Becoming Mrs Ashbourne

Fourteen

How dare she?

I'm fuming as I steer the car to the side of the road, Everett's words echoing in my head like a relentless drumbeat. The missing shipments are a punch to the gut, and the fact that Venetio Juarez might be behind it only fuels my anger.

"Damn it," I growl, my knuckles white as I grip the steering wheel. This is bad—really bad. Losing those shipments not only damages my reputation but also threatens the stability of my entire operation.

Everett shifts uncomfortably beside me, clearly sensing the gravity of the situation. "What's the plan, boss?" he asks, his voice cautious.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to push aside the mounting frustration. But my mind keeps drifting back to her—the fiery girl who refused to accept my apology earlier.

"Why won't she give me a chance?" I mutter, frustration boiling beneath the surface. Even as the Don, there are moments when my power feels utterly useless.

Everett clears his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "Maybe she needs time," he suggests tentatively. "Or maybe she's got her own demons to deal with."

I nod slowly, considering his words. The girl's presence in my life is a constant reminder of the tangled web of our world—the unexpected intersections of power, loyalty, and desire.

But right now, I can't afford to dwell on personal matters. We need to find those shipments, and fast. And when we do, Venetio Juarez will regret ever crossing me.

With a steely determination, I shift the conversation back to business. "We'll track down those shipments," I say firmly, my jaw set with resolve. "And when we do, Juarez will pay dearly."

As I pull back onto the road, the weight of my responsibilities settles heavily on my shoulders. In this world of shadows and secrets, every decision carries consequences. And as the Don, it's my job to ensure that those consequences fall in my favor.

(⁠⊃⁠｡⁠•́⁠‿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)⁠⊃

I huff angrily as I unfold the duvet Ezra gave me, trying to suppress the wave of conflicting emotions crashing over me. "Thanks," I mutter, my voice strained with frustration, but he just smiles in response and settles onto the opposite couch.

Part of me wants to push him away, to maintain the walls I've built around myself for so long. But another part—a small, vulnerable part—craves the comfort he offers, even if it's just a simple gesture.

It's strange, trusting someone I barely know over my own family and fiancé. But there's something about Ezra—something genuine and kind—that draws me in despite my reservations.

I wrap the duvet around myself, trying to ward off the chill that seeps into my bones. In this moment, with Ezra's quiet presence offering a flicker of solace, I allow myself to let go, if only for a moment.

"You're too kind." I mutter quietly without looking at him.

"What do you mean?" He asks and shakes his head, causing his hair to bounce.
"I mean..you're too kind. After all that has happened to you because of me,you still stay. Are you a stalker?" I ask with all seriousness but he just ends up laughing.

"Well if you must know,no,I'm not a stalker. And,I just like you. As a friend." He smiles and pats my head before going into his bedroom.

He offered to share his bed with me but it'd just be weird to do that.

As Ezra disappears into his bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I find myself sinking deeper into the duvet, seeking refuge from the storm raging within me. But even the warmth it provides can't shield me from the memories that haunt my dreams.

As sleep tugs at the edges of my consciousness, I find myself slipping into a restless slumber, where the lines between reality and nightmare blur into a tangled mess.

In the dream, I'm back  home, surrounded by the suffocating weight of my parents' hate. Their voices ring out like thunder, sharp and cutting, as they hurl accusations and insults my way.

I try to defend myself, to make them understand, but my words fall on deaf ears. The blows rain down upon me, each strike leaving behind a bruise, a reminder of my inadequacy.

Tears blur my vision as I stumble backward, searching desperately for an escape that never comes. In that moment, I feel utterly alone, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the dream shatters, leaving me gasping for air in the darkness of Ezra's living room. The duvet is wrapped tightly around me, a feeble barrier against the memories that threaten to consume me whole.

I glance around the dimly lit room, my heart still racing from the intensity of the dream. And in that moment of vulnerability, I realize that perhaps Ezra's kindness is exactly what I need—a lifeline in a sea of darkness, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of my past.

With a heavy sigh, I let my head fall back against the cushions, the weight of exhaustion dragging me under once more. But this time, as sleep claims me, I cling to the faint glimmer of warmth and acceptance that Ezra's presence brings, allowing myself to drift into a peaceful slumber, if only for a little while.