The Billionaire’s Broken Vow

Chapter four

Ashley Murphy’s Point of View

I sit in my apartment, the contract fragment heavy in my hand like a weighted die. The Vegas skyline glitters outside, all flash and no substance, the distant roar of the Strip a constant reminder of hidden agendas and quick losses. Scott told Nicole about the payment to end us—but left me guessing about its deeper secrets, the kind that lurk in corporate shadows.

My stomach twists, not just from the baby inside me, a secret growing amid the chaos. Nicole’s claim—“Scott’s my fate”—feels like a calculated move, not just love. She’s playing for something bigger, perhaps a board seat in the Sterling empire, using her event-planning savvy to secure it.

She hired me for her dress knowing our history, keeping me close like a pawn in a high-stakes game. Why? To monitor me as a rival while she cements her future with Scott’s name and legacy? The thought fuels my vengeful designs, the thorns in the lace a subtle jab at her ambition.

I refuse to wait any longer for answers. This 'Sterling Holdings' contract, bearing my family’s name, is a wound I must open before it festers further. I’m on my way to find Scott, now, impulsive or not.

I grab my keys, my heart pounding like the bass in a club below. Nicole’s been my friend forever, but her cold stares scream she’s guarding more than a ring—she's hiding her own ruthless streak. I won’t let her games stop me; in Vegas, you play to win or fold early.

I drive to a cozy café near my studio, where Scott often grabs coffee amid the neon hum mocking my chaos—the clink of cups like chips, the espresso steam like casino smoke. I’m scared, but I’m not the girl he broke anymore; I'm the designer who turns pain into power.

The café smells of espresso and sugar, a brief respite from the Strip's frenzy. Scott’s at a corner table, jacket off, eyes on his phone, the weight of his empire etched in his posture. My breath catches—he’s too handsome, too commanding, and it hurts like a bad beat.

“Ashley?” He stands, his voice soft, like I’m a ghost from a winning streak long past. His eyes pull me back to nights I can’t reclaim, raw with unspoken regret. “Why’re you here?”

I slide into the seat, my bag heavy with the contract, the envelope crinkling like a tell. “You told Nicole about the contract,” I snap, my voice sharp as a dealer's edge. “Why hide what it means from me?”

His face pales, hands clenching around his coffee cup. “I didn’t want you hurt,” he says, his voice low, eyes darting as if Richard's shadows linger. “It’s bigger than us, Ash—tied to deals I couldn't escape.”

“Bigger?” I laugh, raw and bitter, the sound lost in the café's murmur. It says ‘Murphy.’ My family, Scott. What’s that about?”

He leans forward, eyes wide with genuine shock. “Murphy?” he whispers, like it’s a revelation he hadn't anticipated. “I didn’t know that was there—Father handled the details.”

My heart stops. He didn’t know my name was on it? I wanted answers, not more questions that spin like a wheel.

“You’re lying,” I snap, my throat tight with rising tears. “It’s dated the month my mom died in that fire. What aren’t you telling me?”

Scott shakes his head, his voice breaking like a loser's plea. “I swear, Ashley, I didn’t know about Murphy. My father forced me to leave you for the company—to secure mergers that kept us afloat.”

I want to believe him, but my heart’s storming, impulsiveness urging me to push harder. He’s too close, his cologne wrapping me in memories, his breath warm against my skin. Our lips inch closer, desperate for truth amid the lies, the café's hum fading.

My phone buzzes, shattering the moment like a bust. I pull back, my hands trembling. It’s a text from Nicole: “Do my dress, Ash. Scott’s my future, his family’s mine too.” Her words sting, claiming him and Sterling's company with ruthless ambition.

I shove the phone away, my heart racing. “Nicole’s watching,” I say, voice shaky. “She’s playing for keeps, isn’t she? Ambition over friendship.”

Scott reaches for my hand, fingers grazing mine with electric warmth. “She’s scared,” he says, eyes raw with conflict. “But I’m not hers, Ashley—not truly.”

“Not hers?” I snap, tears spilling despite my resolve. “You left me, Scott. For her, for the empire.”

He flinches, his voice barely audible in the quiet café. 'I didn’t leave for her,' he says, his words carrying the weight of his father's threats. 'I had no choice—Father's threats were ironclad.'

My chest aches, but I need answers, not promises that could fold. “Who signed this contract?” I ask, voice cold as desert night. “Why’s my family’s name on it?”

He hesitates, his eyes haunted by shadows. 'I don’t know,' he says. 'My father handled it. I followed orders, blind to the full hand.'

I stare at the contract, hands trembling. Then I see it—a smudged initial next to “Murphy.” It looks like an M.

My heart stops. Martins, my brother? No, that’s impossible—he's the one digging into Mom's fire.

“Martins?” I whisper, voice breaking. Scott’s face pales further.

“I don’t know, Ash,” he says, voice barely there. “But I’ll find out—before it costs us more.”

I stumble back, the contract heavy as regret. Someone with an “M” paid to break us, tied to Mom’s fire. Who are they—and how deep does this Vegas conspiracy run?