Ariana's POV

Asher's response came within seconds.

“Not over text. Meet me tomorrow at 2 PM, Lakeville Café. Neutral ground.”

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to block him again and pretend this wasn't happening.

But he had mentioned my parents.

“Fine. But if this is some manipulation tactic, I'm gone.”

“It's not. I promise.”

His promises meant nothing to me anymore, but I had to go. For my parents. Only for them.

I didn't sleep the rest of that night. By the time morning came, I had consumed four cups of coffee and redesigned the same pendant three times. Jade took one look at me when she arrived at the studio and shook her head.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks. Very helpful."

"Let me guess. You're meeting him."

I didn't ask how she knew. Jade had an uncanny ability to read people. "It's about my parents. He won't tell me what over the phone."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No. I need to handle this alone."

She didn't argue; she just squeezed my shoulder and went to open the showroom.

The hours crawled by. I tried to work; I tried to focus on the commission sitting half-finished on my bench, but my mind kept wandering. What could Asher possibly need from me that involved my parents? They were simple people; my father was a contractor, and my mother a teacher. They had never been involved in pack politics.

At one-thirty, I changed into something professional—black slacks, a silk blouse, and heels that made me feel armored. I pulled my hair back into a severe bun and applied light makeup.

If I were walking into battle, I would look the part.

Lakeville Café sat on the border between human territory and pack lands, a popular spot for business meetings that required discretion. I arrived ten minutes early and chose a table near the back, positioning myself so I could see the entrance.

Asher walked in at exactly two o'clock.

Six years had changed him. He had filled out more, his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. The boy I'd known had become a man, hardened by leadership and responsibility. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent, and every head in the café turned when he entered.

He had always had that effect on people.

His eyes found mine across the room, and for a moment, he stopped to stare. He walked to my table and sat down without asking permission.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

"You mentioned my parents. Start talking.

No pleasantries or small talk. I wasn't here to reminisce about old times.

Asher leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You look good. Success suits you.

"Asher."

"Right. Sorry." He ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture I remembered from countless late-night conversations. "Your parents are fine. They're not in danger or anything like that."

Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by anger. "Then why did Vincent—

"Because I knew it was the only way you would agree to meet me." He held up a hand before I could explode. "I know. I'm an ass. But I needed to see you, and you weren't giving me any other option.

I stood up. "We're done here."

"Ariana, wait. Please." Something in his voice made me pause. Desperation. "I do need to talk to you about your parents, just not in the way Vincent implied.

I remained standing. "You have two minutes."

"Your father's construction company. He's been bidding on contracts with Westwood Corporation for the past year. Big contracts that would set him up for life."

My stomach sank. "And?"

"And the board wants to approve them. Your father does good work, his prices are fair, and his reputation is solid. But there's opposition."

"Let me guess. Isabella."

Asher's jaw tightened. "She sits on the board now. Her family merged with ours two years ago."

Of course they did. Destined mates running the empire together, just like a fairy tale.

"She's been blocking every contract your father bids on," Asher continued. "She says it's a conflict of interest because of our... history."

"History." The word was funny. "That's what you call it?"

"I call it the biggest mistake I ever made." His eyes met mine, intense and sincere. "But that's not why we're here. Your father is losing opportunities because of me, because of what happened between us."

I sat back down slowly. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to make it right. I've been trying to push the contracts through, but Isabella has enough allies on the board to block me. She wants..." He paused. "She wants closure. She wants to know that you're not coming back, that you're not a threat to her position."

Laughter bubbled up in my throat, sharp and bitter. "A threat? I haven't been near Westwood territory in six years."

"She's paranoid. The bond between us, the destined mate bond, is not as strong as it should be. She thinks it's because I never got proper closure with you."

"And is it?"

The question hung between us.

Asher looked away. "I don't know. Maybe. But that's my problem, not yours. What matters is that your father's career is suffering because of my mess."

"So you want me to what? Sign some kind of waiver saying I renounce all claims to you? Tell Isabella she won?"

"I want you to come to a board dinner next week. Let Isabella see that you've moved on, that you're successful and happy and completely uninterested in disrupting her life. Once she sees that, she'll back off."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to perform for your mate so my father can get work contracts?"

"I know how it sounds—"

"It sounds insane. It sounds like you're still letting her control everything.

"She's my destined mate, Ariana. The bond—"

"The bond doesn't give her the right to sabotage innocent people's lives!" My voice rose, drawing glances from nearby tables. I lowered it, leaning forward. "My father has nothing to do with what happened between us."

"I know. That's why I'm asking you to help him. One dinner. A few hours of your time. Then you never have to see either of us again."

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell him to go to hell and take Isabella with him.

But this wasn't about me. This was about my father, who'd worked his whole life to build something solid. Who had supported me when I ran away pregnant and scared, who never once asked me questions I wasn't ready to answer.

"One dinner," I said finally. "I show up, I'm polite, and then I leave. And then the contracts get approved."

"Yes. I'll make sure of it."

"Put it in writing. I want a contract stating that my father's bids will be accepted regardless of the outcome of this dinner."

Asher pulled out his phone. "I'll have my lawyer draft something today."

"And I want compensation for my time and travel."

"Of course, name your price."

I thought about the expansion I had been planning for Sterling Designs, the new equipment I needed, and the storefront space that had just become available. "Fifty thousand."

He didn't even blink. "Done."

Too easy. Which meant he'd been prepared to pay more.

"One hundred thousand," I amended.

Asher smiled, and for a moment, I saw the man I'd fallen for years ago. "You've gotten harder."

"I've gotten smarter. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal." He extended his hand across the table.

I looked at it for a long moment before shaking. His grip was warm and firm, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

I pulled away quickly.

"The dinner is next Friday," Asher said. "Seven PM at Westwood Manor. I'll send a car for you."

"I'll drive myself."

"Ariana—"

"I'll drive myself, or I won't come. Those are the terms."

He nodded. "Fine. I'll email you the details."

I stood up to leave.

"Ariana," he called after me. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry. About everything."

I looked back at him, this man who'd broken my heart and shattered my life. "Sorry doesn't change anything, Asher. It never did."

I walked out of the café and didn't look back.

But my hands were shaking when I reached my car, and I had to sit in the parking lot for ten minutes before I trusted myself to drive.

One dinner. I could survive one dinner.

I had survived worse.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Maya: “How did it go? ”

“I'm having dinner with the devil next Friday.”

“Do you want company?”

“Nah. But I might need you after.”

“I'll have wine ready.”

I drove back to the studio, my mind racing. One dinner with Asher and Isabella. A performance to convince his paranoid mate that I wasn't a threat.

The irony was suffocating.

If only Isabella knew the real threat. If only she knew about the secret I had been keeping for six years.

But she didn't. And if I had anything to say about it, she never would.