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title: "The Ally" wordCount: 2551

Chapter 13: The Ally

Marcus was already seated when I walked into the club, and the way he stood to greet me—warm smile, hand on my elbow—made my skin crawl even though I couldn't say why.

"Sloane. Thank you for coming." He pulled out my chair like we were old friends, like he hadn't sent that cryptic text that kept me up half the night. "I hope you don't mind—I took the liberty of ordering the salmon. It's exceptional here."

I sat because standing felt like losing. "Yeah, no, that's fine."

The dining room was all dark wood and leather, the kind of place where the prices weren't on the menu and everyone spoke in hushed tones. A waiter materialized with water in crystal glasses that probably cost more than my rent used to be. Used to be. Past tense. Because now I lived in Dominic's townhouse, slept in his bed, wore clothes he'd bought me.

That tracks, the bitter voice in my head whispered.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you here." Marcus settled back in his chair, completely at ease. He wore a navy suit that fit like it had been made for him—which it probably had—and a watch that caught the light every time he moved his wrist. "I wanted to talk to you. Just us. No Dominic, no board members, no... complications."

"About what?"

"About you." He smiled, and it looked genuine. That was the problem. "About the position you've found yourself in. I'm concerned, Sloane. Genuinely concerned."

My nails dug into my palms under the table. "Concerned about what?"

"The board meeting last week was... contentious. You weren't there, of course, but your name came up. Several times." He paused while the waiter set down plates of food I hadn't ordered. "There are people who see your relationship with Dominic as a liability."

"My relationship with Dominic is none of their business."

"I agree completely." Marcus cut into his salmon with surgical precision. "But we don't live in a world where that matters, do we? We live in a world where perception is reality, and right now, the perception is that my nephew is making decisions with his heart instead of his head."

The salmon tasted like ash in my mouth. I forced myself to swallow. "What decisions?"

"Hiring you, for one. Promoting you so quickly. Bringing you to family events." He ticked them off on his fingers like evidence in a trial. "I'm not saying any of it was wrong. I'm saying it looks wrong to people who are already looking for reasons to question his judgment."

"So what, I should quit? Disappear?" The words came out sharper than I meant them to.

"No." Marcus set down his fork, leaned forward. "I'm saying you should be aware of what you're walking into. The Ashford family has enemies, Sloane. People who would love nothing more than to see Dominic fail. And right now, you're the easiest target."

My throat felt tight. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you." He said it simply, like it was obvious. "You're smart, you're capable, and you clearly care about Dominic. But caring about him means understanding the world he lives in. The world you're now part of, whether you want to be or not."

I pushed food around my plate, buying time. "And what world is that?"

"One where everything is leverage. Where people will dig into your background, your family, your history, looking for anything they can use." He paused, took a sip of water. "Speaking of which—I realized I don't know much about your family. Where are you from originally?"

The shift was so smooth I almost missed it. Almost. "Boston."

"And your parents?"

"My mom's dead. Cancer." The words came out flat, practiced. "My dad's... not in the picture."

"I'm sorry." Marcus's expression softened with what looked like real sympathy. "That must have been difficult. Did your mother work?"

"Yeah. She was an assistant. Moved around a lot, different companies." I took a drink of water, wished it was something stronger. "Why?"

"Just making conversation." But something flickered in his eyes, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. "It's interesting, isn't it? How our parents' choices shape our lives. The connections they make, the opportunities they create—or don't create."

My pulse kicked up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing specific." He smiled again, easy and warm. "I'm just saying that background matters in this world. Not because it should, but because it does. And the people who want to hurt Dominic will use yours against him."

"My background is fine."

"Of course it is. But 'fine' and 'appropriate for an Ashford' are two different things in the eyes of the board." He leaned back, studying me. "Tell me something. Why do you think Dominic hired you?"

The question landed like a punch. "Because I'm good at my job."

"You are. Exceptionally good, from what I hear." Marcus tilted his head. "But there were other candidates. People with more experience, better connections, the right pedigree. So why you?"

"I don't know. Ask him."

"I'm asking you." His voice stayed gentle, but there was steel underneath. "What do you think drew him to you specifically?"

I set down my fork before I could throw it. "If you've got something to say, just say it."

"I think—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I think Dominic is still grieving Victoria. Still processing what he lost. And I think, consciously or not, he chose someone he could never actually be with publicly. Someone safe."

The words hit like ice water. "Safe."

"Think about it. A relationship with you can never go anywhere, not really. You can't attend board functions as his partner. You can't be introduced to clients as anything more than an employee. The class difference, the professional complications—they're insurmountable." Marcus's expression was almost kind. "Which makes you perfect for a man who's terrified of real commitment after losing his wife."

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs. "That's bullshit."

"Is it? Or does it explain why he's kept you so carefully separate from his real life? Why he hasn't told the board about your relationship? Why he still introduces you as his assistant?" He let the questions hang in the air between us. "I'm not saying he doesn't care about you, Sloane. I'm saying he cares about you in a way that's convenient for him. Safe for him."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Marcus signaled for the check. "I've known Dominic his entire life. I watched him with Victoria—that was real, that was public, that was a partnership between equals. What he has with you is... something else."

I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor. "I need to go."

"Of course." He stood too, pulled out his wallet. "I hope I haven't upset you. That wasn't my intention."

"Then what was your intention?"

"To help you see clearly." He handed his card to the waiter without looking at the bill. "To make sure you understand what you're really dealing with. Because when this falls apart—and it will fall apart, Sloane, these things always do—I want you to land on your feet."

"How generous."

"I mean it." He touched my elbow again, and I jerked away. "You're a smart woman. Too smart to let yourself be used, even by someone you care about. Just... think about what I've said. About why he really hired you. About what he's really getting from this relationship."

I walked out without answering, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

---

The subway ride back to the townhouse took forty minutes, but I barely registered it. Marcus's words played on repeat in my head, each one finding a crack in my armor and wedging itself deeper.

Someone he could never actually be with publicly.

Safe for him.

A relationship that can never go anywhere.

My phone buzzed with a text from Dominic: How's your day going?

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I should tell him. Should explain where I'd been, what Marcus had said, let him tear apart every manipulation and reassure me that none of it was true.

But what if it was true?

What if Marcus was right, and I was just convenient? A way for Dominic to feel something without risking anything? I thought about how he'd introduced me at that first board meeting—"my assistant"—even though we'd already slept together. How he'd kept our relationship quiet, separate, contained. How he'd never once talked about a future that included me in any real way.

The train lurched to a stop. I typed: Fine. Running errands. Be home soon.

The lie tasted bitter, but I sent it anyway.

---

Dominic was in the kitchen when I got back, doing something complicated with vegetables and a knife that looked like it cost more than my first car. He glanced up when I walked in, and his whole face changed—softened in a way that made my chest ache.

"Hey." He set down the knife, wiped his hands on a towel. "I was starting to worry."

"Sorry. Lost track of time." I dropped my bag on the counter, couldn't quite meet his eyes. "What are you making?"

"Risotto. Iris requested it specifically, which means she saw it on some cooking show and has no idea what it actually is." He moved toward me, and I stepped back before I could stop myself. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. Just tired."

He studied me for a long moment, and I could see him cataloging details—my tense shoulders, my chipped nail polish that I'd been picking at on the subway, the way I was standing too far away. "What errands?"

"Just... stuff. Boring stuff." I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water I didn't want. "How was your day?"

"Sloane."

"What?"

"You are not a good liar." He said it gently, but it still felt like an accusation. "Something happened. What was it?"

"Nothing happened. I'm just tired, okay?" The words came out harsher than I meant them to. "Can we not do this right now?"

He went very still, the way he did when he was processing something he didn't like. "Do what?"

"This. The interrogation. I'm allowed to have a bad day without explaining every detail of it."

"Of course you are." His voice was carefully neutral. "I was simply asking."

"Well, I'm simply answering. Nothing's wrong." I set down the glass, headed for the stairs. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Sloane—"

But I was already gone, taking the steps two at a time, my pulse hammering with something that felt like panic or guilt or both. I locked the bathroom door behind me and turned on the shower as hot as it would go, let the steam fill the room until I couldn't see my reflection in the mirror anymore.

Someone he could never actually be with publicly.

I pressed my forehead against the cool tile and tried to breathe.

---

Dinner was awkward in the way that only meals with someone you're lying to can be. Iris chattered about her day at school, oblivious to the tension, while Dominic and I passed dishes and made careful small talk that said nothing at all.

"Ms. Peterson said my drawing was the best in the class," Iris announced, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. "She put it on the wall."

"That is excellent news." Dominic smiled at her, genuine warmth breaking through his careful composure. "Which drawing?"

"The one of the park. With the big tree and the ducks." She turned to me. "Sloane, will you come to the art show next week? Ms. Peterson said families can come."

The word 'families' hit like a brick. I glanced at Dominic, but his expression gave nothing away. "Um. Yeah. If that's okay."

"Why would it not be okay?" Iris looked genuinely confused.

"It is more than okay." Dominic's voice was firm. "Sloane will be there."

But he didn't look at me when he said it, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was—that showing up to a school art show as a family was exactly the kind of public, permanent thing that Marcus said would never happen.

After dinner, Iris wanted to watch a movie, but Dominic said she had homework. She pouted but didn't argue, just trudged upstairs with her backpack while Dominic started clearing plates.

"I can do that," I said.

"So can I."

We worked in silence, loading the dishwasher with careful precision, not quite touching. The kitchen felt too small suddenly, the air too thick.

"Sloane." Dominic's voice was quiet. "If I have done something to upset you—"

"You haven't."

"Then what is this?" He gestured between us. "This distance. You have been pulling away from me since you walked in the door."

"I'm not pulling away. I'm just..." I trailed off, because I didn't know how to finish that sentence without lying or telling the truth, and both felt impossible. "It's nothing."

"It is not nothing." He set down the plate he was holding, turned to face me fully. "Talk to me. Please."

The please almost broke me. I wanted to tell him everything—about Marcus, about the lunch, about every poisonous seed of doubt that had been planted in my head. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled up with fear and shame and the terrible suspicion that Marcus might be right.

"I just need some space tonight," I said finally. "That's all."

Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or resignation. "Of course. Whatever you need."

He left the kitchen without another word, and I stood there surrounded by clean dishes and the ruins of my own cowardice, hating myself for lying and hating Marcus for making me doubt and hating the part of me that wondered if the doubt was justified.

---

I couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop my brain from spinning through every interaction with Dominic, looking for proof that Marcus was wrong. Or right. Or something in between that was worse than either.

Around midnight, I gave up and went downstairs for water. The townhouse was dark except for a sliver of light under Dominic's study door. I should have gone back upstairs. Should have left him alone, given him the space I'd demanded for myself.

Instead, I moved closer.

His voice drifted through the door, low and tense. "I understand the risks. I have always understood the risks."

A pause. He was on the phone.

"No, she does not know. And she cannot know, not yet. Not until—" Another pause, longer this time. "I know what I am risking. But this is not negotiable."

My hand found the wall, steadying myself.

"The timing is complicated. If she finds out before I can explain—" His voice dropped even lower, and I had to press closer to hear. "I know what I have done. I know what it means. She can never find out what I have—"

A floorboard creaked under my foot.

The study door opened, and Dominic stood there in the sudden spill of light, his phone still in his hand and his expression