Asher's POV
Quietness. Loneliness. Darkness.
That's all I want. That's what I call peace.
But peace is hard to come by when people keep barging in where they aren't wanted—where they have no business being. I used to be different. I used to love people. I was the type that enjoyed company, enjoyed laughter, enjoyed... life.
But that version of me died the day the accident happened.
I lost my smile. My happiness. My world.
Both my parents—gone.
I missed the late nights spent watching movies in the living room. I missed the Sunday family dinners, the scolding when I stayed out too late, the warm hugs, the "I'm proud of you, son." Even though they were both workaholics, building Nexus Corp from the ground up, they never let their ambition overshadow their love. I never lacked anything. Not time, not care, not affection.
Until the day everything collapsed.
One minute I was their child. The next, I was an orphan.
Mom disappeared. Dad died. And I was left to pick up the wreckage. Barely eighteen, still figuring myself out, and suddenly the weight of a legacy rested on my shoulders.
I became cold. Hardened. Arrogant. Detached.
I had to. If I didn't, they'd eat me alive.
My relatives, parasites masked as well-wishers, were only after one thing—control of Nexus. But Alfaro, my father's most loyal friend and right-hand man, made sure that didn't happen. He secured my position before they could make a move. He protected me. Taught me. Stood by me like a second father. Until he was murdered.
Like the rest.
All their deaths weren't accidents. I knew that deep down. They were deliberate. Targeted. Erased.
My phone vibrated on my desk, jolting me out of the storm cloud swirling in my head. I glanced at the screen.
Uncle Marcelo.
I sighed. What the hell does he want now?
I picked up the call, resting the phone against my ear.
"Asher, you there?" His voice, calm but snide, filled the silence.
He never greeted me properly. I returned the favor.
"Uhm," I grunted, uninterested.
"You forgot, didn't you?"
Forgot what?
I glanced over at the calendar on the desk. My chest tightened when I saw the date.
Shit. My father's death anniversary.
How could I forget?
Then again, with Arnoldo my right hand man out of town, the pressure on me had doubled. I had meetings, shareholders breathing down my neck, and the seminar I had to cancel last-minute after receiving intel that something shady was going on behind it. I was buried in responsibilities.
"I knew it," Marcelo said smugly. "Everyone's here. Only you're missing."
"I'll be there soon," I replied.
"Drive safely," he said and hung up. As if he cared.
I sighed and stood up, brushing my palm across the desk. "I hope I'm doing this right, Dad," I muttered under my breath.
I headed to the restroom, freshened up quickly, locked my office and took the elevator down to the lobby. As always, my guards flanked me on either side.
"Cancel all my meetings for today," I told the receptionist without slowing down.
"Yes, Mr. Fernando."
I hated being followed around, but Alfaro had made them swear never to leave me alone. I craved privacy, but I understood the danger. I'd been targeted before—too many times.
We moved toward the parking lot. I paused for a brief second, looking up at Nexus Corp's towering facade.
I'm still here, Dad. Still fighting.
The drive to my grandfather's house was tense, like always. I knew all my dad's so-called relatives would be there. Most didn't care about mourning—some wanted to see me break, others wanted favors, some just came to spy and gossip. Each had an agenda.
I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me bleed.
As I entered the parlor, Uncle Lorenzo my father's youngest brother was the first to approach.
"You kept us waiting," he said.
"I got caught up," I replied coolly, not offering more.
His expression soured with disappointment. Maybe he wanted me to apologize, give him something to mock. Not today.
I raised my hand briefly to everyone. "Hi. Shall we start?" I turned to Marcelo.
He nodded. "Yes. Let's begin."
The prayers were brief. As soon as they ended, I turned to leave.
But Marcelo stopped me. "Let's talk, Asher."
I tensed but nodded, sitting back on the couch. He sat across from me. Mr. De Souza—CEO of Renova Enterprises, the second-largest conglomerate in Italy—entered with a woman beside him.
Trouble.
"Hello, Asher," De Souza greeted, extending his hand.
I shook it. My instincts buzzed.
"Asher," Marcelo started, "I know this is unexpected, but Mr. De Souza has a proposal."
I sat back, waiting.
"He wants to pass his company to someone he can trust. And he believes that person is you."
I raised an eyebrow. Renova? That was massive.
"And this is his daughter, Eliana," Marcelo continued, gesturing to the woman. Blonde, elegant, clearly dressed to impress. She kept adjusting her dress and flashing me fake smiles.
Here it comes.
"They want to form a marriage alliance... with you."
I chuckled. Loudly.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay as in yes?" Marcelo asked, eyes gleaming with hope.
"No."
The blood in my veins simmered.
"I've told you before—I'm not interested in marriage," I said, my tone rising, sharp enough to draw stares from the others in the room.
"Asher, you can't allow the past to decide your future," Uncle Marcelo said, leaning in as if his words held ancient wisdom. "You have to let go of the trauma. You need someone by your side. And not all are like her."
I stared at my uncle. He always had something to say—something he thought sounded wise, but it was just noise. White noise.
I scoffed. "Sure. Not all are like her. No one can be like her."
He blinked, unsure if it was a compliment or a curse. I chuckled darkly, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "If she could leave me, anyone can. That kind of betrayal doesn't leave you. It burrows into your bones.
My fingers clenched, nails biting into my palms. My voice dropped, rough with years of hurt I never truly voiced. "I don't trust people, Uncle. And I don't need anyone by my side."
My voice hardened as I met his gaze, eyes burning red with exhaustion and fury. "She was my mother, Uncle. My mother. If your own mother can abandon you while your father is dying,then what the hell is anyone else supposed to mean to me?"
"Asher…" he started,
"Enough, Uncle. Enough." My tone cut through the air like a blade. "No means no."
From the corner, an irritating voice broke through the heavy silence.
"You're such a fucker."
I turned slowly. Aiden.
Marcelo's son. The golden boy with a silver spoon lodged halfway up his ass. The one person who had always tried to compete with me, even though he never could measure up.
"Shut up, Aiden," Marcelo warned, probably sensing where this could go. But the idiot pressed on.
""No, Dad. This fucker should know that just because his fucking mother went about cheating on his father and leaving him alone doesn't mean everyone's like that. He can't just keep acting like the world revolves around his daddy issues. Son of a motherfucking cheater."
Snap.
My vision turned red.
The next few seconds were a blur. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I exploded out of the couch. Wood cracked beneath me as the force shattered it. The glass table didn't survive either—my boot smashed into it, sending shards flying in all directions. Gasps echoed.
I reached Aiden in a second. My hand closed around his neck. The wine glass in his hand dropped and shattered on the marble floor. I slammed him into the wall so hard a family photo above him rattled loose and fell.
"You fucker," I growled through clenched teeth, eyes locked on his panicked ones. "Who gave you the right to talk about my mother?"
He choked, hands clawing at mine. I didn't care. My vision tunneled. All I could see was red.
I pressed harder. My pulse pounded in my ears. My other hand balled into a fist and smashed into his face. Blood spurted from his nose as his head bounced off the wall. His face turned crimson.
"Speaking of cheaters," I sneered, tightening my grip, "you're not exactly a saint, Aiden. Your own mother cheated on your dad, remember? And he did the same. At least mine had the decency to disappear after my father died. Yours? She ran off while he was still breathing."
I landed a punch straight into his face. The sickening crack of cartilage folding echoed. Blood trickled down his nose. His face turned the shade of a ripe tomato
""Let go of him!" his mother screamed from the other end of the room.
I turned my cold stare on her. "You don't get to tell me what to do."
She shrank back.
"Have some shame, cheater. You parade around here like a fucking queen while cheating on your husband and showing your face like you're proud. You ought to be hiding in a hole. And you—" I turned back to Aiden, who was gasping for air now, "—you better learn to shut your fucking mouth.
"Asher, he can't breathe!" Anna , his girlfriend shouted.
"You fucker, stop it!" Mica's voice rang out, shrill and panicked. She ran forward, slapping my back in a desperate attempt to break my hold.
Big mistake.
I turned to her, eyes narrowing.
"You trying to reveal that little secret you've been hiding, Mica?" I smirked. She froze.
"Don't," she whispered, eyes wide.
"Oh, I'll help you out," I said, my voice dripping with venom. I turned back to Aiden. His pupils dilated—panic and oxygen deprivation—and the fear in his eyes wasn't just about dying anymore. It was about truth.
See, Aiden," I said coldly, "when you're a fucking cheater too, you should keep your mouth shut. Especially when you've been fucking your cousin."
Aiden's eyes widened in horror.
"What?!" Several voices screamed at once.
Aiden gasped as I finally released him. He dropped to the floor like a discarded rag, coughing violently.
"I don't owe you all an explanation," I muttered, brushing off invisible dust from my shirt. "He and Mica do."
Silence engulfed the room like a fog.
People looked at each other. Some in shock, others in embarrassment. Marcelo looked like he wanted to vanish into the sofa. Mica stared at the floor, cheeks stained red with shame.
I didn't care. Let them all choke on their secrets. I was tired of being their punching bag.
"And to be clear," I said, turning to Uncle Marcelo, "I'm not sorry."
"I shouldn't let the past decide my future?" I scoffed, pacing now. "Well, marrying this blonde bimbo isn't going to heal the past. She looks like the worst kind of mistake waiting to happen."
He didn't speak. No one did. The room was stunned—just the way I liked it.
I turned to her now, unapologetically staring her down.
"She looks like a slut. And if that offends anyone, too bad. I'm not here to babysit your egos."
De Souza shifted in his seat, visibly tense. Eliana's face was flushed pink with embarrassment.
"I'm not a pawn," I continued, voice low and sharp like broken glass. "Whatever agenda is behind this alliance—it won't work. It never will. My life isn't for sale. My love? Not something you can put in a business deal."
Marcelo tried to speak, but I raised a hand.
"You brought the wrong proposal to the wrong man."
Without waiting for a reaction, I turned around and walked out.
I could feel the weight of a dozen eyes on my back, but none of them mattered. Their opinions were like ash in my mouth—tasteless, weightless, and completely irrelevant.
The air outside was cold. Cold enough to remind me I was alive.
As I reached my car, I paused, resting both hands on the hood. My breath fogged in the night air. Anger still pulsed in my veins, but beneath it… deeper… was sorrow
They would never understand what I lost.
How it felt to be eighteen and watch your entire world shatter in a single night.
How it felt to wait by the door, hoping your mother might come back. Only for silence to answer you for years.
How it felt to bury your father while knowing deep down it wasn't natural, that someone had taken him away.
And now, they wanted me to forget all that. To get married, to play happy prince in their twisted court.
They had no idea who I was anymore.
I wasn't the smiling son who once brought his mother breakfast in bed or danced with her in the kitchen while she laughed and his father clapped.
That boy died.
Now, I was something else.
A storm. A blade. A man with nothing left to lose—and therefore everything to gain.
I got into the car and slammed the door shut.
"Take me home," I ordered the driver.
"Yes, sir," he said quietly.
As we drove away, I looked out the tinted window.
One day, they'd all regret it. Every insult. Every betrayal. Every lie.
They thought they could tame me with tradition. Manipulate me with legacy.
But I wasn't one of them anymore.
I was something worse.