The Confrontation
I was scared. Fuck. I was fucking scared.
Asher chuckled, low and bitter. “You tried to earn my trust only to do this shit? How stupid do you think I am, Remi?”
He stepped into the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
I backed away, still crouched on the floor, fingers tightening around the bobby pin. Pointless. What was I going to do—pick a lock faster than he could close the space between us?
“You were never going to stay,” he said, voice calm in that bone-deep way that always scared me more than shouting. “You were playing me. Again.”
“I wasn’t—”
He raised a hand. “Don’t. Just… don’t. I’m done pretending.”
My mouth was dry. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to fix this.”
I stood slowly. “How?”
He tilted his head, eyes shining with something unsteady. “You remember Carter, don’t you? Always so smart. So cautious. Always looking out for me… until he wasn’t. Until he started siding with you.”
He pulled something from his coat pocket. A syringe. Clear. No label.
I stumbled back, breath catching.
“Asher,” I whispered, “don’t—”
“I’ll do it myself,” he said, almost like a promise. “It’s not as complicated as people think. You just need precision. Timing. The right point of entry.”
My voice shook. “You aren’t even a doctor.”
“I don’t need to be,” he said calmly. “You don’t trust doctors anyway.”
“This isn’t you,” I said, heart racing. “You weren’t like this. What happened to you, Asher?”
His face twisted. “You happened to me.”
I froze.
He laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I waited, Remi. I waited years. Through your marriage. Through the twins. Through the silence. I stood by and watched you pick someone else. Again and again.”
“I never meant to hurt you—”
“But you did!” he snapped, and that calm veneer shattered. “You did. You looked at me like I was safe, and you still ran back to the fire.”
His breathing grew heavier, his eyes glassier. “You think I wanted it to get this far? You think I don’t wake up every night replaying how you looked when you told me you loved him? Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to slow the panic. “This isn’t love, Asher.”
“No,” he whispered, stepping closer, “this is desperation. Because I know what happens if I let you go. You’ll go back. You’ll forget I was ever part of your life.”
“I can’t forget you,” I said. “But this… this isn’t you.”
He looked at me then, really looked—like he didn’t recognize me anymore either. Like the lines between memory and present had finally blurred too far.
“I wasn’t the only one watching you, Remi,” he said suddenly, voice low and distant. “There are worse people out there.”
I blinked. “What?”
He turned away, pacing now. “You think I drugged you because of him? Because I was jealous? You think I lost my mind over love?”
He stopped, eyes burning. “You were being followed. You still are. I intercepted things, Remi. Conversations. Footage. There were people in your house before I even got there. And not just once.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
I reached into my waistband slowly and pulled out the photo. The one of me as a child.
He flinched when he saw it.
“Explain this,” I said. “You slipped this under my door. Didn’t you?”
He stepped forward, slower this time. “No.”
I stared at him.
“I found it in a file someone sent to my clinic,” he said. “Anonymously. Months ago. It came with no name. No date. Just that photo. And a note that said, ‘She belongs to them.’”
My stomach dropped.
“I kept it because… I thought maybe it was from your family. Something you forgot. A memory.”
“It’s me,” I whispered. “That’s my face. But I don’t remember where it was taken. I don’t remember the swing. The building.”
“Maybe you were in a home,” he said quietly. “An orphanage? Somewhere before the Vaughns?”
“No,” I said immediately, but the word felt hollow.
Something about that photo felt real. But distant. Like a locked box in the back of my mind.
Asher sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling the syringe in his hands like it was a drink he needed but couldn’t bring himself to swallow.
“I don’t know what they want,” he said. “But I know you’re involved in something deeper than you realize. And I couldn’t trust him to protect you.”
I looked down at the photo again.
And suddenly I wasn’t so sure he was wrong.
But none of it changed what he’d done.
I watched him carefully, calculating every breath, every pause.
Because whether he was telling the truth… or spiraling into something darker—
I still had to get out before he used that syringe.
Asher’s fingers toyed with the needle like it was a pen. Spinning it slowly between thumb and forefinger.
The quiet in the room wasn’t peace. It was pressure.
Heavy. Pressing in around my ribs.
“I didn’t want this,” he said softly. “I wanted to propose properly. Dinner. Wine. Music you liked. Not this.”
He looked up at me—eyes red, tired, begging me to see him like I used to.
“I was going to buy you that silver ring you liked. The one with the vine around the edge,” he added. “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”
I nodded slowly, then swallowed. “I didn’t think you forgot.”
I thought you’d moved on.
I thought you’d healed.
I thought you weren’t dangerous.
I stepped closer to the bed, trying to ease the space. Make him feel like I was choosing to be here.
“You really think something’s after me?” I asked. “That someone’s watching?”
He nodded. “I’ve seen the footage. Glimpses of shadows around your clinic. Men you didn’t notice, but they were there. I tracked a few. Lost them. They knew what they were doing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I asked, gently now. “Why wait until now?”
“Because you didn’t believe me when I said Rowan was a problem,” he muttered. “You think he has everything under control—but he doesn’t even know who his enemies are. I do.”
“And you think the answer is… what? Taking away my memories?”
He stiffened. “I never said I’d take them all. Just enough to… redirect them. Make you feel safe again. Make you stop running.”
“You think I’m scared of you?” I asked quietly.
He looked up. His smile was the saddest thing I’d ever seen. “I think you’re scared of everything except me. And that makes me dangerous.”
My throat tightened.
This wasn’t a tantrum. This was a man who’d crossed the edge of obsession and dressed it up in love.
I took a slow breath. “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Let me see the photo again.”
He looked confused, but he handed it over.
My fingers trembled as I took it. I stared at that little girl with the bandaged knee, swinging alone.
“You said someone sent this to you anonymously?”
“Yes.”
“You think they know where I’m from?”
“I think they know who you are, Remi. More than you do.”
I nodded, slowly. “Okay,” I repeated. “I believe you.”
I sat beside him on the bed.
His shoulders loosened. Jus
t a little.
I leaned slightly, like I was going to rest my head against his shoulder—like I was giving in.
Then I reached for the syringe.
His reflexes were faster.
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