Ashley Ashford stared out the window of her car, the city's skyline blurring into a haze as she gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. The waves, the sun, and Julian's teasing smiles from the cruise felt like another lifetime. Her heart still fluttered at the memory of that last morning, the way he had leaned close, promising to call her, only to be slapped hard by reality, when his lawyer had called regarding the divorce instead of him, asking her to come sign the document for joint filing.
She found herself steering her car toward the house that had been her parents' home for three decades. The house stood as a testament to everything Ashford Publishing once was, solid, respected, unshaken. But now, the hedges looked untrimmed, paint peeled along the shutters, and the porch light dangled by a loose wire. Ashley parked in the driveway, took a deep breath before stepping inside. The house felt smaller and quieter.
Home wasn't the paradise she'd just left behind. Her father's small company, Ashford & Co., had been foreclosed and Stonehenge ltd was appointed as a receiver. Years of mismanagement, coupled with a hostile competitor circling like a shark, buying up small companies had left the family struggling. Contracts were falling through, key investors were hesitant, and her father, though stoic, looked more tired than she had ever seen him.
She swallowed hard as she climbed the steps. Every creak of the wood seemed to remind her, they were hanging on by threads.
Her mother opened the door before she knocked. "Ashley," she said, a small smile tugging at lips too pale, "we weren't expecting you."
Ashley hugged her quickly, clinging a little longer than she meant to. "I thought I'd check in."
Her mother's hand lingered on her arm, gentle but cool.
"Your father's in the study. He'll be glad to see you."
The study, which had once served as the heart and soul of Ashford Publishing, used to be alive with phone calls and papers stacked high with deals. Now, the air was stale from disuse. Her father sat behind the desk, shoulders slumped forward, his silver hair messy in a way that betrayed he hadn't bothered with appearances lately.
"Dad," Ashley said softly.
He looked up, and for a moment, his eyes brightened. "Ash." Then the spark dulled. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. I'm afraid your timing is… well, you'll hear soon enough."
Her chest tightened. "Hear what?"
He sighed, a sound that seemed to come from his very bones. "The receiver appointed wants to sell the properties, there will be a meeting with the new buyer later this week."
Her stomach dropped. "Out of your hands? Dad, you can't just…"
"I can," he cut in, his voice weary. "I've fought for years, Ash. I almost mortgaged the house, borrowed against every bit of equity we had, begged and compromised and…" His hand trembled as he rubbed his temple. "I'm tired."
It broke Ashley's heat to see her father this way, giving up when there were still moves to be made.
She leaned forward, her voice sharper. "So you're just giving up?"
His gaze flickered to hers, and she hated the emptiness she saw there. "It's not giving up when the battle is already lost."
From the doorway, her mother's voice floated in, calm but brittle. "Your father's right, sweetheart. Maybe it's time to accept that Ashford Publishing had its season. Everything does."
Ashley turned in her seat, disbelief surging through her. "You can't be serious. You're ready to watch strangers gut what's left of Dad's life's work? Our family's name?" but then again her mother hadn't been one for fighting, she'd always taken the easy way, always eager to please. Her response wasn't surprising.
Her mother hesitated, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from her blouse. "I don't want it, but… watching your father deteriorate over this is worse."
Ashley looked back at her father. His once commanding frame seemed smaller, shrunken into the chair. He wasn't the man who had taught her to read contracts at twelve, who'd stood proudly as Ashford Publishing expanded. He was beaten.
The sight of him ignited something fierce in her chest.
"No," she said firmly. "This isn't the end. Not if I can help it, if we must go down, we will do so, fighting."
Her father gave a humorless laugh. "And what will you do, Ash? March into Stonehenge with nothing but determination? The financial institution, the court and the corporate receiver own us. They've squeezed every small business in their path. We're just the next."
Ashley's brows knit. "Do we know who this new buyer is?"
"It's a company," he muttered. "They would be taking over the business …" His hand lifted limply, dismissive. "Some big shot conglomerate. Doesn't matter who it's all the same."
The name did not ring in Ashley's ears. Stonehenge. Not when she was in business school. Not in passing conversation. She regretted not coming aboard her father's company when she graduated instead she was busy trying to make her own money offering consultancy services to other firms in marketing , thinking all was well at home.
"Ash?" her mother asked quietly.
She forced her expression smoothly. I will find who they are selling to, just give me sometime.
Ashley rose from her chair. "If you're not going to fight, I will."
Her father's voice cracked. "Don't waste your life the way I wasted mine."
She turned back to him, fire in her veins. "You didn't waste it. You built something. And I'll be damned if I let some soul less corporation erase it. There is still room for negotiation with the new company, I have a plan, you'll see."
Her mother stepped forward, laying a hand on Ashley's shoulder. "Be careful, sweetheart. Whoever's behind this… they don't play fair."
Ashley offered her mother a quick kiss and moved toward the door, every step heavier than the last.
Outside, the air was sharp. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and leaned against her car, staring at the horizon as though it might hold answers.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. She pulled it out, hoping absurdly, that it was him. A text. Anything.
But the screen was blank. No new messages, just useless notifications.
She closed her eyes, teeth gritting. She wouldn't call him. She refused to be the one chasing after him with this much on her plate.
Instead, she opened her calendar. The meeting was just two days away and she needed information on the company, she didn't want to fly blindly. She urgently had to see Brooke and seek her professional advice. As she made her way down to her office, she called to request the information she needed from her father's former secretary.