167 Shitstorm
The crash thundered through the dining room.
Plates shattered, cutlery clattered, wine glasses burst.
The cake landed face–down on the floor, half–covered by the tablecloth, mashed flat under its own weight.
Someone screamed–Gwendolyn, I think.
A maid shouted something.
The others shouted too.
Reginald caught a flying fork to the shoulder.
Edouard took a ceramic plate to the chest.
Glass nicked Reginald’s hand–a thin red line down the knuckle.
He bolted over to Edouard and caught his chair before it tipped.
Chairs scraped, servants rushed forward.
Someone started shouting for heart pills.
The whole place fell apart in under ten seconds.
Even Declan got hit in the face with a spoon.
Only I came out untouched.
Ashton had dragged me clear before he lost it.
He turned to me. “Why the hell are you here?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
His face was inches from mine, eyes locked, fists still clenched.
Gwendolyn stepped in before I could find words. “I invited her. I thought we could have dinner like normal people for once. Is that a fucking crime?”
He turned on her. “Do you even remember what today is?”
She blinked, thrown. “It’s your birthday. We’re family, Ashton. What’s wrong with sitting down to eat like one? I haven’t seen Mirabelle since Edouard’s birthday party. Can’t I try to reconnect?”
Ashton yanked his tie loose and muttered something under his breath. Then, louder: “Must be nice living this comfortably. You’ve got so much time on your hands, you’re picking fights just to feel something.”
Gwendolyn’s voice jumped in. “There’s no need for that tone-”
Chapter 167 Shitstorm
While they kept snapping at each other, Declan slipped up next to me and leaned in.
“She tricked you into coming, didn’t she?”
I nodded.
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He gave a low whistle. “You’re screwed. She dragged you straight into a shitstorm. Do you even know what day it is?”
“His birthday?”
“It’s also the day his mum died.” 1
I stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. She died on his birthday. That’s why he never celebrates it. I don’t know what the hell they were thinking, throwing a dinner tonight. If he snaps, I’m not getting dragged down with you. I should’ve stayed in Milan.”
He edged sideways like Ashton might lunge at him next.
I stood there, stomach turning.
I hadn’t known.
No one had told me.
Gwendolyn just said it was a family dinner.
She’d sounded so normal about it.
I looked over at Ashton.
All I could see was his side profile, hard as granite.
I wanted to slap myself.
Gwendolyn kept talking. “I didn’t mean any harm. We went out of our way for your birthday. That cake was custom–made. Mirabelle wanted to be here. She wanted to eat with us-”
“No, I didn’t,” I cut in. “You lied to me.”
She spun to face me. “I didn’t lie. I asked you to dinner. That’s not a lie.”
“You left out everything that mattered. That counts.”
I glared at Gwendolyn.
Whatever guilt I’d felt towards Ashton burned straight through into rage.
I’d thought their relationship was tense but tolerable.
Now I saw I’d been stupid.
I turned to Ashton. “I didn’t know, I swear. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known. I’m not part of
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Chapter 167 Shitstorm
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whatever game she’s playing.”
Words felt useless at this moment.
“I never lied to you!” Gwendolyn said. “I just said it was his birthday and you showed up right away. How’s that my fault? None of us meant any harm-
Ashton moved suddenly, drove his foot into the leg of a nearby chair, and sent it flying.
It crashed across the room, straight at her.
She screamed and threw herself sideways.
The chair hit the wall behind her and landed on its side, one leg splintered.
She pressed against the bar cart, breathing hard, eyes wide.
Reginald stormed across the room and helped her upright. “What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s your birthday. So what if we forgot it was–You think we’d hurt you on purpose? Grow the fuck up!”
Ashton kicked another chair. Harder this time.
The back leg caught Reginald’s shin with a loud crack.
“Shit!” Reginald dropped to one knee, gripping his leg. “You trying to kill us now?”
He staggered upright and limped to the nearest sofa
Gwendolyn rushed after him, muttering something under her breath.
Ashton’s back was tense.
His shoulders barely moved when he breathed.
I stood behind him, close enough to hear how uneven that breath had become.
I reached out without thinking and grabbed his hand.
The second my palm touched his, he gripped back, tight enough to make me wince.
I felt it. Every ounce of control he was losing, pushed into my hand.
That grip told me he didn’t think I was part of their bullshit.
I squeezed back.
My fingers ached, but I didn’t let go.
He kept holding. Long enough that I felt the tension in his arm start to ease. 1
His chest stopped jerking with every breath.
When he looked up again, his face was cold but no longer homicidal.
Then he let go.
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Chapter 167 Shitstorm
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He scanned the room slowly.
“You’ve all had it too easy for too long. That’s your problem. You thought it’d be funny to drag her into this? You thought you could make her part of your little circus? Just to get a rise out of me?”
He turned to me. “When did they contact you?”
“Last night.”
He nodded slowly.
“That dinner with the Lauders. You arranged it, didn’t you? To get me out of the house so you could call her without me knowing. Set this whole thing up behind my back.”
Reginald avoided Ashton’s stare, eyes flicking sideways, mouth shut.
Which was as good as admitting it.
Ashton stepped forward.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve. Living in my house, eating my food, plotting behind my back. Getting too cozy now? Want me to throw you all out, see how long you last under a bridge?”
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