---- Chapter 7 Ashton Gallegos POV: The world had gone silent. Or maybe | had gone deaf. The roaring in my ears drowned out the frantic whispers that erupted through the ballroom. All | could see was the giant screen, my fiancée's smug, recorded voice still echoing in the cavernous space. "Charlotte was in my way... She was weak... | took what | wanted." | turned my head, the movement feeling slow and heavy, like | was moving underwater. | looked at Carmella. The woman | loved. The woman | was going to marry. The woman | had defended, protected, and elevated above everyone else. Above my own sister. Her face was a canvas of pure terror. The sweet, supportive mask had been ripped away, and what was left was ugly and raw. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that wasn't there. When her gaze met mine, she flinched, as if | had physically struck her. "Ashton," she began, her voice a desperate, cracking whisper. "It's not... It's a lie. It's alla lie. She-she fabricated it. That man... she paid him! She's trying to destroy us!" ---- flinched, as if | had physically struck her. "Ashton," she began, her voice a desperate, cracking whisper. "It's not... It's a lie. It's all a lie. She-she fabricated it. That man... she paid him! She's trying to destroy us!" The words were right. The ones she had programmed me to believe for a decade. Charlotte is unstable. Charlotte is a liar. Charlotte is the problem. But the programming was broken. The spell was shattered. | saw the frantic, desperate scramble of a cornered liar. | looked past her, searching the crowd for Charlotte. She was standing near the exit, her back straight, her expression unreadable. She wasn't watching the chaos she had unleashed. She was watching me. Her eyes held no triumph, no 'l told you so'. They just held a vast, empty space where ten years of sisterly affection used to be. That emptiness terrified me more than Carmella's betrayal. My father was trying to get to the podium, to say something, to perform some kind of damage control, but security was already moving in, their movements quiet and professional. The press, smelling blood, surged forward, cameras flashing, microphones extended like weapons. "Carmella, did you frame Charlotte Gallegos?" "Mr. Gallegos, were you aware of this cover-up?" Carmella grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my sleeve. "Ashton, please," she begged, tears now streaming down her face. But they weren't the gentle, heartbreaking tears | was used to. These were tears of rage and fear. "You have to believe me! It was her! It's always been her!" ---- | pulled my arm away from her touch as if her skin were acid. The recoil was instinctive. A wave of nausea rolled through me. Every memory of the past ten years was replaying in my mind, but now viewed through a new, horrific lens. Every time | had dismissed Charlotte's quiet pleas of innocence. Every time | had praised Carmella for her "loyalty." Every condescending remark, every public reprimand, every choice | made to believe the convenient lie over the difficult truth. | hadn't just been blind. | had been a willing participant in my own sister's crucifixion. | had handed the nails to Carmella and held Charlotte down. "Get away from me," | choked out, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat. The hurt and shock on Carmella's face were replaced by a snarl of pure venom. "You pathetic fool," she hissed, her voice low and for my ears only. "| gave you everything you wanted. | made you the king. And you were too stupid to even see it." Security had reached the stage now. They flanked her, their faces grim. She didn't struggle. The fight had gone out of her. She gave me one last look, a look of utter contempt for my weakness, before they led her away through a side door, away from the ravenous press. ---- My world, once so solid and certain, had been reduced to rubble. | looked at my parents. They seemed to have shrunk, their faces pale and etched with a shame so profound it was almost visible. They weren't looking at me; they were looking at the empty space where Charlotte had been standing. She was gone. | stumbled off the stage, pushing through the throng of reporters, ignoring their shouted questions. | had to find her. | had to... what? Apologize? Explain? What could | possibly say that could bridge the ten-year chasm of cruelty | had carved between us? | found her outside, standing calmly by the valet stand as if waiting for a taxi after a pleasant evening at the theater. A man was with her. The PI, | realized. The one with the rented tux and the look of a man who enjoyed watching empires fall. He was handing her a coat. "Charlotte!" | called out, my voice hoarse. She turned slowly. That calm, distant expression was still on her face. It was like looking at a stranger. "| started, my throat closing up. "| didn't know." The words sounded pathetic. Feeble. An excuse, not a reason. She gave a small, humorless smile. "Didn't you, Ashton? Or was it just easier not to know?" ---- The PI put a protective hand on her arm. "I think the lady's ready to go," he said, his voice a low growl. "This is a family matter," | snapped, taking a step forward. "You lost the right to call it that about ten years ago," he shot back. "Charlotte, please," | begged, my voice breaking. All my arrogance, all my carefully constructed authority, had crumbled to dust. | was just a man looking at the wreckage of his life. "We can fix this." Her laugh was a quiet, brittle sound. It held no joy, only a profound, heartbreaking sorrow "Fix this?" she repeated, as if the concept was foreign. "There's nothing left to fix, Ashton. You and Carmella already burned it all to the ground. Tonight... this was just me walking away from the ashes." A car pulled up. The PI opened the door for her. She got in without a backward glance. As the car pulled away, disappearing into the city lights, | was left standing alone in the cold night air, the sounds of my collapsing world echoing behind me. She was right. It was all ashes. And | was the one left to choke on them. +