Chapter 11
When I arrived at Rebecca’s ward, she was already asleep. A middle-aged woman stood nearby—Ashton had hired a caretaker. She greeted me politely and informed me that she would be looking after Rebecca from now on. That meant I was no longer needed.
Without hesitation, I left the hospital and hailed a cab home.
By the time I reached the villa, dawn had already broken. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me—perhaps due to my pregnancy. Without another thought, I headed straight to my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, slipping into a deep sleep.
A heavy, acrid scent roused me from my slumber. The unmistakable stench of cigarette smoke filled the air. Groggy, I opened my eyes and was startled to see a dark figure sitting at the edge of the bed. My heart pounded until my vision adjusted—it was Ashton.
I hadn’t even noticed his return, but the bedroom was suffocating with thick smoke. The windows and doors were tightly shut, trapping the scent within. A cigarette burned between his fingers, its ash trailing toward the floor. He had been smoking for a long time.
“You’re back.” My voice was hoarse as I sat up, studying him.
Ashton didn’t respond. His gaze rested on me, unreadable. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The heavy smoke stung my throat, so I moved to open the window.
But before I could take a step, his strong arms suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me into his embrace. His grip was tight, unsettlingly so.
“Ashton!” I struggled, the scent of smoke and alcohol overwhelming me. He didn’t loosen his hold.
My heart pounded erratically. I steadied myself and looked into his face. “Are you drunk?” I could smell the alcohol on his breath now, laced with something deeper—an exhaustion that clung to him like a shadow.
His frown deepened. “You don’t hate me?” he murmured, his voice strangely uncertain.
I hesitated. “I do,” I admitted, my voice steady.
I tried to pry his hands off, but he wouldn’t let go. His fingers tightened around me, as if I might disappear if he let me go.
“What’s wrong, Ashton?” I asked, my concern overshadowed by unease.
His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something—but then he stopped himself. Instead, his hands began to roam, his touch sending a chill through me.
Realization struck me hard.
I instinctively pushed him away, my brows furrowed. “Ashton, I’m Scarlett. Not Rebecca. Look at me!”
He said nothing, his grip unrelenting. Then, without warning, he pulled me closer and crashed his lips against mine. The taste of alcohol clung to him, bitter and intoxicating.
“Ashton! Look at me!” I pleaded, cupping his face in my hands. Desperation filled me.
For a moment, his dark eyes flickered with something unreadable. He was exhausted, weighed down by something I couldn’t comprehend.
Then, with a low grunt, he resumed his actions.
His crisp suit was now a wrinkled mess. His blazer slid to the floor, our clothes soon following. It wasn’t until then that reality crashed into me—I was pregnant. I couldn’t let this happen.
Panic surged through me. Summoning all my strength, I shoved him away and scrambled to cover myself with the blankets. “Ashton, you’re drunk.” My voice wavered, but I held my ground.
I couldn’t stay here.
I quickly changed into fresh clothes and grabbed my things. Without looking back, I left the bedroom.
If I stayed, I might not be able to protect my child.