CEO'S Runaway wife

He's the worst

Vivian’s pov ;

The moment we stepped off the plane, I barely had time to process the change in atmosphere before we were swarmed. It was chaos—reporters from every angle, cameras flashing blinding lights in my face.

"Mr. Asher! Is it true you’re rebelling against your father?"

"Is it true you threatened legal action to demand your share of the inheritance?"

"Why did you skip your father’s birthday last month? Did you have a falling out?"

“Were you hiding in New York for six months to dodge authorities? Is it connected to the money laundering accusations?”

“People say you’ve been plotting against your own family—are you trying to seize control of the company behind your father’s back?”

My heart raced, and my chest tightened as the questions flew at us, faster and more vicious than I could comprehend. The crowd was pushing in, cameras flashing so fast that I couldn’t see. My breath came in short, panicked gasps, and the heat from the bodies pressing against me felt suffocating.

I wasn’t used to this. Instinctively, I reached out, clutching Asher’s arm tightly for some sort of support. He noticed immediately, his body tensing beside me as if sensing my panic. Without a word, he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close, almost protectively.

“Enough!” he shouted at the reporters, his voice booming over the chaos. “Get them out of here,” he ordered his security detail.

His men acted quickly, forming a human shield around us as they forced the reporters back. Even then, questions were still being hurled.

"Asher! Why did you back out of the last board meeting? Are you losing your grip on the company?"

“Is your father aware of the criminal investigations into your offshore accounts?”

My head was spinning, and the crowd didn’t seem to thin fast enough. The flashes of light and the relentless voices made me dizzy. Every step felt heavier, my legs weak beneath me.

Finally, we reached the car, and Asher guided me inside. As soon as the door closed, cutting off the noise and flashes, I collapsed back against the seat, gasping for air. My hands trembled in my lap, and my heart was still pounding like it was going to burst out of my chest.

"Water," Asher barked at one of his men.

I heard the rustle of someone moving quickly, and then a bottle cap being twisted off. A second later, Asher was lifting the bottle to my lips.

"Drink," he commanded, his tone was a bit gentler now.

I drank slowly, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat. When I swallowed enough, he pulled the bottle away and looked at me intently. “Are you okay? Should I take you to a hospital?”

I shook my head, closing my eyes for a moment. “No…I’m fine. Just…tired.”

He groaned, clearly not happy with my answer. He looked out the window and growled, “Take us to the house at the hotel.”

The driver hesitated for a beat. “Sir…shouldn’t we go to the mansion?”

That question seemed to light a fuse. Asher’s expression darkened, his voice filled with barely contained fury. “I said, take us to the hotel. Or do you want me to strangle you right here?”

The driver swallowed hard and quickly nodded, turning the car onto the road. I could feel Asher’s anger radiating beside me, but I was too exhausted to care at that moment.

As we drove in silence, the reporters' questions kept echoing in my head. Money laundering? Scheming against his father? Legal battles for his inheritance?

I glanced at Asher from the corner of my eye. His jaw was tight, his eyes forward. I didn’t understand any of this. What was really going on?

One thing was certain—there was so much more to him than I had realized. And whatever he was involved in, it was far from simple.

We arrived at the hotel, and despite its smaller size compared to the last house, it still screamed wealth. Marble floors, soft lighting, and massive windows that overlooked the city skyline—it was the kind of place that felt more like a luxury museum than a home.

Rim, who had been ordered to come with us, immediately took charge of settling me in.

Meanwhile, Asher paced with his phone pressed to his ear. I could hear bits and pieces of his conversation—something about the reporters, about how they had found out about our arrival.

"How the hell did they know? This was supposed to be locked down. I don’t care who messed up, fix it!" He was cursing whoever was on the other end of the line, and I winced at the thought of what he might do to that person later.

Finally, he hung up, his expression still stormy as he turned to me. “It won’t happen again.”

I nodded, not really knowing what else to say. I didn’t expect him to explain or apologise. Other than being arrogant and, well…a killer, he was also oddly straightforward about his mistakes. He never tried to dodge blame or make excuses.

“I’ll order some food,” he said, his tone softer now, though still clipped.

The thought of food made my stomach turn. I felt nauseous even thinking about it, like there was a knot in my gut that wouldn’t loosen.

“I don’t want anything.”

His face darkened immediately. “You barely ate anything on the plane. What, do you want to die?” he snapped.

I gritted my teeth, holding back the urge to curse him out. I take it back—he wasn’t just bad, he was the worst. A colossal asshole. The way he barked orders like he owned everything, including me, grated on my nerves.

Before I could retort, Rim stepped in. “I can make something light for you, dear, something easy to digest.”

I sighed, feeling too tired to argue anymore. “Fine,” I muttered, sinking into a chair at the dining table while Rim moved into the kitchen.

Asher, still fuming, disappeared into another room, probably to yell at someone else on the phone. I didn’t even care at this point. I just wanted to sit in peace for a minute, away from his constant need to destroy everything.

As I waited for Rim to finish, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering. My thoughts circled back to the reporters’ accusations, their questions about rebellion, inheritance, and betrayal. I couldn't shake the unease gnawing at me.

“Rim,” I said quietly. “The reporters said something…about him rebelling against his father. What does that even mean?”

Rim paused, her hands stilling for a moment over the counter. “Child, I’ve worked for this family for many years, but there are some things not even the closest of staff are privy to. Wealthy families, especially ones like the Patricks, protect their secrets fiercely.”

She returned to her task, stirring a pot quietly before continuing. “What I do know, and what most people hear, is that Asher might be planning to start his own empire. There are whispers in business circles that he’s been trying to distance himself from his father, Mr. Patrick.”

I frowned. “Why? What would make him want to separate from his own family?”

She shook her head, her expression softening as if she wished she had more to offer.

“That, I can’t say. It’s not unusual in families like this, though. Sometimes, it’s about power, sometimes pride, sometimes old grudges we can’t understand. The Patricks have been at the top for generations. Maybe Asher feels he’s earned the right to carve his own path, without being under his father’s shadow.” She gave a small sigh, as if recalling her years in their service. “But the real reasons, only Asher knows. And trust me, those kinds of truths aren’t shared easily, not even among family.”

I mulled over her words.

Before I could press Rim for more, the door to the suite swung open abruptly. A woman entered, dressed in an undeniably expensive designer dress, her heels clicking against the marble.

She looked around the room, calling out, “Asher?”

Her eyes landed on me, and in that instant, her smile faltered, a cold wave of shock and confusion washing over her face.

“And who are…you?” she asked, her tone sharp as her gaze narrowed on me. Her eyes darted briefly to Rim, but she was clearly addressing me. “Who allowed you to be here?”