Resisting The Ashford Temptation

I chewed on my bottom lip, setting the phone down beside me. The weight of my emotions had settled like a storm cloud, hovering in that gray area between longing and bitterness. This was my space now—whether I was ready to accept it or not.

A message from Alexander had popped up earlier, one that I hadn't anticipated.

Dinner. Tonight. 8 pm. Don't keep me waiting.

I stared at the screen, fingers twitching with indecision. Too much had happened—too much pain, too much anger. And yet, a flicker of something I couldn't name tugged at me, a pull that I wasn't ready to admit. Against my better judgment, I typed back.

What should I wear?

His response was instant, as if he'd been waiting.

Anything. You'll look perfect either way.

By the time I arrived at the restaurant, my stomach was in knots. As I stepped out of the car, smoothing down my dress as I glanced around. The upscale atmosphere did little to ease my mind as I glanced around at the polished valet and elegant guests. It felt like another world, one I didn't quite fit into.

I opted for something simple, a navy dress that hugged my waist, long sleeves keeping it modest. Paired with low heels and silver earrings, it was my attempt at finding balance—classy, yet comfortable.

The moment I stepped inside, I spotted him. It was hard not to.

Alexander was already seated, his presence was impossible to ignore. A charcoal suit hung effortlessly on him, the subtle glint of a watch catching the dim light. His dark hair was styled back, though one rebellious strand fell over his forehead. He looked... calm. Too calm.

His eyes found mine, and for a moment, something flickered there—something vulnerable, or maybe I imagined it.

He stood as I approached, offering that practiced smile. "Freya," his voice slid over my name, sending an unwelcome thrill down my spine. "You look stunning."

I forced a tight smile, my heart betraying me with a slight flutter. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He chuckled, pulling the chair out for me. "Of course, I am Alexander Ashford."

I rolled my eyes but sat down, trying to keep my walls up. I couldn't afford to be swayed by his easy charm, not again.

The conversation started light, small talk that hovered over the surface. I barely noticed when the waitress arrived, until Alexander's tone shifted.

"Is this a joke?" His voice turned cold.

I blinked, glancing between him and the flustered waitress. "Is there a problem, sir?" she stammered.

His gaze raked over her, dismissive. "Yes. There is."

"If you'll be so kind as to let me know what it is, I'll get it sorted right away." The waitress replied.

"You. You are the problem. They're really letting someone as mediocre as you serve me? Do you not understand who you're serving?"

"I apologize. I—I'll get the manager," she mumbled before scurrying off.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment, a surge of anger bubbling beneath the surface. I shot the waitress an apologetic look as she hurried away, my hands curling into fists under the table.

"Was that really necessary?" I muttered, my voice barely controlled.

He shrugged, unbothered. "I expect a certain standard. I am an Ashford afterall. We deserve nothing but perfection."

the manager appeared, offering rapid apologies. Alexander waved him off impatiently, ordering a more attractive waitress to replace the one he deemed "unworthy."

The new waitress arrived, her perfect posture and flirtatious smile all too familiar. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed at Alexander, leaning in just a little too close as she took his order. Alexander played along, his charm switched on effortlessly. I could feel the irritation rise in my chest.

The rest of the meal passed with strained conversation. Every now and then, he'd slip back into charm, drawing me into moments where I almost let my guard down.

But then, "Freya," he said, his voice breaking through the silence that had settled between us. He leaned forward, his expression more vulnerable than I'd ever seen. "Thank you for coming. I know I don't deserve it."

"You look truly breathtaking." He said as his gaze shifted to my cheek, where the beginning of my scar lay and his eyes traced its path down my neck until he couldn't see anymore. "If it weren't for that scar, you'd be...perfect. Have you ever thpought of getting surgery done to get rid of it? It would truly fix everything"

This was Alexander Ashford.

And yet, despite everything, I couldn't shake the pull. I still had feelings for this man.

"I'll think about it." I said.

Dinner quickly ended, and Alexander called for the check. The same waitress returned—this time, her blouse was conveniently unbuttoned to reveal the curve of her chest. She placed the bill on the table with a suggestive smile, her eyes lingering on Alexander.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Her voice dripped with flirtation.

I expected Alexander to respond, to indulge in the attention like he usually did. But to my surprise, he glanced at her briefly before dismissing her entirely, his focus shifting back to me.

"Nothing more, you can leave," he said, handing over his card without another glance.

I blinked, caught off guard by his sudden disinterest in the waitress. He smirked, noticing my surprise.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"A little," I admitted, unable to suppress the flicker of satisfaction.

He stood, extending his hand. "Come on, there's somewhere else I want to take you."

We stepped outside into the cool night air. I expected him to tease me but instead, he surprised me.

I hesitated, caught off guard. There was something in his eyes—a softness, a quiet plea—that made me take his hand.

We drove in silence, the hum of the city fading into the background as he took me to a secluded spot by the river. The stars shimmered above, their reflection dancing on the water's surface. It was breathtakingly beautiful, the kind of moment that should have felt perfect, but instead, tension lingered in the air between us.

"I used to come here when I needed to escape," he began, his voice low. He stood at the water's edge, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched. It was the most unguarded I'd ever seen him. "Being an Ashford meant being perfect. There was no room for mistakes."

He hesitated, his jaw clenching before he continued. "If I wasn't flawless, I paid for it. My mother made sure of that."

"I wasn' t allowed to make mistakes," he continued, his jaw tight.

He mentioned how if he was ever less than perfect, there were... consequences.

I listened to him speak with so much emotion. He was once locked in a room filled with mirrors for hours, forced to confront every physical flaw or imperfection. He was constantly told that he wasn't deserving of love unless he was perfect.

If he had the slightest flaw he was showed off like a circus entertainer to the public as a 'disgrace to the family'.

If she felt like he added weight, she'd starve him for days unless he earned his right to eat.

He was asked to repeat different tasks over and over for days on end until he was able to do each task flawless without mistakes."

I stood there, silent as he spoke. His words hung heavy in the air, each one laced with a pain that I hadn't seen in him before. Tears filled my eyes as I listened to everything he was put through. His arrogance, his need for control—it all made sense now, a survival mechanism born from a childhood of impossible expectations.

He turned to face me, and for the first time, I saw vulnerability in his eyes.

"Freya," his voice was barely above a whisper, his gaze searching mine. "I know I've made so many mistakes with you. I want to fix that. I can't change all I've done but I will do better from this moment on."

My heart stuttered, caught between the remnants of my anger and the pull of the man in front of me. Before I could fully process it, he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. His hands found my waist, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me.

I should have pulled away. I should have kept my guard up. But instead, I leaned in.

Our lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss at first, but then it quickly deepened. His hands tightened around me, drawing me closer. Every touch, every breath, felt like a release of everything we'd kept locked inside—pain, desire, regret.

In that moment, the world faded away, leaving just us. And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to feel the butterflies.