Page 60 of Worth the Scandal
The first image to pop up is Mr Kingsley an older man I don’t know, I keep scrolling through until a young boy with brown tasselled hair and piercing blue eyes—a young Asher stops medead in my tracks. I click the photo with the caption reading “Alfred Kingsley and son Asher Kingsley”
No.
No. No. No.
This is some big joke, it has to be.
Kingsley?! What about Kingston? What the fuck is going on here? Who is Asher Kingston.
I grab my phone and call Shell.
She answers, groggy. “Scarlett? It’s—babe it’s 2 a.m.”
“Shell. Did you know? About the article? The media group bullshit? Is Asher not Asher?” I’m rambling like a mad woman, this shit is my job to know, how don’t I know.
She goes quiet.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. No one else knows I saw it years ago on paper work and when I asked him he made me sign a god damn NDA.” she says finally. “But yes. It’s his family. I assumed he’d pull some strings with them after I rang him and blew him up. Not many people know who he really is, not even your dad.”
I feel like I’m spinning.
He fixed my image. He buried the backlash. He made me a star in the management world overnight—and he never told me. He never told me who he really was. I’m furious, not only has he lied to his manager, the man that’s been sharing my bed and my body isn’t the man I thought he was.
Suddenly I can’t breathe. I’m having a panic attack, I drop the phone without hanging up. I can hear Shell calling out to me but I can’t move. My breathing quickens and my hands are sweaty, my heartbeat is thumping out of my chest and my ears fill with white noise.
What else is he not telling me?
I need answers, but how am I supposed to trust Asher. Even Shell didn’t tell me, it wasn’t her story to tell but I thoughtwe were besties now. Heck, she’s just been hired by Maroon Management. Well at least she gets a big green tick in client confidentiality.
Chapter Twenty Five - Scarlett
Later That Week—Back in Dawson’s Ridge trial game 2.
I find Caleb at the stadium, a few hours before the game time. I’m a woman on a mission, I haven’t replied to any of Asher’s texts or answered any of his calls. I don’t care what he has to say now, I’m finding this shit out for myself. Caleb’s sitting alone in the stands, towel draped over his shoulders, sipping on a Gatorade like he owns the sky. Golden hour slants across the field, softening everything but him. He still looks sharp—restless.
He spots me and nods. “Walker.”
“Farah,” I reply coolly, sliding into the seat next to him. We haven’t seen much of each other since his parading at the Gala night.
He stretches his legs out, glances sideways. “What brings you here? Want to scout me? Finally realised I’m the real talent? Where have you been, pretty lady?”
I ignore the flirt. My body is stiff, my jaw tight. I’ve ignored twenty missed calls from Asher, every one of them clawing at my chest. Shell’s been running point on anything PR-related since I got back. I’ve barely looked at my phone. I just don’t know what to believe or who anymore. If anyone’s going to give me straight answers it’s Caleb.
“I want answers,” I say flatly.
That gets his attention. He fold his legs back in and crosses his arms.
Leaning back, casual. “About?”
“You keep hinting that Asher’s hiding something. That I don’t know the truth, about whatever it is. Well I want the truth.”
Caleb’s smirk slips, just slightly. His fingers tap his Gatorade bottle lid. The way he is fidgeting is pissing me off, but I need to be level headed here. “I say a lot of things, maybe you should ask him.”
“You’re talking about the crash, aren’t you?” I press. I’m bluffing, I don’t know if Asher is the player who was driving but all clues point in that direction. “The one that put Darcy in the hospital.” He squirms, and I regret not being softer with my approach.
A beat of silence. I’ve opened a wound unintentionally but I need the answers,now.
His jaw ticks. The air changes—less golden hour, more storm rolling in right before a hurricane.
