Chapter 5: The Best Way to Forget is the
Next One
He hesitated. I didn’t..
I was about to walk on into the rain when a
large umbrella shielded me.
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large umbrella shielded me.
I was pulled into a warm, steamy embrace.
The hand holding the umbrella was cool and
smooth.
It shielded me from Jake’s suppressed anger.
I said calmly,
“Mr. Peterson, you should take care of your
own affairs.”
“I can take care of my… Miss.”
How long had it been since I’d heard that
title?
My breath hitched. I frowned and looked up,
straight into his dark, melting eyes.
Asher Hughes stood there, cool and
composed.
As if he wasn’t the same frail boy who filled
his attic with my portraits.
I instinctively stepped back, but he held my
waist.
He tilted the black umbrella slightly, his lips
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curving into a small smile.
His eyes, like pools of ink, were fixed on me.
“Take another two steps, Miss, and I won’t be
able to cover you.”
“Or do you still want to run, just like you did
back then?”
He angled the umbrella further towards me, a
blush creeping up my neck.
The year I ran away to the city, I loathed
Asher.
The thought of spending my life with
someone so frail and boring filled me with
despair.
That’s why I fell for Jake, his polar opposite,
adorning myself in gaudy clothes.
But now, facing Asher again, I was back to
my old self.
I straightened up awkwardly, trying to act
experienced, but avoiding his gaze.
“Cut the crap. If I catch a cold, my dad will
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never let you hear the end of it.”
My spoiled, rebellious nature was something
Asher himself had indulged.
Jake watched us, his eyes narrowing.
My last glimpse of him in the rearview mirror
was of him standing silently in the rain.
Jake was right about one thing.
My ten years with him were a wild ride.
My family had already paved my path.
Study abroad with Asher, come back, and
inherit the family business.
Asher was the boy my parents had watched
grow up, exceptional in temperament, looks,
and talent.
But I rebelled. The day after my eighteenth
birthday, I changed my college application
and ran away.
My family never contacted me in those ten
years.
I thought they were ashamed of me, ready to
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disown me.
Now, as Asher drove, he explained calmly,
“I asked your parents not to look for you.”
He was two years older than me, his every
move exuding a sharp, perceptive aura.
“You’d come home when you were done
playing. There was no rush.”
I fiddled with my fingers, suddenly feeling
embarrassed.
It wasn’t that I was done playing. I came
home with a broken heart.
Staring at the increasingly familiar scenery, I
murmured, “Asher, am I a complete mess?”
The car was filled with the scent of
sandalwood, just like Asher.
Exhausted and tearful, I was about to fall
asleep against the headrest.
Then I heard the usually composed man lose
his composure.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his
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Voice possessive.
“Miss, has anyone ever told you not to talk
about your ex in front of your fiancé?”
The air in the car thickened.
The neckline of my oversized T–shirt slipped
down my shoulder.
Asher’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
He braked at a red light. During the 78-
second pause, he sighed softly.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, pulled me onto his
lap, and removed my wet Converse.
He calmly replaced my shoes, pulling up my
slipped shirt.
As he put me back in the passenger seat, he
said simply, “He didn’t take good care of you
these past ten years.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
I wanted to argue, but tears welled up again.
The warm fuzziness on my feet felt like an
addiction.
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It made me want to burrow into Asher’s arms
and cry.
The car sliced through the rain, moving
forward.
Asher saw my reddened eyes and said gently,
“Miss, the best way to forget the last one is
to start the next one.”
With him, I always acted on impulse.
The second he finished his sentence, I
commanded, “Pull over.”
His hand on the steering wheel paused.
Confused, but compliant, he pulled over.
The moment he engaged the handbrake, I
climbed over the center console and sat on
his lap.
Asher stiffened, trying to lean back.
The extra space only fueled my desire to be
closer.
I tugged on his tie, my voice a mix of
arrogance and insecurity.
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“Asher, hold me.”
His hands clenched at my sides.
He chuckled, tears shimmering in his eyes.
“You don’t hate me anymore?”
I used to despise Asher’s gentleness, his
formality, his adherence to rules.
I wanted to see him crack.
But now, looking at the faint bite marks on
his neck, his moving Adam’s apple…
I realized this ice–cold beauty had a different
kind of allure.
I just loved to see people like him lose
control.
I wrapped my arms around him, closing the
distance between us.
When his cool lips touched mine, I froze for a
moment.
Then desire took over. I clung to his neck,
pressing him down.
I bit him hard, trying to channel my pent–up
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emotions through him.
But he took control, pinning my hands behind
my back.
He pushed me against the steering wheel.
My hair was a mess, draped over his
shoulders.
My phone, tossed on the dashboard, started
ringing.
I tried to hang up but accidentally answered.
A cold, tense voice spoke.
“Sarah, you left something at my place. I’ll be
in town in a few days for business. I’ll bring it
to you.”
My breath hitched, the sounds of our kissing
still audible through the phone.
I pressed my forehead against Asher’s, urging
him to hang up, but I heard the sound of
shattering glass.
Jake roared, “Sarah, answer me!”
My hands were still pinned, my body arched
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against him.
Asher’s fingers pressed against my lips,
rubbing hard.
He smiled faintly.
“She’s a little busy, Mr. Peterson. I’m afraid
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she doesn’t have time for your call right now.”
Even now, with his lip bleeding from my bite,
he was perfectly composed.
Jake sounded like he wanted to smash his
phone.
“If you touch Sarah, I’ll feed you to the
fishes!”
Asher remained unfazed. “Try it, Mr.
Peterson.”
He hung up, his eyes fixed on my slightly
unfocused gaze.
“Miss, you won’t disappoint me, will you?”
He made it sound like I was about to kick him
out, a heartless player.
Looking at his reddened lips, my head spun,
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and I blurted out, “With me here, what’s there
to be afraid of?”
As I kissed him again, a recording started
playing from the car stereo.
Asher grinned mischievously, nuzzling my lips.
“Thanks, Sarah.”
I wanted to kiss the soft–spoken Asher
senseless.
