I could already feel his mood before I even reached him. It pressed against my chest like a heavy force, sharp and unsettled, the kind that always followed Ashton when something had irritated him deeper than he wanted to admit.
I lowered my head slightly as I walked away from Macy, giving her a soft goodbye before turning toward him. The bond between us was never warm, but it was always there—silent, constant, and hard to ignore when it shifted, like the air itself adjusted around his emotions.
"Thank you," I said quietly, my voice careful.
Ashton only glanced at me. His expression darkened instantly, like my presence alone was enough to irritate him further. The energy around him tightened, the kind only an Alpha in control of his space could create without saying a word. It wasn't loud or dramatic, just suffocating in a quiet way that made everyone around him careful with their next breath.
"Get into the car!" he ordered.
I didn't argue. I never did.
I followed immediately and settled into the passenger seat, keeping my hands folded in my lap. The silence inside the car was familiar, almost routine now, but tonight it felt heavier. On the way back, my phone lit up with Macy's message saying she had reached home safely. I quickly replied with a simple Good night, then let the screen dim as I turned to the window.
Outside, the city blurred into streaks of light and shadow. The bond between us remained quiet, neither pushing nor softening, just existing like an unspoken tension stretched too tightly between two people forced into proximity. Ashton didn't look at me once. If he chose silence, I had learned to follow it. Speaking first often felt like stepping into fire I wasn't invited to.
By the time the villa came into view, the night had grown heavier, the air outside thick with something that felt like an incoming storm.
He stepped out first without a word and walked inside. I followed a few steps behind, my pace slower, unsure of what version of him I would face next. Inside, the atmosphere felt colder than outside, like the walls themselves responded to his mood, adjusting their silence around his presence.
"Ashton," I said carefully, breaking the silence. "I thought you were drunk earlier. That's why I called Dr. Crest. I didn't mean anything else."
My explanation felt thin even to my own ears, but I still said it. Staying silent always felt worse, like letting misunderstandings grow roots between us that I would never be allowed to pull out.
He stopped suddenly.
Slowly, he turned, his gaze sharp enough to cut through whatever fragile calm I had left. The bond between us tightened in that moment, not painful, but unmistakably aware—like something in him had reacted before his expression even changed.
"Anything else?" His voice dropped. Cold. Controlled. "Do you seriously think Jared likes you?"
The question landed harder than it should have.
For a moment, I couldn't answer. Not because I didn't understand it, but because I did. Too well. The implication behind it wasn't about Jared—it was about me. My place. My value. My existence in his world.
Jared was his friend. I was his wife only in name, bound by arrangement, not affection. Even without saying it, I already knew where I stood in everyone's eyes. I had learned it long ago, quietly, without protest.
So I stayed silent.
That silence seemed to confirm everything for him.
Ashton's expression hardened further before he turned away and strode upstairs. Each step carried that controlled dominance he always wore like armor, never letting anything slip, never letting anyone see what lay beneath it.
Halfway up, he stopped.
Without turning fully, he spoke again.
"Buy supper from Granger's."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Now? It's already midnight. Isn't it closed?"
"It's open 24/7," he said flatly.
Then he continued upstairs without another word.
The meaning was clear even if he didn't say it aloud.
It wasn't about food.
It was about distance.
Or punishment.
Or something he refused to name.
I stood there for a moment, watching the space he left behind, listening to the faint echo of his footsteps fade into the upper floor. Then I quietly turned toward the garage. The air outside was thick and heavy, carrying the kind of pressure that always came before rain, as if even the sky couldn't settle itself tonight.
I reached for the Jeep first, but the keys were gone. He had taken them upstairs. So I chose another vehicle, one easier to handle, and left the villa alone.
The roads were quiet, almost empty, as I drove across town. Granger's was far, but I kept going anyway, focusing only on the road and the faint pull of obligation that always tied me back to him, no matter how far he pushed me away.
Somewhere along the way, the first drops of rain hit the windshield.
Then more.
Then everything at once.
By the time I stepped out of the shop, the sky had broken open completely.
Rain came down heavy and relentless, soaking the world in seconds, swallowing sound and light until everything felt muted beneath it. I returned to the car quickly, holding the food close, and started driving back, carefully avoiding the main highways. The longer route was safer, especially with flood risks rising during nights like this.
Still, halfway through, the car stopped.
No warning.
No sound.
Just silence.
I tried again. Nothing.
The road around me was empty, swallowed by rain and darkness, as if the world had simply decided to forget this stretch of land existed. My phone was already low on battery, and when I tried calling Ashton, there was no answer. Again. And again.
Each ring faded into nothing.
My grip tightened around the food bag until my fingers hurt.
Finally, I stepped out, umbrella in hand, stepping into the storm that didn't wait for anyone.
And for the first time that night, the bond between us felt very far away—too quiet, too distant, like even it had turned its face from me.