<h4>Chapter 210: Chapter 210</h4>


    <strong>ASHTON</strong>


    The words <i>I’ll get packing</i> still echo in my skull long after Demi’s lips stop moving.


    What hurts more isn’t the words themselves, but the way she said it, with such quiet finality, like the decision was already etched in stone. No hesitation. No nce back at me to gauge how wide with horror and shock my eyes be. Nothing. The missing warmth in her tone lodges in my chest like ss shards, twisting every time I breathe.


    For a second, I go numb all over. The sound of Anna’s gasp rattles the air, and I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to me, silently begging me to do something. To stop this madness.


    Marcel watches his niece with grim satisfaction, like this was the only oue he ever wanted. And Lucien — that new shadow he’s thrown into our lives — just leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, assessing me like he’s waiting for me to break.


    My blood boils but anger takes a backseat when Demi brushes past me, heading toward her room to get her things.


    "Demi—" I reach for her before I can think better of it. My hand closes around her arm, and the contact nearly undoes me. Warm, alive, tangible, everything I will miss if I let her leave. She stops abruptly, her eyes startled and wide as they snap up at me. Her eyes are not soft at all. There’s no recognition or relief in them, just wariness.


    "Please," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Just give me a minute."


    Her gaze flickers to her uncle, who narrows his eyes but refrains from intervening. Silently, I appreciate him backing away from this moment. Anna seizes the opportunity. Grabbing Marcel’s sleeve with both hands, she tugs him toward the kitchen.


    "She’s like my sister," Anna pleads. "Don’t you see what this will do to us if you take her away now? If she leaves with you, she’ll <i>forget </i>me and everything we’ve been through. I can’t lose her...please, I’m sure we can figure out another way. There has to be another way. Don’t make her do this!"


    Marcel exhales like a man too tired for empathy, but Anna doesn’t back down. Their voices fade as I gently guide Demi outside, my heart thudding against my ribs with each step.


    The night air is restless and thick with the metallic tang of rain that is about to fall. The wind whips hard, tugging at Demi’s hair, ruffling my curls.


    I squint up at the gathering clouds above us momentarily and when I return my eyes to Demi, the streetlight flickering overhead has thrown shadows across her face. For a moment, I let myself imagine the girl she used to be — the girl who once looked at me like I was her forever.


    Now she looks at me more like a gum stuck on her shoe which she can’t shake off.


    "Why are you doing this?" I ask, unable to hide the crack in my voice.


    She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze slides to the wet sheen of pavement, as though the ground might offer her courage. "Because I have to, Ashton."


    "Have to?" I step closer, desperation wing my throat. "No, you don’t. You’re not a prisoner here. You’re surrounded by people who love you. My voice fractures. "<i>People who can’t exist without you.</i>"


    Her eyes squeeze shut, as though bracing against the weight of my words. When she opens her eyes again, they glisten with unshed tears but her resolve is still there, quiet and unyielding. "That’s exactly why I need to go."


    Something shatters inside me. I grip her arms, maybe too tightly, but I can’t stop myself. "Do you have any idea what we went through to get here? Everything we survived, Demi — the lies, the usations, the weight of the entire damn city pressing down on us — and you’re just going to walk away from that?"


    Her chin trembles, but her voice stays steady. "That’s the problem. You keep talking about what <i>we</i> went through. Ashton, but I don’t remember <i>any </i>of it. I don’t remember <i>us.</i>" Her tears spill now, unchecked. "Do you understand what that feels like? To me, it feels like I went to sleep and woke up to realize five years of my life had been copsed into one night. And now, I am expected to live a life that doesn’t fit. Everyone keeps waiting for me to slip back into my old life. You all demand something from me I don’t have to give. You all want <i>her.</i> The old Demi. But she’s dead, Ashton. And I..." Her voice breaks. "I can’t resurrect her just to make you happy. I can’t give you what you want."


    The air constricts in my chest. I want to wipe her tears away and show her how wrong she is "You don’t have to give me anything. Just... stay. Just stay long enough to remember. Doctor Ezra said—"


    "I know what he said." She cuts me off, a bit angrier now. "He said familiar ces and faces might help. But Ashton..." She finally looks at me, and the defeat in her eyes guts me. "What if I <i>don’t</i> want to remember."


    It feels like the ground caves beneath me.


    My hands drop uselessly to my sides. For days, I’ve clung to hope like a lifeline — hope that if she stayed near me, her memory would resurface, our love would ze back, and I’d have her again. But now... now I realize she’s fighting against that very hope, resisting it.


    "Why? Why don’t you want to remember?" I feel stupid asking but I need to hear it from her.


    She hugs herself, shivering despite the mild night. "Because it hurts too much. Because every time someone looks at me, I see disappointment. Anna, my uncle, you — and the bitter truth is that you all don’t want <i>me</i>, Ashton. You want <i>her</i>. I feel like an impostor wearing her name, an actress cast in a role I don’t recall auditioning for. I’m not her, at least not right now, but I won’t apologize for that."


    Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back. "You don’t have to apologize. None of this is your fault." I inhale sharply. "Tell me. I know that’s not all. Tell me why you really <i>don’t</i> want to remember. Please..."


    She stares deeply at me and for a sliver of a second, I see it; contempt.


    "My rage for what your family did to mine is as raw as it was five years ago, Ashton, and so’s the pain. I’ve tried to look past it, to tell myself that you’re different now and you all regret your actions but I can’t shake the...anger." She meets my eyes. "All the good things I’ve been told about you keeps warring with the thought of my parents’ cold graves. It’s suffocating being around you because I am constantly battling with guilt. Reliving this pain a second time has made me question the choices I made, detest them. That is why I don’t want to remember, because I don’t want to have to live like that again."


    Her honesty is a knife to the ribs.


    Her throat bobs as she swallows. "I need to go. I need to rediscover who I am <i>now</i>, without everyone pulling me in a thousand directions. Without you trying to love me into remembering." She pauses and looks at me with a sudden softness. "I’m really sorry. I know you feel hurt to hear this from me but Ashton..."


    "It’s okay." I stop her. "I didn’t realize how much you were dealing with. I’m sorry for my selfish im over your choices."


    I want to hug her to assure her she has no reason to feel bad but, in the moment, I’m afraid she won’t be cool with it.


    I stagger back a step, shaking my head. "But what if—" My voice breaks. I try again. "What happens if one day you do remember? What then?"


    Thunder groans across the sky as rain droplets start to fall. Demi hesitates, considering my question. Then her words fall like stones.


    "Then it’ll feel like reading a book I finished years ago. I’ll remember the plot, the twists, maybe even smile at the ending again... but I won’t feel the exact same way I did the first time I read it. It won’t bring back the emotions, just the knowledge."


    I nod my head in finality.


    She steps forward,ying a palm against my chest. The gesture is neither tender nor romantic. "I’m sorry, Ashton."


    And then she turns, retreating into the house, the door clicking shut behind her.


    "In another life, Demi Branson." I whisper into the rain as it starts to shower.


    ***


    I don’t remember climbing into my car. I don’t remember the roar of the engine or the blur of traffic lights streaking past me. All I remember is the st of wind as it zips through my ears, blocking out the sound of Demi <i>hating </i>me, again.


    Red haze clouds my vision. My hands are fists around the wheel. The city blurs past in streaks of neon and shadow. Hard as I try, I can’t stop ying back our conversation in a fucking loop. My chest hurts.


    <i>"It’s suffocating being around you..."</i>


    <i>"My rage for what your family did to mine is as raw as it was five years ago, Ashton, and so’s the pain</i>..."


    <i>"You all want her. The old Demi. But she’s dead, Ashton. I can’t resurrect her just to make you happy. I can’t give you what you want."</i>


    I don’t see the man until it’s toote.


    The loud thud and sound of body crumpling is sickening. I m my foot on my brakes and screech to a halt.


    Immediately, I leap out of the car with my heart in my throat. The man groans, rolling onto his side. Thank God, he’s alive. But then I hear the wail of sirens and lights sh in the distance. I squint at the patrol car pulling up to us fast.


    The officer storms toward me, barking orders. Hands where I can see them! Don’t move!


    "He needs medical attention..." I yell while raising my hands.


    "Medic is on the way." He assures the man groaning in pain, then turns to me. "Hands behind your back." The moment Iply, cold metal cuffs mp over my wrists.


    "Well, well, one of the Rollins golden boys," the officer spits, recognition curling his lip. "Of course it’s one of you decadents."


    I blink at him, dazed. His face is unfamiliar, but his hatred is not.


    He bundles me into the back seat of his car and waits till my victim was safely carted off to the hospital.


    At the station, the officer regards me like filth. I am used to people either worshipping the ground I walk on or hating my guts but this guy, his disdain appears to run deeper than I am used to.


    He books me with methodical contempt, mming forms in my face, snapping mug shots. He doesn’t need to say it but his disgust is loud enough in the way he won’t meet my eyes.


    After the formalities are done, I plead with him to tell me how the patient is doing.


    "Don’t y that card with me, Ashton Rollins, like you give a damn about anyone beneath your economic bracket. You and your family are notorious for getting away with ruining and ending lives but not on MY watch." Hatred sizzles in his eyes.


    "Do I know you?"


    Chuckling sarcastically, he leans close and lowers his voice low. "Typical. You don’t know who I am."


    I shake my head.


    "Well, let me jog your memory. My kid brother was Madeline’s ex, and I say <i>was</i> because he was found dead in his apartment. Apparently, he OD’d." His eyes burn. "Turns out the cause of death was fabricated and the case mysteriously closed after my superiors got one phone call. I know one of you Rollins bastards killed him. And I have the proof to back it up."


    My blood freezes over. He didn’t look like one who was bluffing. I’m pretty sure I instructed the proof be destroyed.


    In a sh, the officer ps a file onto the desk, flipping it open. Inside: grainy CCTV stills. My breath stutters as I recognize the highway and my brother, Ashal next to the deceased fellow crumpled in his trunk.


    "These were hard to get but I guess when you tried to bury the truth with money, you forgot that ckmail is far more effective than bribe. There’s a video that captures one of you in the act, pummeling my brother to his death. I have reasons to suspect it’s Ashal, the man involved with Madeline. I see the motive, but he has no record of violence or any notable scandal. Well, I guess such people with a clean digital footprint usually have the most to hide, right?"


    "His humor drains as he looks at me again. "But then there’s you, Ashton, the openly violent brother. You’re my prime suspect and given your history, it will be an easy sell to the jury. Asher and Ashley aren’t far behind. If I go public with this evidence," the officer sneers, "your whole family burns. Your wealth won’t save you this time. Danvarr will crucify you all..."


    My stomach knots. "What do you want?"


    He leans closer. "Lucky for you, this badge actually means something to me unlike my superiors. I don’t care about your dirty money. I am not even interested to fighting your family because I am smart enough to know how that will end. You bunch already have sufficient practice in ying dirty."


    "What do you want?" I almost growl at him.


    His lips curl. "I just want justice for my brother. He was no druggie but he was framed as one in death. Hand me the one who killed my brother, and I promise this footage stays buried. I need him to face thew for what he did. If you all have any shred of guilt like you imed on your birthday, you’ll own up to the life you took. Give me my culprit and the rest of you can walk."


    I stare at Ashal’s face frozen in the still, and I see him. Not the fury ball, but the broken shell left behind after he lost Olivia and Madeline in different ways.


    The man who hasn’t smiled properly since. The man who sits by Madeline’s bed, her skin gray against the sheets and the man whose newborn is clinging to life in an ICU crib.


    He’s already drowning. Prison would destroy him but me? I don’t have a lot tethering me beyond the bars of a prison cell. I am already hurting. I couldn’t bear if another person whom I cherished was ripped from my life. If that has to happen, it should be me.


    I hear Demi’s voice in my head — <i>I don’t want to remember.</i>


    The choice burns through me as I lift my chin, my voice steady for the first time tonight. "It was me."


    The officer blinks. "What?"


    I swallow the lump in my throat, sealing my fate. "I killed your brother. I’ll sign whatever you want. But you leave my family out of it."


    For a moment, he studies me, suspicion flickering. "You’re trying to be the hero tonight?"


    Angrily, I lean forward. "Do you want me to describe the sound of his nose cracking under my fist or the how I covered the bruises on his body?" He grates his teeth at me. "Where do I sign?"


    "You won’t fight this, not even if your family insists. If they try to save you, the footage gets out."


    "Got it."


    He leans back, satisfaction slowly spreading across his face.


    When he leaves toplete the formalities, my sigh fills the room as the weight of my choice descends on me. Pain engulfs me as thickly as the silence of the room.


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