Wearing a matte black tuxedo, Asher stood stiffly near the corner, swirling a glass of wine between his fingers, his jaw locked in irritation.
Every second dragged like hellfire. His body was present, but his mind was already with her. His little one. His escape, his addiction.
He didn’t know what prompted his father to arrange this unnecessary gathering, inviting nearly every noble family in Manderly. But he had a feeling that it reeked of his mother’s schemes. And sure enough, as he glanced around, his suspicions were confirmed. Spoiled heiresses in glittering gowns, faces powdered and lips stained, all casting not-so-subtle glances toward him.
His mother must have thought she could parade him in front of eligible girls. A future duchess. A perfect bride.
How laughable.
But none of
