Chapter 3

Ashton Donaldson POV:

The drive to my father' s penthouse was a blur. My mind was a whirlwind of rage and a chilling clarity. Brianne's words, his words, my father's actions-they all coalesced into a single, brutal truth. I was a pawn. But not anymore.

I burst into the penthouse, the opulent marble foyer a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. The soft glow of the chandeliers, the hushed murmur of unseen staff, it all felt suffocating. I heard laughter from the living room. Family. My stepmother, her perfect hair and glittering jewels, my younger half-sister, giggling over some triviality. A tableau of domestic bliss, a cruel joke.

My father sat in his usual armchair, a crystal tumbler in hand, a picture of contented power. He looked up, his expression shifting from amusement to irritation when he saw me. "Ashton. What is it now? Can't you see we're having a private moment?" His voice was laced with his usual thinly veiled disdain.

"Private moment?" I echoed, my voice dangerously soft. "Is that what you call it? Or is it just another transaction you're brokering, another asset you're leveraging?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Watch your tone, young lady."

I ignored him, my gaze sweeping over the polished surfaces, the expensive art, the trophies of his corporate conquests. My eyes landed on a fragile porcelain vase, a relic from my childhood, a gift from my grandmother. It was placed precariously on a console table, a symbol of everything delicate and breakable in my life.

Without a word, I walked over to it. My stepmother gasped. My sister' s giggles died. My father' s face hardened. I picked up the vase, its cool weight in my hands. It was beautiful, ornate, utterly useless. Just like me, in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" my father demanded, his voice suddenly sharp.

I looked at him, my eyes burning. "I'm showing you what happens when you treat people like objects, Father." And with a surge of raw, untamed anger, I flung the vase across the room. It shattered against the far wall, exploding into a thousand glittering fragments. The sound was deafening, echoing in the sudden silence.

My stepmother shrieked, clutching her pearls. My sister whimpered, burying her face in her mother's side. My father, however, remained still, his face pale with fury.

"You ungrateful brat!" he roared, pushing himself out of his chair. "Do you have any idea how much that cost?"

"Do you have any idea what I cost?" I shot back, my voice trembling but firm. "My dignity? My trust? My entire life, packaged and sold for your damn merger? Is that what it's worth, Father? A few billion dollars and a lifetime of lies?"

My stepmother, ever the peacemaker, tried to intervene. "Ashton, darling, please. You're upset. Let's talk about this later."

"Stay out of this, Evelyn," I snapped, my gaze not leaving my father's. "Unless you want to be the next piece of shattered porcelain." My words hung in the air, a chilling threat. She recoiled, pulling her daughter closer.

My father' s eyes glinted with something akin to fear, a rare emotion on his impassive face. "Evelyn, take Chloe upstairs. Now." His voice brooked no argument. They scurried away, leaving us alone in the debris-strewn living room.

"Now," he said, turning back to me, his voice low and dangerous. "Explain yourself. And it better be good."

"Explain myself?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You explain yourself, Father. Camden Winters. Brianne Vincent. The experimental drug. The merger. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? That your carefully constructed web of lies wouldn't unravel?"

He flinched, a subtle tightening of his jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about." He tried to sound dismissive, but a tremor in his voice betrayed him.

"Don't lie to me," I hissed, taking a step closer. "Not anymore. Did you know he only married me to get access to your company's experimental drug? To save her? Did you know you were selling your own daughter into a transactional marriage, not for love, not for family, but for corporate profit?"

He folded his arms, his facade of indifference cracking. "It was a strategic alliance, Ashton. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Camden needed the drug, yes. And I needed the merger. It was good for business. Good for our family."

"Good for our family?" I scoffed. "You mean good for your bottom line. You leveraged me, Father. You traded me like a stock option. You didn't care about my happiness, my feelings, my life. You cared about your damn pharmaceutical empire."

"I did what was best for everyone!" he roared, his voice bouncing off the high ceilings. "This merger will secure our legacy for generations! It will provide countless jobs, develop life-saving treatments! It was a sacrifice, yes, but a necessary one! For your future! For this family's future!"

"My future?" I laughed, a hollow sound. "You call this a future? A marriage built on lies? A life as a glorified incubator for Camden Winter's 'unforgettable love'? You are pathetic, Father. You preach about legacy and progress, but you're nothing but a cruel, calculating puppet master."

His face was a mask of cold fury. "So, what do you want? A pity party? A handout? You got your marriage, didn't you? A powerful husband, a secure future."

"I want out," I stated, my voice clear and unwavering. "I want a divorce. And I want to renounce my inheritance. Every single penny of the Donaldson fortune. I don't want anything from you. Ever again."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise, then a strange, almost imperceptible flicker of triumph. Good. One less heir to worry about. One less claim on his precious fortune. His masked emotions were more painful than his anger.

"Fine," he said, his voice regaining its cold composure. "If that's what you want. But there are conditions."

"Of course there are," I said, a bitter smile playing on my lips. "What are they, grand puppeteer?"

"First, the divorce will be swift and quiet. No scandal. Second, the experimental drug for Brianne Vincent will be guaranteed, no questions asked, indefinitely. And in return, you sign away every right to the Donaldson name, every single asset, every future claim. You disappear. Completely." He pointed to a stack of papers on a nearby table. "The renunciation agreement. Already drafted."

My heart hammered. He had anticipated my every move. He had already prepared my exile. The sheer coldness of his calculated move made my breath catch. But it was also my ticket out. My freedom.

My hand trembled as I picked up the pen. The paper felt heavy, thick with the weight of shattered dreams and broken trust. This was it. The final cut. I signed. My name, Ashton Donaldson, scrawled across the bottom, sealing my fate. The ink felt like blood. Every stroke was a severing.

When I finished, I looked up, my eyes meeting his. "One last thing, Father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you ever, ever, interfere with my life again, if you ever try to control me, or use me, or even speak my name in public, I will not only expose every dirty secret of this family, I will systematically dismantle your entire empire. Piece by piece. Consider this my final warning."

His eyes widened, finally showing a flicker of genuine fear. I had hit a nerve. I had shown him a side of his "wild child" he never knew existed. I had become the weapon he had forged.

I walked out of the penthouse, leaving him standing amidst the shattered porcelain and the wreckage of our relationship. The air outside felt crisp, cold, and strangely exhilarating. I was free. But the freedom tasted like ash.

My phone rang. It was Chloe, my sister. "Ashton! Are you okay? Dad's furious. And Evelyn is making me clean up the mess. What happened?"

"It's over, Chloe," I said, my voice flat. "Everything. I'm free."

"Free? What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not a Donaldson anymore. And you won't have to worry about me embarrassing you at your next debutante ball." I tried to inject some lightness into my voice, but it came out sounding hollow.

"Ashton, no. You can't!"

"I already did." I ended the call before she could protest further. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I just wanted to disappear.

I went to my usual bar, the dim lights and familiar faces a small comfort. My friends, a motley crew of artists and free spirits, were already there. They looked at me, their faces etched with concern.

"Ash? What happened?" Leo asked, putting a hand on my arm. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse," I said, downing a shot of tequila. "I've seen the truth." I told them everything. The merger. Brianne. The drug. The lie. The choice. My father's betrayal. My decision.

Their faces morphed from concern to disbelief, then to raw anger. "That bastard!" Maya, my closest friend, slammed her fist on the table. "He used you! All of them!"

"I know," I said, the words tasting like poison. "But it's done. I'm out. I'm free."

"And Camden?" Leo asked, his voice gentle. "What about him?"

I looked into my shot glass, swirling the clear liquid. "He made his choice. He always did. I was just too stupid to see it." The pain in my chest was a dull ache now, a constant companion. "He won't miss me. He has his 'unforgettable love' now."

Maya wrapped her arms around me. "We're here for you, Ash. Always."

"I know," I whispered, clinging to her. "That's all that matters now."

But a tiny, insidious voice in the back of my mind whispered: Will he? Will he even notice I'm gone? Will he come after me? I pushed it down. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He had everything he wanted.

I stayed with my friends that night, drinking until the world blurred. When the early morning sun bled through the blinds, painting the room in soft hues, I knew what I had to do. I needed to leave. Leave this city, this country, this life. Disappear completely, just as my father had demanded.

As I packed a small bag, my hands moved mechanically. My art supplies, a few clothes, my passport. That was it. I was leaving everything behind. More than just possessions, I was leaving behind the girl I used to be. The wild child, the rebel. She had been foolish. She had believed in a lie.

I stepped out of Maya's apartment, the city still mostly asleep. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. I hailed a cab, my heart a hollow space in my chest. A new chapter. A blank canvas. But first, I had to ensure I was truly alone.

Just as the cab pulled up, a black SUV screeched to a halt beside me. It was Camden' s car. My blood ran cold. He had found me. How? I hadn' t even bought the ticket yet.

The door flew open. A man I recognized as one of Camden' s security detail jumped out, his face grim. "Ms. Donaldson, Mr. Winters requires your immediate return."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice firm, trying to push past him. But he was too fast, too strong. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron.

"Let go of me!" I struggled, but he held me fast.

"Mr. Winters insists. He knows about the divorce. He wants to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." I twisted, trying to break free. My bag fell to the pavement, its contents spilling out. My passport. He saw it.

"Going somewhere?" a cold, calm voice drawled from the backseat of the SUV. Camden. He stepped out, tall and imposing, his eyes like ice. He looked utterly enraged, a fury I had never seen directed at me. "I believe we have a marriage to discuss."

He was here. And the look in his eyes promised a storm.