Chapter 12 Go to Hell
That familiar icy cruelty enveloped her, Damian, always lording over others, exuding that arrogant dismissal with a mere glance.
If Ashley were as fragile as she had been six years earlier, his imposing aura might have crushed her.
But times have changed, and she was no longer that naive sweet girl.
Twisting her wrist with force, she didn’t break free but made her stance perfectly clear. "Why don't you ask your grandpa if he's lived up to the responsibility of caring for the young? Always quick to spot the trivialities of others, while oblivious to the mistake in his own."
Anthony Hearst had never experienced such audacity in Ashley's words, his anger boiling over. "Damian, enough with the chatter, kick her out of here."
With a wan smile revealing six pearly whites, Ashley quipped, "No need for you to escort me, Damian. I'll see myself out."
Once she mustered the strength for a swift pivot, she wriggled free from Damian's firm grasp, despite the stinging abrasion on her skin, and picked up her bag.
Damian's long legs circled around the sofa in a feigned attempt to give chase, shifting merely half a step as he commanded, "Stop."
Without looking back, Ashley retorted, "As an appreciation for your help, Damian, let’s meet at the court."
Before Damian could respond, a dark object whizzed by his ear.
By the time he realized it was a crystal ashtray thrown by his grandfather, Ashley had already crumpled to the floor with a muffled groan.
The heavy object traced an arc through the air, striking Ashley's right shoulder. The thin fabric of her shirt was no match for the sharp pain, and within seconds, a shocking red stain spread, bleeding through the white fabric.
Rushing over, Damian towered over Ashley's curled figure on the ground. "You..."
"Stay back."
At first, Ashley felt only the blunt impact on her shoulder, but agony soon flooded in, an icy numbness overtaking her entire right side. Her bag slipped to the floor, and she couldn't muster the strength to pick it up.
Anthony Hearst spoke with venomous haste, "Leave her be. She never should’ve crossed our doorstep."
Bending down, Damian offered support to her left arm, "Get up first."
Looking at the tips of her shoes, Ashley found herself unusually calm amidst the roaring anger. Using the strength offered to her, she stood and shrugged off his hold. "Happy now, Damian? Does this settle last night's debt?"
Damian's brow furrowed. "I'll get a doctor to attend to you."
"I don't deserve the Hearst family doctor. Keep them for yourself," Ashley retorted.
Picking up her fallen bag, the sight of her blood pricked at Damian's conscience once more.
Why didn't he feel the expected rush of satisfaction at Ashley's humiliation and hurt?
He thrust the bag at her uninjured hand, remarking, "For someone with such a tough attitude, your bones must be just as solid and unbreakable."
Ashley lifted her head, her gaze washing over the nauseating opulence of the decor. "Thank you for the praise, Damian!"
It was unclear how she made it down the lengthy shaded boulevard, but once she settled into the emergency room seat at the hospital, Ashley let tears of distress finally fall.
Seeing Ashley in obvious pain, the nurse tenderly handed her a tissue, "The cut is pretty deep, it's bound to hurt. Just hang in there, and if you need to cry, let it out. It's okay."
Ashley hung her head, and tears began to silently drop onto her leg, staining her chiffon pants. She cried without a sound, her shoulders quivering slightly.
Yes, it hurt. The wound was painful.
But that wasn't what hurt the most.
Damian had gone to great lengths to sue her, driven by nothing more than spite. Wielding a 3- million-dollar breach of contract over her head, he was toying with her like she was just a mouse in his game.
All that nonsense about the bond of marriage lasting a hundred days after a single night together was just talk. There wasn't an ounce of humanity in Damian's character.
After her wound was tended, Ashley's phone rang.
The caller ID flickered, and the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Ashley, what's up?”
It was her best friend Amelia on the phone. Over the past three years, Ashley had purposely kept a low profile and hadn't kept in touch with her old friends much. Amelia, quite a public figure, seldom met with Ashley in private. Yet their conversation felt as comfortable as ever.
Leaning against the wall, Ashley replied, “Just got into a bit of a scuffle, ended up with some battle scars.”
Amelia, always one to react quickly, immediately put aside whatever she was doing, “Didn't you just get back to the States? How did you already run into trouble? Who's giving you a hard time? I'll have someone teach them a lesson!”
Speaking casually, Ashley mentioned, “Damian.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a full three seconds before Amelia managed a strained, "You... you're still in touch with him?”
Amelia wasn't a part of the elite circle in Rochester, so she rarely crossed paths with Damian. She had met Damian just a couple of times through Ashley, and she was too intimidated to even utter a word, more fear than envy and more chill than admiration.
She had once asked Ashley, "Is he cold to the touch when you sleep next to him?"
Now, knowing her good friend had clashed with Damian and gotten hurt in the process, Amelia felt like clenching her fists and seeking vengeance. However, with her status, she'd probably be stopped by his security before she could even get close to KM’s building.
With her right hand unable to move, Ashley awkwardly held the phone, “He brought a case to me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but no, it's definitely personal. Today, he made me visit his grandfather's place, and I got a serious put-down by the old man.”
Amelia stomped her foot in frustration, “Why did you let him push you into a fight? With all the cases out there, why take his? We may not be rich, but we have to have some dignity.”
Ashley understood Amelia's indignation, “Harold took the case for me. The contract has a 3-million-dollar penalty clause. I have to show up in court this afternoon. After the verdict, and the dues settled, then I never have to see him again in my life.”
Amelia was in full agreement. "Harold? Isn't he a professional? What mess has he gotten himself into? Look, Ashley, don’t get mad. I'm just about wrapping up a TV series here, and I'll be back in Rochester by next week. I'll set him straight when I get there, don't you worry."
Amelia had been on location at Hollywood for a four-month shoot on a seasonal drama, living in the thick of the production crew the entire time, and hadn't seen Ashley throughout.
"Alright then, you go for it and I'll back you up."
Amelia chuckled, "Hey, you've been divorced for three years now. Haven't you thought about getting back out there? Harold's actually pretty decent in many respects. Maybe give it a thought?"
Amelia and Harold had met through Ashley. At the time, Amelia was pursuing her Ph.D. abroad and often unreachable, leading her to ask Ashley for an emergency contact, which is how Harold's number came into play. They'd met in person a few times after that and hit it off. Amelia's impression of Harold could be summed up in two words—genuine guy.
It was a rarity to meet a straight shooter like him in the legal world.
And on top of that, he had the looks, the height, and it seemed like a solid family background too.
She was keen on pairing them up, yet even the finest lawyer couldn’t compete with a big shot tycoon. Ashley’s ex had set the bar sky-high, making Harold seem out of his league in comparison.
"I'm considering my options," Ashley admitted. "With such a deal he signed with Damian, I've come up with about twenty ways to make him pay."
