When we left the estate, Ashton did not start the car right away. Instead, he rolled down the window halfway, retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment, and pulled one out with practiced ease.
The burning tip glowed faintly red as he brought it to his lips. Smoke curled around him, veiling his face in a hazy mist that even I could barely see him.
Ashton rarely smoked—only when he was troubled or facing something particularly difficult.
I clutched my bag tightly and said, “Ashton, we don’t have to tell your grandfather.”
His hand paused mid-air as he held the cigarette, and he looked at me.
“As long as we don’t say anything, he won’t find out about the divorce,” I said earnestly, genuinely trying to offer a solution.
Ashton stubbed out the cigarette, and his expression was unreadable. “Pip, are you that eager to divorce me?”
I froze, caught off guard by his question. “I’m not.” I just did not want him to find out I was pregnant.
He sighed deeply. “Let’s talk about it later.”
…
As we stepped out of the elevator, we ran straight into Mallory.
She casually looped her arm through Ashton’s, ignoring me entirely as she said in a playful, coquettish tone, “Ash, I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
I almost immediately instinctively stepped back, retreating behind them.
Meanwhile, Ashton hesitated briefly but then murmured, “Sorry, Mal.”
Then, I watched as the two of them, looking close and inseparable, openly walked into the house together. It was as though I were the outsider intruding on their home.
