Ash.
The nickname hits me like a slap. She called him Ash. Not Asher. Ash. Only a handful of people call him that and I loathe every single one of those ignorant, elitist frat bros.
I look at Dr. Reeves, and for just a second, I see something flicker in her expression. A flash of realization that she's made a mistake. Then it's gone, smoothed over with that same professional smile.
"Julie," she says, extending her hand to me. Her grip is firm, her skin cool. "I really hope you'll consider what we discussed today. I believe intensive individual therapy could be very beneficial for you."
I nod because I don't trust myself to speak. Because if I open my mouth, I'm going to ask her why she just called Asher by a nickname that almost nobody uses. But I don't ask. Because I instinctively know it’ll get turned around on me and I’m done being gaslit.
We walk out of the office, down the stupid fucking stairs Devon insists on using, and into the parking lot. Nobody speaks the entire way. I am barely containing my rage.
"You know what?" Devon says, her voice light and cheerful in a way that makes my skin crawl. "I'mreallycraving ice cream. There's that place just a few blocks from here."
Asher looks at me. "Yeah, that sounds good. Julie, do you want to come? I'm parked right across the street. We can take my car and come back after to pick up yours."
Like I knew, he hid his car. I'm furious but also trapped because I am trying to portray calm. And going anywhere with them right now is not going to make calm possible. Ice cream. The three of us. More time in their presence, more opportunities for Devon to twist the knife, more chances for me to slip and say something that proves I'm unstable. I can't do it. I physically cannot do it.
"I’d love some ice cream but I really can't," I say. My voice sounds pleasant and calm, and not at all like mine. "I have to hurry back to work. Jamie's been covering all afternoon. I’d planned to be back well before now."
The lie tastes metallic. My sister already told me to take the afternoon off. And thank God for that because I’m not fit for the public right now.
Asher noticeably fails at feigning disappointment. Has anything he’s ever shown me or said to me been true? I no longer think so. He’s a fucking liar to his core, and he’s cruel on top of it. Whatever mask he wore that fooled me will never work again.
"Are you sure?” he asks. “It'll be quick."
"I'm so sure." I force brightness into the words, force the smile. "You two go. Have all the fun and eat some for me."
Devon watches me. Calculating. She's trying to determine if I'm breaking or just bending. I turn with what I think is a jaunty wave and walk toward my car. My hands are shaking now and all I can feel is the pressure building behind my eyes, the tightness in my chest, the way my breath is coming in short, controlled gasps. I'm barely holding it together.
"Hey, Julie—" Asher calls after me.
I don't turn around because I can't. If I turn around, I'll see his face and I'll start screaming. Possibly throwing punches. So I hurry to the car. Click unlock on the fob and then slide into the driver's seat, close the door, start the door, and turn Madonna all the way the hell up. In the rearview, I can see them standing in the parking lot. Asher looking thoughtful, Devon with that small, satisfied smile.
That. Bitch.
My vision is blurry. I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. I pull out without looking back because looking back means exploding. I drive. The route doesn't matter. What matters is distance—from Devon, from Asher, fromthe therapist's passive aggressive bullshit. Fucking cunt. She shouldn’t be a therapist.
I can't help thinking my life would've been a lot fucking better if I'd been paying attention to where I was driving that day and had hit the brakes on time. Anything to have kept me from Asher goddamn Stevens and his toxic fucking family.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
JULIE
I recorda quick voice note for my sister, outlining the basics of my shitty afternoon, and ask her to cover for me if Asher calls. The session plays on a loop in my mind. Asher sitting there in that office, already waiting. Because he'd planned it that way. I feel alone, angry, and so goddamn foolish.
I used to have other friends I could call, but things got weird when I started dating a billionaire. I hate that it happened, but it’s true. People I’d loved and supported for as long as I could remember started making sharp comments about how I was slumming it whenever I went anywhere with them.
If I tried to pay for drinks or lunch or even a bottle of wine—the same as I always had—they’d call me Moneybags. That infuriated me because, to this day, I’ve never taken anything from Asher. The things I pay for come from my bank account. The only things I did not pay into are the house and the jewelry he’s bought me. So making it out like I had morphed into some society bitch with a black card and an attitude was really shitty of them. And the way they acted about my engagement ring and the wedding made it clear they were wondering who I’d become.Four of the girls I went to college with RSVP’d no to the wedding entirely. It was humiliating. I was still me, but the weight of someone else’s bank account changed the way they saw me.
It broke my heart and narrowed my world, because in addition to losing the people I thought had my back, I couldn’t trust anyone who suddenly found me interesting just because I married into money. My own mother avoids coming to visit me when she’s in town, because the house makes her uncomfortable. Money changes things, and not in a good way.
So there are only two people who have my back at this point, since my husband clearly doesn’t. The first is my sister. The second is Asher’s best friend. I scroll to Ryan's name. He works from home a few days a week because he dislikes the stiff formality of office buildings. Chances are good he’ll be around. I hesitate for a second. But Ryan has always been easy. True. Strong. He doesn't ask me to be anything other than what I am.
I text him:
Hey, are you home? I need to talk.
