Chapter 118 Proof Requires Only a Single Move
Damian had a busy day and planned to contact Ashley to hitch a ride after work, but since their last encounter ended unpleasantly, he dismissed the idea.
Upon returning home, he paced the living room, struggling to contain his emotions, yet eventually, he couldn't resist going over to Apartment 8.
Inside, all traces of Ashley were gone. Her belongings vanished, and her access card was left on the living room coffee table—she had moved out.
Damian was now seething in anger. He wanted to confront her immediately, to grab her by the collar and demand an explanation. Her behavior seemed immature—she stormed off at the slightest disagreement.
The phone's droning ring was painfully irritating. Just as Damian was about to explode, the sound of the receiver picked up on the other end, "Hello? Mr. Hearst."
Damian opened his mouth, his initial words cut off by the male voice—a greeting that stopped him dead. His tone was heavy, clearly on the verge of fury, "Where's Ashley?" he asked.
So, Ashley must be mingling with another man late at night. He didn't believe that it was just an innocent conversation between them.
Harold felt a chill run through his ears. Holding the phone, he felt as if a knife was at his throat, cold and menacing, "Ashley's busy..." he explained.
The line went dead.
Looking at the disconnected call, Harold was bewildered. Walking back to where Ashley was scrubbing the fridge, he asked, "What's his problem? I didn't even get to speak, and he hung up. "
Ashley had no clue why Damian was going berserk again—perhaps because it was a man who answered her phone.
"It's fine. Don't worry about him. If there's any changes at work, he'll have the legal department or Spencer get in touch with me."
Ignoring his call, Ashley breathed a sigh of relief. Given the circumstances, it was best for them not to communicate, or else they'd end up in an unnecessary argument, just as they did before the divorce.
The atmosphere at home was delicate and tensed, like walking on eggshells; silence was the only thing keeping the balance.
Harold, always impatient, felt like he was about to burst. After wiping down the sink, he wandered into the living room. "Did you know Damian before all this?" he asked.
Ashley didn't deny it. "Astor Group and KM Road are both major companies; it's inevitable they'd cross paths," she remarked.
"Just cross paths? Looks like there's more to it!" Harold retorted.
Ashley felt uneasy but insisted, saying, "I’d rather say that there have been plenty of accidents. KM Road was involved in Astor Group's bankruptcy. Kicking us when we were down... My grudge with Damian goes way back. Now, working his case is like, is like making a deal with a thief."
"Oh..." Harold regretted being nosy, it only stirred up trouble and made Ashley feel down. He slapped his cheek. "Never mind, I won't ask anymore. Are you hungry? What do you want to eat?" he asked.
With her eyes heavy from exhaustion and lack of appetite, Ashley just wanted to put herself to sleep. "I'm not hungry. Don't bother staying for dinner tonight; consider it repayment for last night's rescue. See you at the team-building activity tomorrow," she stated.
Harold hadn't even mentioned last night yet - he came home to an earful of scolding from his parents.
His mother said, "If you truly like Ashley, we're not against it. Bring her home for dinner."
Harold ran his hands through his hair, finding it too hard to explain. He figured he'd better make a quick escape.
…
Damian had been up all day and night, not closing his eyes even for a minute. Now sitting amidst the chaos, his irritation was swirling within him like a tornado as if he was about to blow the roof off.
"Ashley..." he scoffed at how endearingly Harold called her.
Bang!
In a fit of rage, he punched the couch, followed by a sharp pain. He accidentally used his right hand. The wound under his bandage tore open again, and blood quickly stained the wrappings.
With a grimace, Damian found the whole ordeal absurd, letting out a cold mocking laughter at the absurdity of his actions.
Why was he even angry?
He had long disregarded Ashley; she was nothing more than a stranger. Why should he care so much? Was he going mad?
The phone rang. Damian answered with a dark scowl. "Speak," he demanded.
Hayden, unfazed by his mood, chuckled on the other end. "What's got you so heated? I haven't done anything to you. Still thinking about this morning?" he asked, teasingly.
Damian coldly ordered, "Cut the chatter. Just bring over a medical kit."
Hayden raised his voice, "What the heck? Did you hurt yourself? Slashing your wrists or...?"
"Keep it up and see if I’ll kill you or not," came Damian's threatening reply.
Hayden dropped the talk but couldn't suppress a taunting smile, "Where to? Your place?"
Damina replied, "Building Eight, penthouse."
Excited to see the spectacle, Hayden arrived immediately, bringing along a few beers and snacks.
Bursting through the door, he erupted with expletives, "Damn! Your new place got robbed?"
Damian slumped on the living room couch, looking defeated, "Are you blind?"
Hayden navigated around scattered bits and pieces, laughing in disbelief, "IKEA, huh? Hilarious, Damian, running short on cash lately?"
Damian glared at him, "What's wrong with IKEA? It's an international chain."
"Yeah, yeah, well-known, trusted brand," Hayden teased, "but your shift in taste is a bit... radical, don't you think? Now you move on to more... plebeian aesthetics?"
Damian kicked him in the leg and said, "Just bandage up my wound, will you?"
Looking at the blood on Damian's hand, Hayden inhaled sharply, "It's still not healed? What've you been doing?" he asked, disappointedly.
Realization dawned as he eyed a cabinet against the wall, astonished, "You assembled this yourself?"
He was met with a silent glare that screamed to shut up.
This was a sight Hayden never thought he'd see.
After tending to the wound, Damian tossed him a screwdriver, "Here's a chance for you to work."
"Ugh, what a 'fantastic' chance," Hayden grumbled.
While nursing a sore back, Hayden regretted being so eager for entertainment.
After setting up the last piece of furniture, he collapsed on the floor, sweating and grimacing, "Gotta say, the furniture still doesn't match the vibe of the house. I can't get used to the sudden frugality."
To be blunter, it was neat but too modest, not at all matching their style.
Damian surveyed the now-furnished living room, and the word "domestic" flashed in his mind. For a fleeting moment, he pictured Ashley holding a serving tray...
He must be losing his mind.
Hayden popped a can open, sipping beer for a pick-me-upper, "I thought about your question this morning. Maybe you should stop blaming Ashley and look at yourself for the problem."
Damian glanced at him with a sideways look and said, "Out with it."
Leaning on the couch in a suave pose, Hayden said, "Instead of obsessing over whether she still loves you, why not ask yourself, do you genuinely love her?"
Damian was silent.
Love her? Even if he was crazy, he wasn't that far gone.
"Impossible," he said, defiantly.
He knew his own heart. How could he possibly be confused about whether he was in love or not?
Ashley, worthy of his love?
Hayden swirled his beer can, somehow managing to mimic the effect of wine swirling in a goblet's luminescence, "Figuring out if you love her isn't hard at all, it just takes one move!"
