Chapter 4 4.
Chapter 4: Ashley’s POV
The Orwell manor looked too calm. Every light inside the massive estate glowed warmly against the night, elegant and untouched, like nothing terrible could possibly happen there.
Meanwhile, I parked my car with shaking hands.
Pregnant. Nauseous. Confused. And suddenly terrified for my sister. I barely remembered walking through the front doors.
The house staff greeted me quietly before immediately stepping aside like they already knew something was wrong. That made my anxiety worse.
Fast.
I hurried through the marble hallway toward the sitting room and froze the moment I saw Simone. She looked exhausted.
Not normal tired. Not overworked tired. Exhausted in a way that made fear crawl slowly into my chest. Nash stood beside her with one hand resting on her shoulder, his expression unusually tense.
The second Simone saw me, her eyes softened with relief.
“Ash.”
I crossed the room immediately. “What’s happening?”
Simone grabbed my hand tightly. Too tightly.
“We leave for Switzerland tomorrow morning,” she said quietly.I stared at her.
Tomorrow?
“What do you mean tomorrow?” I said pathetically.
“The treatment center confirmed availability,” Nash answered calmly. “We can’t delay.”
Treatment center. The words sounded cold. Clinical. Wrong.
“What treatment?” I asked sharply. “Simone, nobody’s explaining anything properly.” A heavy silence filled the room. Then Simone smiled weakly.
“I didn’t want to tell you until we were sure.” That sentence alone nearly stopped my heart.
“Tell me what?”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “It’s cancer, Ash.”
The world went completely still. No. No no no. Simone was the organized one. The stable one. The responsible one. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen to people like her.
“What?” I whispered.
“It started months ago,” she admitted softly. “We thought it was manageable, but the recent scans—”
“She needs immediate treatment,” Nash interrupted carefully.
I looked between both of them, waiting for someone to laugh awkwardly and say it was all some misunderstanding. Nobody did. A strange ringing started in my ears.
“This isn’t funny.”
Simone’s eyes filled instantly. “I know.”
I stepped backward automatically.
“No.”
“Ashley—”
“No.” Because if I accepted it out loud, it became real.nAnd I wasn’t ready for real. Not this kind of real.
Not while my sister sat in front of me looking fragile enough to disappear.
“I’m going to be okay,” Simone said quickly, standing up. “The doctors are optimistic.”
“Optimistic is not the same as cured.” Nash’s jaw tightened slightly.
“We’re handling it.”
That almost made me angry. Handling it? Like it was another business issue? Simone squeezed my hands before speaking again.
“There’s another reason we called you here.” I blinked at her slowly.
“What?”
“You’ll temporarily take my position in the company while I’m gone.” I actually laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was insane.
“I’m sorry, what?” I scoffed.
“You know the structure already.”
“No, I know gossip. There’s a difference.” I rolled my eyes dramatically.
“Ash—”
“I got fired from a café because I accidentally insulted customers.”
“It was one customer.”
“It was a priest, Simone.” Nash rubbed his temple. Normally that would’ve amused me. Tonight it didn’t.
“You’re smarter than you pretend to be,” Simone said firmly.
“That is objectively untrue.”
“No.” She looked directly at me now. “You’re irresponsible. Not stupid.”
Ouch.
True. But ouch.
“You understand people,” she continued. “You read situations quickly. You know how to survive conversations. Half of business is intimidation and confidence anyway.”
I stared at her.
“You’re seriously sending me into corporate warfare while pregnant?”
“Temporary corporate warfare.”
“That does not sound better.” For the first time that night, Simone actually smiled slightly. Then her expression shifted again. More serious this time.
“There’s one more thing.” The room suddenly felt colder.
“Nash and I work closely with Bryson Holdings now.”
My stomach tightened instinctively. Simone noticed my expression immediately.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“I mean…” I shrugged weakly. “Everyone’s heard of him.”
That was true.
Marcus Bryson was the kind of man constantly mentioned online. Young billionaire CEO, corporate genius, emotionally unavailable nightmare. Women on the internet either wanted to marry him or sue him for emotional damage preemptively.
“There’s a joint project meeting next week,” Nash said evenly. “You’ll attend in Simone’s place.”
I blinked once. Then twice.
“No.”
“It’s already arranged.”
“No.”
“You only need to maintain stability until Simone returns.”
“I would rather fight a bear.” Nash ignored me completely.
“Marcus Bryson is difficult.”
“That’s a very polite description,” Simone muttered.
Nash continued calmly. “He’s extremely intelligent, highly observant, and intolerant of incompetence.”
“Well,” I said immediately, “I’m already failing.”
To my horror, Simone laughed. Actually laughed.
Good. At least somebody here was emotionally stable.
“You can handle him,” she said confidently.
“That confidence feels irresponsible.” Simone walked closer and fixed a strand of hair behind my ear gently like she used to when we were younger.
“Ashley,” she said quietly, “Marcus Bryson doesn’t intimidate people like you.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t care enough about status to fear him.”
That… Actually sounded true. I’d met rich men before.
Most of them were just regular men with expensive watches and superiority complexes.
Still. This was different. This was Marcus Bryson. A man powerful enough to make entire boardrooms nervous.
And somehow my terminally ill sister genuinely believed throwing me into meetings with him was a reasonable life decision.
I looked at Simone for a long moment. She looked terrified beneath all her composure. And suddenly none of this felt optional anymore.
Not the company. Not the meetings. Not Marcus Bryson. Not even my own fear. Because this was Simone.
My sister. The person who spent years cleaning up my disasters without ever making me feel like one.
What else was I supposed to say? I sighed heavily and dropped back against the couch.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll do it.” Relief flashed across Simone’s face so quickly it physically hurt to see.
“But,” I added immediately, pointing at both of them, “you are absolutely not allowed to expect anything spectacular from me.”
Nash looked mildly unconvinced already.
“I’m serious,” I continued. “The most professional thing I’ve done this year is organize my skincare products by price.”
“You’ll learn quickly,” Simone said softly.
“That confidence is still concerning.”
A faint laugh escaped her. My chest tightened painfully.
“When do I start?” I asked quietly.
“Monday morning,” Nash answered.
Wonderful!
Enough time to panic properly.
