From Prison to His Perfect Regret

Ashlie POV: Jasper's perfect face crumpled. The flicker of guilt I'd searched for in Chapter 1 finally surfaced, a fleeting shadow across his eyes. It was a weak emotion, quickly replaced by a familiar defensiveness. "Ashlie. Is that really how you feel?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned hurt, as if my pain was an inconvenience to him. I just stared at him, my silence a more potent weapon than any words. He shifted, uncomfortable under my gaze. "I… I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking out at the endless stretch of snow. "I truly am. I know I messed up. But I was just trying to protect you. Protect us." His voice cracked, a performance I knew all too well. I didn't buy it. Not anymore. I remembered the desperate calls from the prison payphone, the static-filled connection, the automated voice telling me the number was unavailable. I remembered the letters, carefully penned, begging for a sign, any sign, that he still remembered me. And the crushing silence that followed each attempt. "Protect me?" I scoffed, the sound harsh in the confined space of the luxury SUV. "From what, Jasper? From the truth? From the fact that you threw me under a bus to save your precious company?" He visibly winced. "It wasn't like that! The board was breathing down my neck. The IPO was everything. They said if anyone tied to the company was involved, it would crash. I had to stabilize things. And you… you were so good at marketing, they thought you were the mastermind behind the numbers, not just the presentation." "And you let them think that," I stated, my voice flat. "You let me take the fall for your embezzlement. For your company's scandal." "It was a clerical error, Ashlie! A mistake! One that Candice was supposed to fix, but then things escalated." He was trying to shift blame, even five years later. Always. Candice. "And you never got any of my messages, right?" I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. "Never got a single one of the dozens of calls, the hundreds of letters?" He shook his head vehemently. "No! Candice handled all my correspondence. She said she screened everything, to keep the media away, to keep me focused on the company during a critical time." He actually sounded genuine. Or maybe he just genuinely believed his own lies. "I told her to tell everyone I was heartbroken, that I was working myself to death to keep your name clean, but I never got any message from you, Ashlie. Not one. I thought you were just... too angry to talk to me." I watched him, a slow, cold realization dawning on me. Candice. Of course. That ambitious, conniving woman. She'd always been obsessed with Jasper, with his company, with his success. She'd been my "friend," my "confidante" when I first joined the company, then she wormed her way into Jasper's life as his assistant. "She kept you away from me, didn't she?" I whispered, not a question, a statement. "She blocked every attempt. She made sure I was isolated. She made sure you stayed oblivious." Jasper's eyes flickered, a dawning horror on his face. "No. Candice wouldn't. She's incredibly loyal. She's been my right-hand for years." "Loyal to you, or loyal to her own agenda?" I countered, my gaze unwavering. "Think about it, Jasper. Who stood to gain the most from me being out of the picture? Who suddenly became indispensable to you, managing your life, your business, your heartbreak?" He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror as if to confirm her presence, even though she wasn't there. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. The perfect CEO, completely blind to the snake in his own office. "Ashlie, I... I never thought..." "You never thought, Jasper. That's the problem." I leaned back against the plush leather, the scent of expensive car and old betrayal filling my nostrils. "You always let others do your dirty work, and then you pretend to be the victim." He opened his mouth, then closed it. His perfect facade was cracking, piece by piece. It wasn't enough. Not yet. "We're almost there," he said, switching gears. "I booked us a suite at The Plaza. I wanted to pamper you. To make up for everything." "The Plaza?" I repeated, a dry laugh escaping my lips. "Not our home? The one we built together? The one that's probably been gathering dust, or perhaps, hosting someone else?" He flinched again. "No, of course not! Our home is... it's being renovated. For your return. I wanted everything to be perfect. A fresh start. This is just temporary. I want to spoil you, Ashlie. Show you how much I missed you. How much I still love you." His words, meant to soothe, only scraped against my raw nerves. He still didn't get it. He thought money, lavish gestures, and hollow promises could erase five years of solitude and betrayal. "Just drive, Jasper," I said, turning my head to watch the blurred, snow-covered landscape. My stomach growled, a vulgar reminder of the meager prison fare. Maybe a steak wouldn't taste so bad. Especially if it was cooked by someone entirely different. The SUV sped through the city, the towering buildings a stark contrast to the small, grey world I'd just left. Jasper tried to make small talk, but I offered only one-word answers, my gaze fixed on the endless stream of city lights. He eventually fell silent, occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his usual confidence deflated. When we pulled up to The Plaza, the doorman, a man I vaguely remembered from our previous visits, rushed to open my door. Jasper was out of the car in an instant, circling to my side, his hand hovering near my back, as if waiting for permission to touch me. "Welcome back, Mrs. Albert," the doorman said, his smile wide and genuine. "We were all so worried about you." Mrs. Albert. The name felt foreign, a leftover from a life that no longer existed. I offered a weak smile in return. "She's had a long journey," Jasper interjected smoothly, laying a possessive hand on my arm. "Let's get her inside." Inside, the lobby was a symphony of old-world elegance and hushed luxury. Crystal chandeliers glittered, marble gleamed, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and fresh flowers. It was a world entirely disconnected from the one I had inhabited for the past five years. "I booked the penthouse suite," Jasper announced, his voice regaining some of its usual swagger. "The one with the best view of the park. Just for us." I said nothing, letting him lead me through the opulent lobby, past admiring glances and whispered greetings. He was putting on a show, for them, and for himself. He wanted everyone to see the devoted husband, welcoming his wronged wife back into his gilded cage. But I wasn't buying it. In the elevator, I finally turned to him. "Why aren't we going home, Jasper? Really." He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Ashlie, I told you. Renovations. I want it to be perfect for you. A fresh start. And besides," he hesitated, his eyes flickering. "I wanted us to have some time, just us, to reconnect. Without... without the ghosts of the past haunting every corner of the house." "The ghosts of the past?" I repeated, a cold laugh escaping my lips. "You mean Candice, Jasper? Is she haunting our home, or has she made herself perfectly at home there?" His face went pale. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer. Because I knew the truth. I could see it in his eyes. The elevator doors opened to a lavish penthouse suite. It was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Central Park, now dusted with snow. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket, next to a silver platter of fresh fruit. "Here we are," Jasper said, a forced cheer in his voice. "Our sanctuary." I walked to the window, staring out at the city lights. It was beautiful. And utterly meaningless. I felt nothing but a profound emptiness. "I had the staff prepare dinner," he said, gesturing to the gleaming dining table. "But I have something special planned for you first." I turned, my gaze hard. "What could possibly be so special, Jasper?" His smile was soft, almost shy. "I'm going to cook for you, Ashlie. Just like I did on our first anniversary." He watched me, searching for a reaction. "Remember? Your favorite steak. Medium rare." My stomach clenched. Steak. The last thing I had wanted was a reminder of a time when I had actually loved this man. A time when his gestures meant something. "You're going to cook?" I asked, my voice flat. "Here? In a hotel kitchen?" "They've set up a private culinary station for me," he said, beaming. "Chef's compliments. I told them it was a special occasion. For you." He watched me expectantly, waiting for praise, for gratitude, for any sign of the old Ashlie. But she was gone. Buried under five years of concrete and steel. I took a deep breath, the cold air still somehow clinging to me even in the warmth of the suite. "Fine. Cook." He looked surprised by my lack of enthusiasm, but quickly recovered. "Great! You just relax. I'll be back shortly." He shed his expensive suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He actually looked happy, bustling about, giving orders to the hotel staff who seemed to adore him. A young male waiter, his face bright with admiration, approached me. "Mr. Albert is such a devoted husband, Mrs. Albert. He told us how much he missed you. And he spent weeks planning this. He even brought his own special ingredients from home to make your favorite meal." The waiter's words were meant to be kind, to warm my heart. Instead, they curdled my stomach. Devoted husband. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was putting on a show, for the staff, for me, for himself. A performance of a perfect life, a perfect love. "Yes," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "He's very... devoted." The waiter beamed, oblivious to the icy edge in my tone. He poured me a glass of sparkling water, the bubbles dancing in the elegant flute. "You must be so happy. To be back with such a thoughtful man." Happy. The word felt alien. I hadn't felt happy in so long, I wasn't sure I remembered what it was. I nodded vaguely, just wanting him to leave. He bowed slightly and discreetly exited the suite. I walked back to the window, the city lights blurring into a watery haze. Happiness. It was a distant memory, a concept that no longer applied to me. All I felt was a dull ache, a constant hum of resentment that had become my new normal. The thought of Jasper in a chef's apron, meticulously preparing a meal for me, was repulsive. It was a grotesque parody of what we once were. He was trying to buy back my love, my forgiveness, with food and luxury. But some things weren't for sale. And my heart was at the top of that list.