My Heart Turned To Stone For Him

Ashton Donaldson POV:

The voices filtered through the thick haze of unconsciousness, muffled and distorted, but growing clearer with each agonizing beat of my heart.

"…she said Ashton pushed her…" That was Brianne. Her voice, usually so sweet, now held a sharp, manipulative edge.

"Pushed you? In her condition?" A new voice, stern, masculine. Not Camden.

"Yes! She was furious about the locket. She called me names, and then she shoved me. I just… I don't know how I ended up down here. It's all a blur of pain." Brianne' s voice was filled with feigned fragility, a masterclass in victimhood.

My blood ran cold. She was lying. Again. Blaming me for her own malicious trap. The anger, cold and sharp, cut through the fog in my brain.

"And the morgue door? Was it locked from the outside?" The new voice pressed.

"I… I don't remember," Brianne whimpered. "I was so scared. I just ran. I was trying to get away from her. She's so… violent, Camden. You have to protect me."

Camden. He was there. I heard his heavy footsteps, then his voice, thick with concern. "Brianne, are you alright? Show me your arm. Are you hurt?" The unwavering focus on her, even now. It was sickening.

"I'm so cold, Camden," she whispered, her voice like a siren. "And my arm… it really hurts."

"Don't worry, my love. I'm here. I won't let her touch you again." His words, a balm to her, were daggers to my heart. He believed her. He always believed her. He was her guardian, her protector, completely blind to her manipulations.

A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage and despair. I pushed myself up, scrambling to my feet. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my head, but I ignored it. I was done being silent. I was done being a victim.

The heavy door to the morgue swung open. Camden stood there, his face etched with concern for Brianne, who was clinging to his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. His eyes, when they finally landed on me, were cold and condemning. He saw my disheveled hospital gown, my bloodshot eyes, the fresh bruise forming on my temple. He saw a 'wild child' who had caused trouble, not a victim who had been trapped.

"Ashton," he said, his voice hard, disapproving. "What have you done to Brianne?"

"What have I done?" I spat, the words dripping with contempt. "She trapped me in here! She lied, Camden! She always lies! She shoved me down here after stealing your mother's locket!"

Camden' s gaze flicked to Brianne, who averted her eyes, a faint blush rising on her pale cheeks. But it was quickly replaced by a fresh well of tears. "She's delusional, Camden," Brianne whimpered, tightening her grip on his arm. "She's not well. She's just trying to hurt me."

"The locket," Camden said, his voice tight, his eyes returning to mine. "Is that true, Ashton? Were you fighting over my mother's locket?"

"She stole it!" I screamed, my voice raw. "She taunted me, told me it was in here, and then locked me in! She wanted to scare me! She wanted me to disappear!"

Camden sighed, a weary, exasperated sound. "Ashton, I know you're upset. But Brianne is fragile. She's recovering from a terrible ordeal. You can't just… attack her because of an argument."

My blood boiled. "An argument? She tried to get me killed, Camden! And you're defending her? After what you did to me? After you made the doctors choose her over me?"

His face hardened instantly. "That was a medical decision, Ashton, based on critical need. You know nothing about Brianne's condition."

"Oh, I know all about Brianne's condition!" I retorted, a bitter laugh escaping me. "I know all about her Aplastic Anemia. I know all about the experimental drug. I know all about the multi-billion dollar merger my father brokered. And I know all about how you married me, not for love, not for companionship, but to get access to that drug! To save your precious Brianne!" The words, once a painful secret, now felt liberating as they burst forth.

Camden flinched, his eyes widening slightly. Brianne' s face crumpled completely, her small hand flying to her mouth, as if to stifle a sob. She looked genuinely shocked, genuinely hurt. But I didn't buy it. Not anymore.

"She always lies, Camden," I continued, my voice cold and steady. "She lied about our relationship, about her health, about her feelings. She's a master manipulator, and you, the disciplined, ex-SEAL, the heir to a political dynasty, you're nothing but her blind, devoted puppy."

"That's enough, Ashton!" Camden barked, his face flushed with anger. "You're out of control. Your paranoia is getting the best of you."

"Paranoia?" I scoffed. "Or is it just the truth you can't face? The truth that your 'fragile' sweetheart orchestrated all of this? That she used her illness, her supposed innocence, to drive a wedge between us, to make you her eternal savior?" I took a step towards him, my eyes blazing. "You think she's a victim? She's the predator, Camden. And I'm done being her prey."

Camden' s jaw tightened. He wasn't used to being challenged, especially not by me, his "wild child" wife. He wasn't used to having his carefully constructed narrative dismantled so brutally.

"What do you want, Ashton?" he finally asked, his voice low and dangerous. "What do you want to do about this?" He was offering me a concession, a chance to name my price, a way to make this mess disappear. But I wasn't looking for a settlement. I was looking for retribution.

"I want her to pay for what she did," I said, my voice cold and firm. "She trapped me in a morgue. She lied, she manipulated, she stole your mother's locket. I want her charged. I want her punished. And I want that locket back."

Miller, who had been standing silently by, exchanged a nervous glance with another security guard. Charging Brianne Vincent, the delicate sweetheart of the Winters dynasty, was unheard of.

"That's not an option, Ashton," Camden said, his voice flat. He pulled Brianne closer, shielding her. "She's ill. She's been through enough."

"Enough?" I raged. "I almost died in there! Because of her! And you think that's 'enough'?" My body trembled with fury. "She needs to face consequences, Camden. Or you do."

He stared at me, then a strange, almost defeated look crossed his face. He made a decision. "Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "You want justice, Ashton? You want someone to pay?" He looked at Miller. "Miller, go to my mother's room. Retrieve the locket. And then… I will take the punishment."

My breath hitched. He was going to sacrifice himself again. For her. The sheer, unfathomable depth of his devotion was breathtaking. It was also terrifying.

"No, Camden, don't!" Brianne cried, her voice suddenly strong, free of its former fragility. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with genuine panic. "Don't do it! She's not worth it!"

He ignored her, his eyes fixed on mine, a grim determination etched on his face. "What do you want, Ashton? Name your punishment. I'll take it. Whatever it is. But leave Brianne out of this."

My heart clenched. He was willing to do anything for her. Anything. This wasn't love. This was obsession. A possessive, all-consuming, blind devotion that left no room for anything else. For anyone else.

"You're pathetic," I whispered, the words tearing from my throat. "You're absolutely pathetic." The pain, the anger, the humiliation, all of it coalesced into a single, burning desire: to make them both suffer. But I knew, deep down, that I couldn't. Not like this. Not if he truly believed he was protecting her.

"Just… get her out of here, Camden," I said, my voice flat, empty. "Get her and yourself and your pathetic, twisted love story out of my sight. I can't look at either of you anymore."

He hesitated, then nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He wrapped his arm around Brianne, who still looked terrified but also strangely triumphant. "Bring the locket to her room," he instructed Miller. "And ensure Ms. Vincent receives no further distress." He then led Brianne away, his back to me, disappearing down the corridor.

I watched them go, a cold, empty ache spreading through my chest. He chose her. He always would. And I was done fighting for a man who would never choose me.

The rage, however, wouldn't subside. He was protecting her. He was still protecting her. And I was still suffering. I turned my gaze to the remaining security guard, the one who hadn't gone with Miller. He was a young recruit, barely out of training, his face pale and nervous.

A sudden, insane impulse seized me. I hated being weak. I hated being a victim. I hated being manipulated. And I hated being ignored.

Before the guard could react, I slammed my good fist into his nose. A sickening crunch echoed in the empty corridor. He cried out, stumbling backward, clutching his face. Blood spurted, staining his pristine uniform.

Then, with a surge of adrenaline, I kicked him in the knee. He collapsed with a groan, clutching his leg.

"That's for protecting her!" I screamed, my voice raw with fury. I was a wild animal, wounded and cornered, lashing out at anything that reminded me of my pain.

Suddenly, a loud splash. A scream. From Brianne's room.

My head snapped up. What was that?

Camden, alerted by the commotion, suddenly reappeared, rushing back down the corridor, his face a mask of shock and fury. He saw the guard, bleeding and groaning on the floor. He saw my blazing eyes. And then he heard the scream.

"Brianne!" he roared, pushing past me, his eyes wide with terror. He didn't even look at me, didn't register my presence. He just ran, his feet pounding down the corridor towards her room. He burst through her door.

I heard his frantic shouts. "Brianne! What happened? Are you hurt?"

Then, his voice, thick with horror, yelling: "Ashton! What did you do?"

I stood there, panting, my body trembling, my knuckles raw from punching the guard. I hadn't done anything to Brianne. Had I? I looked down at the injured guard. No. I hadn' t even gotten close to her room.

But Camden' s voice, full of accusation, cut through me. He blamed me. Always me.

I heard the sound of water. Splashing. Yelling. I walked slowly towards Brianne's room, a morbid curiosity pulling me forward.

Camden was there, soaked to the bone, pulling Brianne out of a large potted plant that had been knocked over. Water and soil were everywhere. Brianne was sobbing, clutching her leg, which looked twisted at an odd angle.

He looked up, his eyes burning into mine. "You pushed her, didn't you? You pushed her into this! You tried to hurt her!"

"I didn't touch her!" I screamed back, my voice raw. "She's lying! She always lies!"

"Enough!" he roared, his face contorted with rage. He was completely consumed by his need to protect her. He took a wild step towards me, his arm swinging out, not intentionally to hit me, but in his blind fury. His elbow caught me hard on my already injured ribs.

A sharp, searing pain tore through me. I gasped, stumbling backward, clutching my side. My vision swam, lights exploding behind my eyes. I sank to the floor, pain engulfing me, a raw, burning agony.

Camden didn't even notice. He was already back by Brianne's side, cradling her, murmuring apologies, his entire being focused on her. My pain, my fall, my very existence, was utterly erased from his consciousness.

I lay there, curled on the cold floor, struggling to breathe, the pain a suffocating blanket. He didn't even look. Not a single glance. He had physically injured me, and he didn't even know. He didn't care.

The final, bitter drop of hope, of foolish longing, drained from my heart. I was nothing to him. Less than nothing. A ghost. A nuisance.

I pushed myself up, slowly, painfully, my ribs screaming in protest. Each breath was a battle. But I wouldn't stay here, a broken, ignored trophy in his twisted game. I would not let them win.

I walked past them, ignored, invisible, their world confined to each other. I found a nurse, a kind woman who bandaged my ribs, her face creased with unspoken sympathy. "Where's your husband, dear?" she asked softly.

"He's busy," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "With his priorities." I signed myself out of the hospital, against medical advice. I didn't need their care. I needed to escape.

I needed to leave. Before he could stop me again. Before I became another piece of furniture in his mansion, another forgotten trophy in his life. I needed to disappear, completely, irrevocably. And I knew exactly how to do it. My father had already shown me the way out. The renunciation. The divorce. The plane ticket.

I would take my last breath in this city, and then I would breathe free.