Helen scoffed, her voice sharp in the heavy air. "She is just an ingrate. Dad treated her well all these years for nothing."
"Stop it," Charlie snapped at once, his gaze cutting to her before shifting to me with something softer, almost tired. "It's late. The funeral is over. Go home now."
I lowered my head slightly. "Thank you, Uncle Charlie."
Both Charlie and Helen were over fifty. They had no children, yet they lived comfortably off the shares tied to the Fuller Corporation, their lives wrapped in wealth and quiet influence. Helen's tongue was sharp, but she wasn't cruel at the core. They were a couple many envied, steady in a way most families here were not.
As they walked away together, I remained in front of George's grave. The air around it still felt heavy, like the land itself was holding onto his presence a little too tightly.
My thoughts drifted without permission. With George gone, everything between me and Ashton felt like it was slipping loose, thread by thread.
I'm going to lose him after all.
I bowed my head once more. "Grandpa… take care. I'll come again."
Then I turned to leave.
But I froze.
He was there.
Ashton stood not far from the grave, dressed in black, his presence sharp and unmoving. The expression on his face was cold, unreadable, like a storm held too tightly behind glass. For a moment, even the air around him felt different, heavier, as if it bent under his mood.
He didn't look at anyone else. Only at the gravestone.
Then his eyes shifted to me.
"Let's go," he said.
His voice was low, firm. No emotion. Just command.
For a moment, I didn't move. Something in me softened at the thought that he had come for me.
Did he… come to take me home?
I stepped forward quickly when he turned to leave. "Ashton."
He stopped, but didn't look back.
"Grandpa is gone," I said carefully, my voice quieter now. "You should let it go. He did everything he could for you over the years…"
The moment I said it, I felt it. The air changed. His presence tightened, like something inside him had gone still in a dangerous way.
My words faded.
I didn't push further.
Ashton didn't argue. He didn't react the way I expected. He simply turned and walked away.
No anger. No reply. Just distance.
I followed him out of the cemetery.
The sky had already dimmed into night, heavy and dark. The driver who brought me had left when he saw Ashton arrive, as if there was no need to stay once he appeared.
So I went with him.
We got into the car in silence. Ashton started the engine without a word, and the vehicle moved forward into the dark road.
I sat beside him, hands folded tightly in my lap. I wanted to ask about Rebecca. About everything I had been holding inside.
But when I turned slightly and saw his face—cold, closed off, unreachable—I swallowed the words back down.
The silence between us was louder than anything I could say.
After a long silence, I finally spoke. "How is Ms. Larson doing?"
I didn't press the question. I only asked because she had fallen right in front of me earlier, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.
The moment the words left my mouth, everything changed.
The car jerked to a sudden stop.
My body lurched forward, but before I could fully react, Ashton moved fast. Too fast. He pinned me back against the seat, one arm braced near me, his presence closing in like a wall I couldn't escape.
His eyes were cold. Sharper than before. Controlled, but dangerous in a way that made my instincts tighten.
"Ashton," I said quietly, trying to steady my breathing.
"How do you want her to be?" he said, voice low and mocking. "Scarlett, do you really think I won't end this marriage just because of that box Grandpa left you?"
My heart skipped.
So he already knew.
It hadn't even been a few hours.
That was fast… too fast.
"I didn't push her," I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. My hands curled tightly in my lap to stop them from shaking. "Ashton, I don't even know what's inside that box. I'm not using it to trap you. If you want the separation… then fine. We'll do it tomorrow."
The rain outside grew heavier, tapping against the windows like restless fingers. The silence inside the car stretched, thick and suffocating.
Ashton froze for a moment.
I didn't expect that.
Then he let out a cold laugh.
"Rebecca is still in the hospital," he said slowly. "And you think you can just walk away clean?"
His eyes stayed on me, unreadable, but I could feel the weight of his attention like pressure on my skin. Something in the air between us felt unstable, like a line had been pulled too tight.
"What do you want from me?" I asked quietly. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.
For a second, he didn't answer.
Then he straightened in his seat, releasing me but not the tension in the car. His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, calm again, too calm.
"You'll take care of her starting tomorrow," he said.
The words hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I couldn't even process them properly. It felt like he had just assigned me a role I had no choice in refusing, like my feelings didn't exist in the same space as his decisions.
I swallowed slowly. "Take care of her… as what?"
His eyes flicked toward me briefly, then away again, like I wasn't worth a full answer.
"As her support," he said flatly. "She needs someone there. And you will do it."
The rain outside grew louder, drowning the silence that followed. I turned my face slightly toward the window, pretending to look outside, but my reflection only showed a woman who felt increasingly out of place in her own life.
My chest tightened again, not from fear this time, but something worse.
Something like being replaced… without being asked.