Chapter 4The Last Lingerie Set Ends Ten Years

The lights in the Pierce Holdings penthouse office were blazing.

The team was supposed to be finalizing plans for a lucrative post-alliance partnership.

Instead, they were tackling the public relations disaster caused by Spencer Reed's "City-Wide Apology."

My secretary, Martha, looked at me with open sympathy.

"Ms. Sinclair might just be acting out of anger, Mr. Pierce. Perhaps if you speak to her first..."

"No need."

My voice was so calm it surprised even me.

"I appreciate your concern, Martha, but the partnership is beyond saving."

"Her secretary informed me that she is already processing the paperwork to transfer the Sinclair shares she bought back from me... directly to Spencer Reed."

Martha's face fell, and she clearly wanted to say more.

I shifted the conversation back to the crisis at hand. I looked up later, and the night outside was thick and black.

My phone rang in the silence, the flashing number so familiar it was a searing pain.

I watched it ring for a long time, picking up at the very last second.

The voice that came through was not the cold mockery I expected.

It was Genevieve, slurring, with a thick, drunken sob.

"Ashton Pierce, you've got... you've got nerve. I waited for your call all night..."

She cried intermittently, her voice laced with a drunken vulnerability I had never heard before. My heart softened automatically, but then she continued:

"You... you need to come and get me... we're going home... to that penthouse you bought for us... Spencer said... he loves the rooftop infinity pool and the view... Will you just sign the deed over to him? As... as your apology gift... and then we can call it even..."

Every word was a bullet, precisely hitting the last nerve in my body.

That penthouse was a custom design I had sketched out myself, taking a full year to build. It was exactly what she had once said she wanted: a home with a view of the entire city's lights and the stars above.

And now, she was casually demanding I sign it over to Spencer Reed as my "apology?"

My fingers were ice-cold as I gripped the phone; I could taste rust in my throat.

"Genevieve, that apartment was prepared for my future wife. It has absolutely nothing to do with you or Spencer Reed. You have no right to ask, and certainly no right to demand its disposal."

Without waiting for another word from her, I hung up and immediately blocked the number.

A text from my mother arrived promptly:

"Ashton, Alexandra Albright, the daughter of the Albright Industries family in North City, just returned from overseas. She mentioned wanting to meet you, said you two knew each other from before? What do you think... about that?"

I didn't hesitate: "Yes, Mom. Please arrange it."

"Wonderful, I'll have Lexi text you directly."

Alexandra Albright. We had met at a project competition during graduate school. Her presentation was flawlessly logical, and her business acumen was astonishing. The Albright family had subtly expressed an interest in an alliance afterward.

But at the time, Genevieve was all I could see.

I was entirely focused on helping her stabilize the Sinclair Group. Though Albright Industries offered much more assistance, I had politely declined the offer then.

Now, a decade of deep affection felt like a long, painful dream.

It was time for me to start living for myself again.