He Called Me Gold Digger, Now He Can't Let Go

Tears streaked down Kayce's cheeks as he muttered, his voice trembling, "He drove you to jump, so I tied him up at the highest place. It won't be long now, Mia... Just wait for me to kill him."

All fight had drained from him. His voice, trembling with raw desperation, stripped away any trace of menace. His tears fell, and he looked pitiful.

With her voice gentling, Scarlett leaned in a little closer. "Tell me, what could Bruce have done to make you resent him so much?"

The question shattered Kayce's calm. He raked his hands through his hair and rocked in his chair, a strangled cry tearing from his throat.

Seeing him unravel, Scarlett stopped pressing. She pinched out the flickering candle, then seized a bottle of water and splashed it over his face.

Kayce flinched, blinking hard as confusion clouded his eyes.

When the weight of his confession came crashing back, color drained from his face until he sat frozen.

"Kayce," Scarlett said, her voice calm but firm. "If Bruce really did something wrong, there are proper, lawful ways to make him pay. Even for Mia's sake, throwing away your own life is still the worst decision you could make."

She could already guess what had happened.

Whatever Bruce had done to Kayce's daughter had shattered Kayce's soul—driven him past grief, straight into madness and crime.

From the other side of the one-way window, Asher stood, absorbing every detail of what had unfolded.

Surprise ran down his spine. The woman in that room was nothing like the obedient, soft-spoken wife he'd known for three years.

This Scarlett was sharp, commanding, and dangerous in a way that both unsettled and fascinated him.

How did she know how to do something like this, hypnotizing a man and getting his confession?

Confusion clouded his thoughts, but unfinished business tugged him back to reality. He turned silently and walked away with the police chief.

By the time Asher stepped into the hallway again, Scarlett had already left the interrogation room.

"Ms. Riley, thank you—truly," the officer in the room earlier said with heartfelt sincerity.

With a faint dip of her head, Scarlett responded, "You're welcome."

She turned and strode out of the precinct, her pace steady and deliberate—until a figure stepped into her path.

It was none other than Asher.

A month had passed since their last encounter—long enough for Scarlett to forge armor around her heart.

Now, when she looked at Asher, not a flicker of emotion stirred behind her composed gaze.

"Mr. Sullivan," she said coolly, her voice even. "Is there something you need?"

If not for the familiar contours of her face, he might have mistaken her for someone else entirely.

"Come with me." Asher's eyes swept over her cropped hair, a frown cutting across his features. The words left his mouth more like an order than a request.

He took a few steps forward before pausing, realizing she hadn't moved to follow.

"Mr. Sullivan." Scarlett's voice sliced through the air, sharper than before. "Do I really need to spell it out? Whatever we were in the past—it's over. We have nothing to do with each other now."

Her refusal landed like a slap.

Asher's eyes darkened, a storm gathering behind them. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward his car.

Scarlett didn't fight back. The last thing she wanted was a scene on the police station steps, so she let him pull her inside.

The door slammed shut. "Where have you been?" Asher asked. "And your hair—"

"Asher." Scarlett's tone was cold enough to freeze the air between them, cutting his words clean off.

A month away from him had stripped her of every trace of meekness. She was no longer the gentle wife who used to bend to his will.

"These are my private affairs," she said calmly, eyes steady. "I don't owe you an explanation."

Asher's gaze swept over her, hard and assessing.

Gone was the soft, compliant woman he'd known—this Scarlett radiated defiance.

"So that's it," Asher murmured, voice low and edged with disbelief. "You've been putting on an act this whole time. This side of you... it's who you truly are, isn't it?"

Scarlett's brow tightened. "That is none of your business," she stated. Her tone carried no warmth, only finality. "From this moment on, whatever path I take, whoever I become—it's none of your concern. Did I make myself clear?"

Asher's gaze locked with hers, and something in him faltered.

The eyes that once looked at him with quiet obedience now burned with fierce defiance.

Against his will, that fire in her gaze drew him in, captivating.

Three years of shared nights had etched her into his bones—every breath, every shiver, instinctively familiar. And he had never been the kind of man to deny himself something he desired.

His eyes lingered on her parted lips, desire tightening his jaw. Before restraint could intervene, he closed the distance and kissed her.

Scarlett's body betrayed her resolve; muscle and memory still recognized the heat of his touch.

No matter how she twisted or pushed away, he overpowered her easily, the same strength that had once made her feel protected now trapping her.

The familiar scent of him flooded her senses, the warmth of his chest pressing against hers like a memory she wished she could burn away.

What had once brought her joy now hollowed her chest with cold despair. She felt as if something fragile within her had been violently torn.

Tears slipped past her closed lashes, silent and burning. Yet beneath her sorrow, a blade of resolve gleamed sharp and steady.

Her hand slid into her bag, fingers curling around the hidden box cutter. In a single, decisive motion, she drove the blade toward Asher without pause.