Ashley felt her stomach sink.
"I double-checked the data," she said quickly. "Everything was cross-referenced with the budget and original projection."
"I'm not accusing you, Mrs Boston," Mr. Vincenzo said, not unkindly. "But this mistake—if it's not cleared up—could delay everything. And I'm not a man who tolerates delays."
Kelvin stepped forward, calm but sharp. "We'll sort it out. Now."
Ashley turned toward her laptop, hands already moving, searching through files.
But inside, her nerves were fraying. This deal couldn't fall apart—not now. Not after everything.
Ashley's fingers hovered over the trackpad as she scrolled through the spreadsheets. Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to breathe steadily. The discrepancy Mr. Vincenzo mentioned was small—just a few thousand euros—but in a multimillion-dollar deal, that was enough to raise eyebrows and burn bridges.
"I can explain," she began, pulling up the budget file. "There must've been a formatting error when I exported—"
Kelvin cut in sharply. "You should've caught it before submitting the final draft."
The room went silent.
Ashley's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"
Kelvin turned to face Mr. Vincenzo, not her. "We've never had issues before with last-minute submissions. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
Ashley blinked, stunned. "Issues?" Her voice rose. "What issues, Kelvin? You approved the numbers before I sent them."
He still wouldn't look at her. "And I trusted you'd verify everything thoroughly. Clearly, that was a mistake."
The words hit her like a slap. Her face paled.
Mr. Vincenzo raised a brow but said nothing. It was as if he were watching a chess match—one where the queen was being sacrificed for position.
"I worked on that proposal for three nights straight," Ashley said, her voice shaking, not from guilt but fury. "You didn't even read the final version."
Kelvin's jaw ticked. "And this is why I usually don't bring assistants into high-level negotiations. Too emotional."
Ashley stood there, stunned into silence, her hands clenched at her sides. She could feel the heat rising in her face, her pulse pounding behind her ears.
Emotional? She had worked herself to the bone, covered for him, endured his sharp tongue and ice-cold silence. And now this?
But there was nothing she could say that wouldn't make her look exactly like he claimed—emotional, unprofessional, weak.
Mr. Vincenzo finally spoke, voice measured. "I'm giving you both twenty-four hours to clean this up. Otherwise, I'll be re-evaluating this partnership."
With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the two of them standing in the cold vacuum of tension.
Ashley didn't move.
Kelvin finally turned to her. "You can glare at me all you want, but this isn't personal."
She laughed under her breath—a short, bitter sound. "You humiliated me in front of a client."
"You embarrassed yourself," he replied coldly, grabbing his tablet from the table. "Fix it."
He didn't wait for a reply before walking out.
Ashley sat down slowly, her hands trembling as they hovered above the keyboard again.
This wasn't a partnership. This was war.
And she had just realized what kind of man she was really working for.
Kelvin's POV — The Morning After
Kelvin sat on the edge of the hotel bed, fully dressed but unmoving, watching the morning light crawl across the floor. His phone buzzed once, then again. He ignored it.
He'd barely slept.
The look on Ashley's face after he threw her under the bus… it had stayed with him longer than he liked. The stunned silence. The quiet betrayal in her eyes.
She didn't speak after the meeting. Didn't argue. Didn't even look at him.
And that—somehow—bothered him more than if she had screamed.
He told himself it was necessary. Tactical. That in business, perception was everything. Letting Vincenzo think he wasn't in control would've been suicide.
Still, the guilt was like an itch beneath his skin.
She was good at what she did. Better than he expected. He hated that he'd had to make her look incompetent to protect the deal.
No, he corrected himself. He didn't have to. He chose to.
And now, he wasn't sure if he had protected the deal… or destroyed whatever fragile trust had started between them.
---
Ashley's POV
Ashley hadn't waited for Kelvin. She was at the hotel's business center before sunrise, coffee in one hand, laptop in the other.
She reviewed every line of the budget. Traced the inconsistency back to a currency conversion error in a supplier's invoice—a simple mistake, but one that could be weaponized in a room full of billionaires.
She drafted a new report. Cross-referenced all financial entries. Added a footnote explaining the discrepancy and attached email correspondence to back it up.
By 9 a.m., she'd sent it all to Mr. Vincenzo's office.
No help from Kelvin. No guidance. Not that she expected it.
She was done waiting to be rescued.
---
Brunch at the Vincenzo's
The Vincenzo estate was quiet. Elegance dripped from every corner—from the marble floors to the walls adorned with centuries-old art. But Ashley felt like she was walking into a lion's den.
Mrs. Vincenzo greeted them at the door, warm and stylish in her silk robe, her smile bright. "Ah, you made it. I was just about to send Marco to drag you both in by the ears."
Ashley managed a polite smile. Kelvin, ever composed, nodded stiffly.
The dining room smelled like fresh basil and roasted tomatoes. A full Italian brunch was spread across the table, but Ashley had no appetite.
Mr. Vincenzo was already seated, sipping espresso. He glanced up as they entered, his expression unreadable.
"Mrs Boston," he said. "Impressive recovery. My secretary confirmed the new proposal this morning."
Ashley straightened slightly. "I appreciate your patience, sir."
Kelvin said nothing.
Mrs. Vincenzo poured orange juice with a gentle hum. "Let's not talk business over food, shall we?"
But the tension didn't ease.
Throughout the meal, Ashley noticed the subtle shifts—the way Kelvin avoided her gaze, the way Mr. Vincenzo watched them like he was still unconvinced.
When Mrs. Vincenzo finally leaned in and said, "We'd love to have you both over for dinner again before you leave," Ashley smiled and nodded politely.
But inside, she knew one thing for certain.
She wasn't just pretending anymore.
She was in this—whatever this was—far deeper than she ever meant to be.
Back at the hotel, the moment the elevator doors closed behind them, the silence turned brittle.
Ashley folded her arms, her back to Kelvin as the lift began its ascent. She didn't say a word, and Kelvin—unusually hesitant—stood on the opposite end, hands shoved into his pockets.
When the doors opened to their floor, Ashley stepped out swiftly. But halfway down the hall, she heard him speak behind her, voice low, not sharp like usual.
"Ashley—wait."
She froze.
The hallway lights cast a soft glow over them. Ashley turned halfway, her expression unreadable.
Kelvin exhaled slowly. "About earlier... with Vincenzo. That wasn't how I wanted things to go."
Her eyebrows lifted, tone flat. "No?"
He moved closer but kept a distance. "I didn't plan to drag you into that. It was... impulsive. And unprofessional."
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "You think?"
"I had to make a decision on the spot," he continued, his voice steady but edged with regret. "It wasn't personal."
Ashley turned fully now, crossing her arms. "It felt personal. I was humiliated. I wasn't briefed or warned. You could've pulled me aside—anything."
"I know," he said, eyes finally meeting hers. "I should've."
Something shifted in his tone then—softer, almost vulnerable. "You didn't deserve that."
Ashley's lips parted, but instead of responding, she shook her head and stepped back. The hurt still lingered too close to the surface, too raw.
"Don't try to clean it up now, Kelvin. Not because it's convenient. Not because you feel bad after the damage is done."
"I'm not—"
"No," she cut in, her voice sharp. "You don't get to be decent now just because you're not under pressure. I'm not interested in half-hearted apologies."
Kelvin's mouth opened—then closed again. He wasn't used to this. He was used to control, to words being weapons. But everything he might've said felt… wrong.
Ashley stepped back toward her room door.
"Goodnight, Mr. Boston," she said, her voice cool but clipped with emotion.
Before he could reply, she was gone.
Kelvin stood alone in the quiet hallway, her door closing with a soft but final click.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't have the last word.