Earlier that day, Ashley had considered ignoring Marshal’s invitation to dinner.

Was it out of character for him to reach out to her personally? Of course. He had never done so before.

But as his daughter, Ashley already understood the reason. It might not have been as important as it seemed.

If anything, he probably wanted to gauge whether he still had even the slightest bit of control over her. Or perhaps he simply wanted to remind her where she came from. Remind her of the chains around her.

So Ashley went home and asked Lucian to have dinner with her.

Afterward, once she had gathered enough courage—and digested enough food—she finally went to face that damned family.

Now, Lucian glanced sideways and found her staring out the passenger-side window.

"You okay?" he asked, returning his eyes to the road as he carefully drove them home.

A soft hum answered him.

"I’m okay," she whispered. "I’ve always been okay."

Silence settled over the car once more.

Lucian opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t sure whether he should let her sit with her thoughts or keep talking.

Before he could decide, Ashley spoke first.

"Lucian." Her voice was quiet.

"Hm?"

"Do you regret it?"

His brow rose slightly. "Which one?"

"What you did to your mother." The question hung between them. "Do you regret it?"

"No." The answer came immediately. "Not for a second."

Ashley’s lips curled faintly. The passing streetlights flashed across the side of her face.

"Right?" She lowered her eyes. "I probably wouldn’t regret it either."

Her eyelids drooped. "If I just did it..." A bitter smile appeared. "...the way he taught me."

After all, the first kill was always the hardest.

The second came easier.

And the third.

And everyone after that.

Especially once she convinced herself she had enough reasons to stain her hands with blood.

Ashley bit the inside of her cheek.

The muscles in her neck tightened when Lucian asked:

"Then why haven’t you?"

The question lingered in the air. Lucian didn’t rush her; he simply waited.

Why hadn’t Ashley killed Marshal?

She was capable of it.

She had every reason.

Hatred.

Freedom.

Justice.

For someone forced to live as Marshal’s bastard daughter, his death should have been the key to everything she wanted.

Freedom.

Peace.

An end to her suffering.

"I don’t know." Her voice was so quiet that, if not for the silence inside the car, Lucian might have missed it. "I don’t know..."

She swallowed. "And I’ve always hated myself for not having an answer."

Ashley let out a heavy breath.

She couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else.

The thought had always paralyzed her. It felt as though invisible strings were attached to her heart, mind, and body. Strings controlled by someone she could never see.

It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Not since her rebirth.

Isabella and Carmella were one thing.

Marshal was another.

Even at Shyaan’s charity ball, she had barely interacted with him.

But hearing his voice, receiving his call, sitting across from him again...

That was different.

It dragged old memories to the surface. Memories so bitter she could practically taste them.

"How can a parent be like that?" she whispered. "I hate the woman who gave birth to me."

Her gaze remained fixed on the darkness outside. "But I only hate her for one thing... for having me."

Then she laughed bitterly.

"But Marshal..." Her voice cracked. "I hate him for so many reasons. It’s not so hard."

Her fingers tightened together.

"But the thing I hate most is that he made me into this." Her eyes lowered. "More than anything, he made me hate myself."

Lucian’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he remained silent.

God knew how many times Ashley had cursed herself.

How many times she had wondered why she had to be born as Marshal’s daughter.

God—or perhaps the devil—had witnessed her hatred of the world slowly turn inward.

Every opportunity she had to end Marshal.

Every chance she let slip away.

Every time she obeyed him despite knowing he barely saw her as human.

Ashley hated herself for foolishly hoping her father would someday acknowledge her.

For dreaming of recognition.

For wanting approval.

For believing that one day he might finally look at her and see a daughter.

Even now, she hated that these feelings still affected her. She hated that they still hurt, just as much as they always had.

Ashley folded her hands tightly in her lap. Despite everything raging inside her, tears refused to come.

"How can a parent ruin their child the way he did?" she whispered. "How can a parent fill their child with so much hate that there’s no room left for love?"

The more she thought about it, the more she understood why she had never truly known what love was.

She had never been given the chance to learn it.

Her world had always been simple.

Hate.

Kill.

Obey.

Repeat.

Did she know Marshal would never change? Of course she did. Nobody knew it better than her. Yet somewhere deep inside, there had always been a small, terrifying hope she couldn’t kill.

Did she know Isabella would never stop scheming? The moment Isabella thought of a plan, Ashley usually saw it coming. And yet she still walked into the trap.

Because maybe...

Just maybe...

It would earn her a place in the family.

Did she know Carmella hated her? Of course. Ashley had understood that the first time Carmella nearly beat her to death. Ashley knew she was nothing more than a reminder of Marshal’s countless affairs. Yet Ashley still came whenever they called.

Still cleaned up their messes.

Still showed up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Ashley knew all of this. And still, she kept doing it... like an idiot.

Even after hope was gone. Even after the answers became obvious. She kept running back like a dog.

Because at some point, she convinced herself that it was the only way to hold onto the family she had.

A hollow laugh escaped her.

"Even dogs are considered family." She bit her lip. "Was it really so wrong to want that?"

Her voice trembled. "To want to be treated like a dog if it meant being, at least, considered?"

If it was wrong...

Then why did she hate herself so much for wanting it?

Why did she despise herself for reaching that point?

Ashley lowered her gaze, catching his hand reaching over and taking hers.

His grip was so tight that his hand trembled.

The sight finally broke something inside her. Her face twisted. Slowly, she lowered her head.

And for the first time that night, the tears came.

One by one, they fell from her eyes and landed on their joined hands.