Chapter 4 The Ashford Family

"Is that her? The girl from the scandal?" whispered one of the maids, barely audible behind the thick velvet curtain as the town car pulled to a stop on the gravel driveway.

Georgia Vance stepped out of the black sedan, one high-heeled foot after another, onto the grounds of the Ashford estate. It loomed like a gothic painting stone pillars, wrought iron balconies, ivy climbing its bones like something alive. Rain threatened to fall, the sky a heavy silver. Her fingers gripped her clutch tighter as if she could squeeze courage from it.

The doors opened before she could knock. A tall, narrow-faced butler in an immaculate tuxedo greeted her with a bow. "Miss Vance, welcome to Blackridge Hall. Mr. Ashford and Mrs. Ashford await you in the west parlor."

As she followed him down the marble corridor, the paintings on the walls seemed to watch her. Stags in gold frames. Portraits of Ashfords past regal, cruel-faced. Georgia's reflection followed in the polished floor, pale against the grandeur.

The parlor smelled of cinnamon and money. Weston's mother, Lucy Ashford, rose from her tufted chaise lounge. Her tailored navy dress clung to a frame too thin to be elegant, and diamonds shivered on her earlobes like icicles.

"Georgia," Lucy said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How quaint. Weston always had a taste for... the unusual."

Next to her, Alexander Ashford didn't bother to rise. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed to gleaming precision. He studied Georgia as if she were a riddle he already disliked.

"You're late," he said. His voice was low and sharp, like a blade being drawn.

"There was traffic," Georgia replied evenly.

Lucy's eyebrows arched. "We value punctuality in this family."

Georgia stepped further into the parlor, her heels making little declarations with each step. "I value honesty. We'll learn to compromise."

Alexander's lips twitched was it amusement or irritation? She couldn't tell. "Sit."

She did. The leather couch groaned beneath her, but her spine remained a perfect column.

Lucy poured tea with military precision. Not once did she spill or glance away. "Tell me, Miss Vance, what exactly are your intentions with our son?"

Georgia met her gaze. "My intentions are none of your business. But since I'm marrying Weston under his terms, I suppose you could say I'm here to honor the contract."

"Ah yes, the contract," Alexander murmured. "Our son's brilliant idea of preserving legacy through... desperation."

"You think I'm desperate?" Georgia asked quietly.

"Aren't you?" Lucy purred.

Georgia didn't blink. "Not nearly as desperate as you are to keep up appearances."

Silence. Thick, pressing silence. Then, Alexander leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes sharp.

"Tell me, Miss Vance. How far are you willing to go to stay?"

The chandelier above the Ashford dining hall glittered like a crown of daggers. Georgia felt the weight of every gaze as she stepped inside. The table was long, enough to host a small kingdom. And tonight, it did. Cousins, uncles, aunts Ashfords of every stripe.

Weston waited near the head of the table. Dark suit, darker eyes. He didn't smile. Didn't offer his arm. He simply watched her approach.

"You're late," he said.

"Everyone keeps saying that. I'm starting to think punctuality is your family's love language."

He cracked a smirk. "You'll need a sharper tongue than that."

Lucy gestured to Georgia's seat across from Weston. The seat was too wide, the plate too polished. As Georgia sat, whispers flitted around her like gnats. She caught one: "...gold digger." Another: "...just like her mother."

Salads were served. Forks moved in silent judgment.

"So," said a silver-haired man down the table, "you're the girl from the tabloids."

Georgia's hand froze mid-slice through her greens. "And you are?"

"Uncle Richard."

"Charming."

Laughter tittered around the table. Not kind laughter. Laughter that cut.

Lucy rose. A crystal goblet in her hand. "If I may. Tonight, we welcome Georgia Vance to our family. A toast to our future daughter-in-law."

Georgia froze. Her fork clattered against the plate.

"To Georgia," Lucy said with saccharine sweetness. "May she prove herself worthy of the Ashford name."

The wine burned like fire down her throat. Weston hadn't lifted his glass.

Later, in the hallway, Weston caught her wrist.

"You didn't like the toast," he said.

"I didn't like being displayed."

His jaw flexed. "Get used to it."

She pulled her arm free. "They don't want me here."

"They don't want anyone. You think they welcomed me with open arms? You think they didn't test me?"

She stepped closer. "So this is a test?"

"Every second you breathe under this roof is a test."

Midnight. Georgia wandered the halls of Blackridge, unable to sleep. She traced her fingers along the wood-paneled walls, listening to the hush of this cursed castle.

She turned a corner near the east wing and paused. Voices drifted from behind a cracked door.

"She's prettier than I expected," Lucy's voice said.

"That won't matter if she fails," Alexander replied. "Weston's blinded by his guilt. He always was soft under that armor."

Georgia leaned closer.

"The contract was a mistake," Lucy hissed. "We should have given her a payout and made her disappear."

"It's not about the girl. It's about what she knows."

Georgia's heart stumbled.

"If Weston finds out why she really came back"

"He won't. Not if we play this right."

Georgia backed away, slow and silent, her breath tangled in her throat. She didn't notice the servant behind her until she bumped into him. The tray clattered, drawing attention.

The door creaked open. Lucy's eyes met hers.

"Wandering already, dear?" she said sweetly. "Did you lose your way?"

Georgia swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Her voice barely worked.

"I was just... admiring the house."

"It has a lot of secrets," Lucy whispered. "Be careful what you find."

She stepped past Georgia, Alexander following.

Georgia stood in the shadows, her skin ice, her pulse thunder. Whatever game she'd walked into it was more dangerous than she ever imagined.

And she wasn't sure she could survive it.

Driven by something she couldn't name, she tried it. Locked. She stepped back. That's when she saw it.

Scratched into the wooden frame at eye levelGeorgia.

She traced the carving with shaking fingers.

Behind her, a floorboard creaked.

"You're late," Georgia said, trying to keep her voice steady as Weston entered the dining room, tie undone, eyes unreadable.

Weston didn't respond. He sat. Poured a glass of wine. Silence hung between them like a loaded gun.

"I didn't know you had a chef," she said.

"I don't. I cooked."

She blinked. "You cook now?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

He took a bite, slowly, deliberately. She followed suit. The meal was shockingly good.

Halfway through, something shifted. Weston's shoulders relaxed. His mouth softened. A laugh almost escaped when she mimicked his grumpy scowl.

"I missed that," she whispered.

His gaze snapped to hers. Heat. Then frost.

Georgia reached for his hand, fingertips brushing his knuckles.

Weston flinched, stood so fast his chair screeched. "Don't."

"Weston"

"I said don't," he growled, and stormed out.

It was past midnight. The house had quieted. Georgia wandered, insomnia pulling her toward the west wing.

Weston's study.

She paused outside. The door was ajar. Inside, shadows stretched across leather and mahogany.

On the desk, a silver frame faced away. She turned it.

Her breath caught.

A photograph of her and Weston. Laughing. Younger. In love.

She hadn't known it still existed.

"You shouldn't be in here," came his voice low, dangerous.

She whipped around. Weston stood in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his eyes darker than night.

"I didn't mean"

"You always mean," he said, stepping in, closing the door behind him. "You just never stay to deal with the fallout."

"That's not fair."

"No. What's not fair is you coming back and digging up ghosts."

"I wasn't looking for anything."

He stepped closer, towering.

"Don't go looking for things you don't want to find," he said, voice like a blade.

He reached behind her and unlocked a hidden drawer. "Like this," he whispered, pulling out a velvet box. "Want to see what else I kept?"