Four Brothers and a Bride

Chapter 221

ASHLEY

The morning starts with the kind of silence that makes every small sound intrusive, from the drag of my pencil across paper to the tick of the designer clock on the far wall and even the low mechanical hum of the air conditioner.

My studio smells faintly of stale coffee and leather. Like old times, there’s fabric everywhere; silks, linens, experimental blends that once made me feel alive. Now they just stare back at me, limp, as if waiting for me to remember how to be brilliant again.

I press my thumb against the edge of the sketchpad and flip through half-drawn silhouettes that are elegant but sadly soulless. The magic that used to pour out of me, is now down to a trickle.

Conversely, everyone is still raving about Noxx, and the latest midnight collection I just dropped. In a nutshell, the rebellious design connotes darkness structured in shards of lace and wrapped in precision.

It’s comforting to know that while I can’t get over a creative stump as Ashley Rollins, the world is screaming for Noxx, and... I’m him.

Three deliberate raps echo from my door. It sounds too confident to belong to anyone from the team. I toss the sketchpad onto the table and run a hand through my hair.

"Come in," I say.

The door opens to reveal a man I’ve never seen before with an aura that nearly rivals mine when I walk into a room full of creatives. He’s tall, lean, and styled within an inch of perfection. His shirt, a crisp ivory silk, flows like it was born for his skin.

The trousers are tailored to emphasize the confidence in his stride. I also notice his shoes... they’re black and pointed as they whisper quiet expense.

"Mr. Rollins," he says smiling, his tone dipped in charm. "I’m Matteo DeVane, the new manager."

Of course, the replacement my father warned me about. "Thought it was some guy named Denzel."

Matteo’s smile is bright but not desperate. "Um, last minute changes. Denzel opted out. But hey, you got me." He winks but his humor is lost on me. I continue to study him with narrowed eyes.

Matteo carries himself with an easy flamboyance, like a man who knows he’s observed, and enjoys it. The way his eyes travel around my studio tells me he’s cataloguing everything—fabrics, color palettes, sketches, office décor, dust on the lamp, even me.

"You’ve got quite a temple in here," he says, moving closer to the table, fingers tracing a strip of charcoal fabric. "I used to follow your shows back when you debuted the Lucent Edge line. God, that collection changed how I looked at men’s couture. You made restraint feel...dangerous."

Flattery for an icebreaker? I’ll take it. Even better, it’s educated flattery not just vague words.

"Glad to know my old work still gets remembered," I reply, leaning back against the desk with my arms crossed.

Matteo laughs softly. "Remembered? Ashley, you’re studied. You’re the blueprint half these new kids reference without even realizing it. Look, it’s my understanding that you heavily fought against my appointment. I’d just like to say that I’m not here to fix you, darling. I’m here to reignite your spark."

I arch a brow. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he says smoothly. "The board wants results, your father wants stability, but I want brilliance. Yours, specifically. You’ve carried this brand on your shoulders long enough. I’m here to make sure the world remembers why."

His words land somewhere between a compliment and a warning.

"So, what’s your grand plan, Matteo?"

He takes a breath, eyes glittering. "For starters, I’m talking to the board about loosening the leash a bit. They’ve boxed you into safe design ranges for long enough. Your designs are fire but sometimes predictable. I want to free that mind of yours and let you experiment. But..."

There it is, I groan silently. There’s always a but.

"I also want to bring in a few new creative talents. It’s not to overshadow you," he adds quickly, reading my face, "but work collaboratively. Energy begets energy, and yours has been... let’s just say dormant."

I straighten and give him a deep look. "Who exactly are these talents?"

He starts listing names, and just as I feared, he mentions Noxx. How could he not? Noxx is the latest sensation and I knew Rollins Fashion would jostle to get their tentacles around him. I mask my reaction, pretending to adjust my cuff. "Noxx?"

"Yes. The mystery designer with that subversive edge. I’ve been trying to contact them. Did you see their midnight line? Revolutionary. That’s the kind of raw, dangerous energy your brand desperately needs to get people talking again."

I force a smile. "Indeed."

Matteo doesn’t catch the shift in my tone. "Imagine what you two could do together. Ashley Rollins x Noxx. Now, that’s a headline that would resurrect your empire overnight."

It’s almost funny. He wants me to collaborate with myself. But his enthusiasm dims when I speak.

"I appreciate the vision, Matteo, but I’ve been designing long before these ’talents’ existed. I don’t need collaborators to validate my work. If the board stops limiting my range, I’ll give you the brilliance you’re looking for...alone."

He tilts his head. "You misunderstand me, Ashley. I’m leading this project. The part about collaboration wasn’t a suggestion, it’s the direction we’re taking."

There’s steel in his tone now. Something inside me snaps taut. I rise to my feet. "If my collaboration is what you want, then it happens on my terms. Last I checked, this is still MY company, and I don’t take orders in my own house. You’ve been brought in here to do a job. It’s nothing permanent so I’ll advise you don’t get ahead of yourself."

Matteo’s smile returns, smaller this time. "Damn. Your father was spot on when he anticipated this."

I freeze. "What?"

"He said you’d likely not be amenable to my direction, and if you refused to collaborate reasonably, the board will decide whether you remain as head designer."

The air feels heavier suddenly as the insult hits. Nothing punctures my professional ego faster than your daddy said... It will always sting. And the board weighing in on whether I stay at the helm of things makes me want to flip them off.

Matteo’s voice hardens. "Temporal hire or not, the most important thing is that I am a part of this company now, and I have a job to do. I can’t let your ego tarnish my reputation. You’ve had your fun, Ashley. Your solo glory days are over. This company needs evolution to stay relevant and if you’re more concerned about being the lone genius, then you’re not the astute businessman I thought you were."

I stare at him for a second and see Brett, his control and condescension echoed through Matteo’s words. I smirk, hiding the fury that threatens to rise.

"I guess I’ll see you all at that board meeting. Show yourself out, Matteo."

I turn and return to my work as he leaves. With a low growl, I throw my sketchpad against the wall.

***

When the elevator doors close, I finally exhale. Matteo’s voice still rings in my ears. Your solo glory days are over.

God, the arrogance! But it’s not his arrogance that really stings; t’s the fact that he’s right. My glory days are fading.

My name used to trend on fashion week mornings before my models even stepped onto the runway. Now? The world scrolls past Ashley Rollins and swoons for Noxx. You’d think that should make me happy but it doesn’t, at least not all the time. It feels uncomfortable to think that my own ghost is outshining me.

I punch the elevator button again just to feel something physical but it doesn’t help.

By the time I get to my floor, the walls feel too tight and the air too perfumed. Everything here in this elite club is curated for image. I grab my phone and step into the restroom, locking the door behind me. The mirror throws my reflection back at me: my blonde hair is perfectly styled but I’m hardly in the mood to preen.

I call Dean. He picks up on the second ring. "Ash?"

"Yeah." My voice comes out lower than I intend. "You got a minute?"

"Always. What’s wrong?"

I lean against the sink, thumb pressed to the cool marble. "Matteo DeVane. That’s the new manager my father hired to boss me around in my own company. You know, the one who was supposed to help the company not sink due to my creative block?"

"Yeah. The PR guy?"

"He’s not just PR. He’s a damn vulture in silk."

Dean chuckles softly. "What happened?"

"He walked into my office today with a smug smile and told me he wants to bring in new talents to ’reignite’ my creativity." I laugh bitterly. "Apparently, I’ve gone dormant."

"You?" Dean says, half teasing. "Never thought I’d hear that."

"It gets worse." I rub the bridge of my nose. "He name-dropped Noxx as one of the designers he wants to collaborate with."

There’s a pause, and I can hear the smirk in Dean’s voice when he replies, "Well, that’s convenient."

"It’s suicidal," I hiss. "If I agree to work with new talents, the world will start believing the collaboration is what saved

Ashley Rollins. It’ll drown out my own success years from now. If I refuse to collaborate, I’ll be dragged to the board where my seat at the top will be put on trial. That’s my father’s condition."

Another pause. "Brett signed off on that."

"He doesn’t miss a single chance to humiliate me. The man raised me to think I was untouchable, and now he wants to watch me crawl."

Dean’s tone softens. "Ash, don’t let them win. You’ve worked too damn hard to hand over your legacy to anyone. The company is standing on the shoulders of your success. You have to remember that."

"I always do," I scoff. "but it’s gotten hard now as the world stopped applauding my creativity."

"Have they?"

I get that he’s referring to Noxx. "I’m happy with Noxx but I didn’t create it to undermine my work as Ashley Rollins. It was largely experimental to test the depths of my creativity. I still want to grow my company but lately, it’s been a struggle finding my spark with Rollins Fashion. Ashley Rollins Couture is too young to fade or die. The world should also be raving about it."

Dean sighs. "Then you remind them why they should."

I fall silent. The words should feel encouraging, but they hit a little too deep. Remind them why they should.

Dean continues, quieter now. "You can work with this guy, Ash. You don’t have to like him, but be smart about it. Play along, collaborate just enough to keep your control. Don’t let pride push you into a corner you can’t get out of."

"Pride’s all I have left."

"Then protect it by being clever, not stubborn. Let him think he’s leading. Meanwhile, you get your creative juices flowing again and show Brett you don’t need a babysitter. Matteo’s relevance will be questioned and the extra talents would be dumped. You’ve got a gift, son. I know you can find your spark again, unaided."

He’s right. I close my eyes. "You make it sound easy."

He laughs softly. "Because it is, if you stop thinking like Brett’s son and start thinking like Noxx."

The silence between us stretches. Dean lowers his tone, curious. "What are you going to do if they really reach out to Noxx?"

I look at my reflection. My eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, but looks alive for the first time today. "I’ll probably decline. Noxx is mine. I won’t let them taint it."

"Smart move," Dean says. "Keep one piece of yourself uncorrupted. You’ll need it."

Before I can answer, a voice echoes from outside the door. "Ashley? You in there?"

Asher. I freeze.

"Yeah," I call back, lowering my voice. "Be right out."

Dean hears the tension and asks quietly, "Everything okay?"

"Depends," I whisper. "Apparently, there’s some urgent ’family meeting’ Asher’s calling for."

He hums thoughtfully. "I see. And the dinner with the boys? How’s that coming along?"

"Still in the works."

"Alright. Keep me posted."

"Yeah. I’ll call you later."

"Don’t punch anyone in the meantime."

"Can’t promise that."

He laughs, then the line clicks dead.

I flush the toilet to sell the lie that I had used it and step out, only to nearly bump into Asher. His eyes flicker with suspicion.

"Everything alright?" he asks.

"Peachy," I force a smirk, pat his shoulder and walk away to join the others in the private lounge, aware that Asher’s eyes remain trained on me.

The Blue Cove is a name that used to mean luxury, party and adrenaline to my brothers and I. Now, it only reminds us of the bad decision one of us made here while drunk, which almost toppled pour lives.

The soft thrum of bass from inside makes my chest tighten with memory. The last time I was here, I was drunk enough to forget which brother I was. This was also where Demi kissed Ashton so well he married her just to implicate Asher. Crazy.

Ashal’s already sitting in the VIP lounge with a drink in hand, eyes settled into his usual guarded calm. The air hums with tension that none of us are willing to name. I take a seat, the leather cold beneath my palms. "Alright. Who died?"

"No one... yet," Asher mutters.

Ashal frowns. "Where’s Ashton?"

"With Skylar," Asher replies. "She’s... not doing great."

The unspoken weight of that hangs between us. Then Asher straightens.

"We need to talk to father and mother, and uncover the truth behind our adoption once and for all."

I glance at him sharply. "You want to dig that up now?"

"I’m done living with question marks," he sighs, and tells us how mother found the letter Dean had written to him and what that implies. "They know we’ve been in contact with Dean Sawyer but they haven’t deigned to say a word to us. I’m not going to play their game of blissful ignorance. It’s time to hear both sides, theirs and Dean’s."

"Then let’s make sure all parties are present during that meeting." I suggest. "No point hearing one side one time and then Dean’s another time. We might as well get the full story in one sitting. That way neither party can concoct lies about what transpired."

Ashal nods immediately. "That’s fair."

Asher agrees "That was the plan anyway."

Silence hums, until I ask the question we’re all avoiding. "And what if Dean’s side turns out to be the truth? What if father and mother really did—"

"Don’t go there," Asher snaps, cutting me off. His hand balls into a fist. "I don’t want to think about it...yet."

"You think I do? I just think we have to brace ourselves and be prepared for the worst too." I shoot back. "I’m not taking sides. I just—"

"Sounds to me like you already picked one, Ashley," he says quietly, looking straight at me. That stings more than it should.

"I’m being fair," I insist. "Dean deserves a chance just like Brett has had thousands of times. We don’t know the true story so who are we to judge Dean for his absence but not Brett for his inefficiency as a father?"

Ashal rises, frustrated. "You two can fight about loyalty all you want. Just let me know when the meeting’s set."

I stop him as he attempts to leave. "Why do you all hate Dean so much? You don’t even know him."

Ashal’s voice cracks. "I don’t hate him. I just... wish he’d cared enough to help me overcome my condition sooner instead of watching from the shadows and reading my therapist’s notes for years. Maybe I wouldn’t need to live with the of murder today. He had the power to help but he didn’t."

"The power to? What do you mean?"

He stares at me deadpan. "Guess which parent passed that curse down to me?"

I gulp silently. Dean never mentioned that much to me. Before I can feel the sting of disappointment, Asher exhales sharply.

"I don’t hate him either, but I’m not ready to tear apart the only family we’ve known just because another father showed up, not without proof."

"Fine," I mutter. "Then we wait for the answers."

***

The next day, Matteo beams when I walk into his office with his favorite coffee order as a truce and the most anticipated words on the tip of my tongue.

"I slept on it and after giving it a lot of thought... I’m willing to collaborate for the success of the company."

He leaps to his feet, clapping his hands. "Excellent! I knew you’d come around."

"Don’t get too comfortable," I reply with a faint smile. "I’m agreeing to meet you halfway, and you’ll do the same for me. That’s the only way this will work out." I drop into a chair without bothering with the courtesy of being ushered to one, and pull up my iPad. "I’ve got a few ideas to run by you..."

He laughs, unfazed, and gestures to his computer. "That can wait. Take a look at this; Noxx’s latest design drop. Look at the structure here, the fabric contrast. It’s audacious and alive. See how the asymmetry drags the eye down? That’s pure narrative design."

I ignore the rude interruption and lean in, pretending to analyze. "Interesting use of rebellion through restraint. There’s purpose in the chaos. Clever."

He grins. "Exactly! That’s what we need here again. I’ve already drafted messages to Noxx and the others. If they’re open, I’ll bring them in."

I nod slowly. "Good luck with that."

By noon, I chew on a gum as I scroll through Matteo’s messages in Noxx’s Dm. The profuse flattery is almost desperate. I smile at the generous offer. Sounds like Matteo is more desperate to prove himself than he lets on. Savoring everything, I head out for lunch. While driving, I see her. Demi.

The world seems to tilt for a second. She’s stepping out of the Honeypot, hair tied loosely. Her distant eyes remind me of her accident and memory loss. I haven’t seen her since I heard. We might have had a nasty divorce but basic human sympathy makes me pull over and get down. I have no idea what to do or say to her. I just need to make sure she’s doing okay.

"Demi!"

She turns. Her eyes widen as shock flashes in them. Then right away, it fades into anger.

"Hey." I say carefully. "It’s me, Ash..."

She spins on her heel and starts walking away before I can finish.

"Wait," I call after her. "I just wanted to check on you—"

She stops abruptly, eyes blazing with anger. "Look, you don’t owe me any explanations, okay. I know I agreed to be friends but you also promised not to force things. An apology is also totally unnecessary." Her voice trembles but her chin stays high.

I look at her, confused. "I’m sorry?"

"We don’t have to discuss what happened last night," she adds quickly, "and it’s not because I’m jealous or—whatever you think. We’re nothing but friends, right? Then let’s keep it that way and stay out of each other’s private lives."

I see it too late. The flicker of recognition that isn’t recognition at all because she doesn’t know who I am.

"Demi, it’s Ashley, not Ashton."

Her eyes widen with shock, then lower as the embarrassment registers. She turns away and hurries down the street faster than before. As I try to follow, a tall, foreign-looking man steps out from nowhere and falls in step with her. His arm slides protectively around her shoulder, and he ushers her into a car before I can even process it. They drive off.

And I’m left staring after them, my heart pounding while my mind goes blank.

I reach for my phone just as it buzzes. It’s a message from a journalist friend:

"Ash, heads-up. Someone called in anonymously to leak that Demi Rollins currently has memory loss due to a recent accident. We’re running the story and articles will be published tonight across blogs. Care to confirm or deny so we do our best to control the narrative?"

Oh crap!