Captivating The Impostor Bride

Man

Even I could tell that. I remembered the manner Ashton had reacted when he examined them. He’d attempted to hide it, however I saw the sparkle of intrigue in his eyes. Those drugs were different, valuable. Maybe he could sell them, study them, or trade them for something more powerful.

No matter what, none of it would bring his grandfather back. That loss was written throughout Ashton’s face when it occurred—raw and unguarded. I’d in no way neglect the way he looked in that moment, like the weight of the world had crushed him. For all his harshness, his grandfather supposed the whole lot to him, and dropping him had damaged something in him.

I tried not to think about him like that—as someone hurting, someone human. It became dangerous to see him as anything apart from the angry, scary guy he changed into now. But I couldn’t help it. For a brief moment back then, he looked so lost, and the memory of it squeezed my heart in a way I didn’t want to admit.

The silence stretched on for hours. I watched the mild from the window change because the sun moved, each shift making me uneasy. The residence was so quiet, too quiet. I kept expecting to hear shouting or doors slamming—a few sign of Ashton’s fury boiling over. But there has not been anything. And the quiet grew worse. It felt heavy, like it was crushing me from the inner.

Then I heard it—the press of the lock.

The sound was sharp and loud in the stillness, and it made my heart jump. My pulse raced because the door creaked open, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, despite the fact that there has been nowhere to go.

It was Ashton.

He stepped inside, and the air in the room appeared to trade, charged with tension. His look made my breath seize. His hair was a mess, sticking up like he’d been dragging his palms through it. His face became pale and strained, the usual confidence and control replaced by something darker, and extra dangerous.

But it was his eyes that terrified me. They burned with a wild, feral anger that sent chills through me. He gave the impression of a man on the edge of breaking, and I had no question he’d take me down with him if he did.

I desired to shrink away, to vanish, however I couldn’t move. I just stood there, frozen, as he stared at me like I became the cause of all his pain. And perhaps I was.

I pressured myself to face him, even though my legs felt like they might break underneath me. They trembled with each step, however I kept telling myself it wasn’t a weak spot. No, anybody in my shoes would be shaking too, especially with someone like Ashton staring them down. His eyes burned with anger so raw and fierce that it felt like he could see through me. The manner he watched me—it was like he was imagining me bleeding out on the floor, and he’d revel in each second of it.

The tension in the room became suffocating, thick and choking. I couldn’t tell if he was waiting for me to talk or if he just desired me to collapse in silence. My lips have been so dry they felt like they could split open when I licked them, desperate for moisture. At this point I wanted to say some thing. Anything.

“Ashton,” I began, my voice shaking but just loud enough to push through the stillness. “I don’t know if you’ll believe with me, but I am so, so sorry about your grandfather. If there had been some thing I could’ve done to stop it, I—”

I didn’t get the chance to complete.

He moved so rapid it didn’t appear real. In the blink of an eye, he closed the gap between us. Before I could react, his hand clamped down on my face, his palms digging into my cheeks with brutal force. A startled gasp slipped out as my back hit the bloodless, tough wall behind me. Pain flared where his grip tightened, sharp and unrelenting, but the ache in my chest was worse.

It was his eyes.

The man standing in front of me wasn’t the Ashton I thought I was beginning to recognize. That Ashton, with his rare moments of kindness and flashes of some thing nearly human, now gone. The person who held me now become a stranger—a chilly, savage shell of a man whose anger ate up everything. That look in his eyes hollowed me out, left me feeling more fragile than I imagined possible.

“Let me give you some advice,” he growled, his voice deep and rough, more animal than man. The sharp heady scent of alcohol hit me like a slap, burning my nostrils. He’d been drinking— a lot—and it only fueled his fury. “You will by no means speak of my grandfather again. Do you hear me? I don’t want to hear his name. I don’t want your apologies. I don’t need your sympathy. All you’ve ever given me is lies, and I’m done being attentive to them.”

“I wasn’t—” I attempted to provide an explanation for, but his grip tightened, slicing off my words. The pain was blinding, sharp enough to make my eyes sting with tears I didn’t want to shed.

Don’t interrupt me,” he snarled, his voice trembling with slightly restrained rage. “You will only speak when I ask you a direct question. Do you understand?”

I nodded as nice as I ought to, my moves stiff and awkward below the strain of his hand.

“Good,” he stated, his tone so cold it sent a shiver down my backbone. His eyes narrowed, the fire in them burning hotter, making my insides twist. “Now, tell me who the hell you are,” he demanded, every word sharp and venomous. “Tell me the whole truth. Because in case you deceive me again—and I assume for even one second you’re not being honest—I’ll kill you right here. No hesitation.”