Updated Feb 14, 2026 • ~10 min read
[ASPEN POV – Tuesday]
Marshall Lang’s office was everything mine wasn’t: Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Thames, leather furniture that probably cost more than my car would if I had one, walls lined with law degrees and case victories.
He was mid-forties, sharp suit, sharper eyes, and expression that said he’d seen everything and believed nothing.
“Ms. Colby. Mr. Khatri.” He gestured to chairs. “Thank you for coming. Let’s discuss how we destroy Dominic Thornton.”
I liked him immediately.
Marius and I sat. Marshall pulled out thick folder. “I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours gathering everything public about your situation. Media coverage. Social media. Legal threats. It’s—” He paused. “It’s a professional hit job. Dominic’s spent serious money destroying your reputation, Ms. Colby.”
“Call me Aspen.”
“Aspen. And I’m Marshall.” He opened the folder. “Three lawsuits filed Monday morning. Thornton-Webb family suing for emotional distress and defamation. Khatri family suing for breach of contract and reputational damage. And Julius Thornton personally suing for business damages related to the collapsed merger. Combined, they’re seeking five million pounds.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Five million—I don’t have five million. I don’t have five thousand anymore. I can’t—”
“They know that. That’s the point. They’re not expecting to collect. They’re expecting you to fold. Declare bankruptcy. Disappear. That’s what Dominic wants—you silenced and destroyed so you can’t expose his involvement.”
“How do we fight it?” Marius asked.
“Truth. Evidence. And Dominic’s pattern of behavior.” Marshall pulled out another file. “My sister—Melissa Lang—was Dominic’s personal assistant five years ago. He sexually harassed her. When she threatened to report him, he fired her and destroyed her career. Planted evidence she’d embezzled from company. Framed her as thief. She couldn’t find work for three years. Ended up relocating to Scotland just to escape the scandal.”
“Jesus,” I breathed.
“He’s done this before. Multiple times. Finds vulnerable people, uses them, destroys them when they become inconvenient. You’re just his latest victim, Aspen. But this time—” Marshall smiled grimly. “This time we have angry lawyer with vendetta and resources to fight back.”
“What’s your plan?” Marius asked.
“Discovery. We demand Dominic’s communications, financial records, employment history. If he hired you—and we know he did—there’s evidence somewhere. Email trails. Phone records. Payments. We find it, we expose him, we flip the narrative.”
“But I deleted everything,” I said. “He told me to delete all communications. I did.”
“Did you delete your Craigslist ad?”
“No, I—I didn’t think to.”
“Good. We’ll use that to prove you posted legitimate work inquiry, not solicitation for prostitution. Your financial records show legitimate income from three jobs plus desperate situation with mother’s medical costs. We paint you as desperate survivor, not criminal. Sympathetic victim, not calculating villain.”
“What about the fake evidence?” Marius asked. “The Photoshopped images showing affair?”
“We have those analyzed. Prove they’re fabricated. That level of Photoshop requires professional work—expensive professional work. Someone with resources created them. We trace the work, we might trace back to Dominic.”
It was a plan. Thin. Dependent on finding evidence that might not exist. But a plan.
“What about criminal charges?” I asked. “The article mentioned potential prosecution.”
Marshall’s expression darkened. “That’s the real threat. If they charge you with fraud or blackmail, you could face prison time. That’s—that’s what terrifies me. Not the lawsuits. The criminal investigation.”
My blood went cold. “Prison?”
“Unlikely. But possible. Depends on how vindictive Julius and Octavian want to be. They’d have to prove you committed crimes—which requires proving you were paid to disrupt the wedding and that constitutes fraud. Hard to prove without Dominic’s cooperation. And Dominic won’t cooperate because it exposes his involvement.”
“So they’re stuck,” Marius said. “They can’t prosecute her without implicating Dominic.”
“Exactly. Which is why I think this is all theater. Lawsuits designed to intimidate. Criminal threats designed to silence. But ultimately—they don’t want real investigation. Real investigation exposes too much.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust this would work.
But five million pounds in lawsuits and criminal threats felt very real.
“What do I do?” I asked. “Right now. Today. How do I—function while this is happening?”
Marshall’s expression softened. “Carefully. Keep low profile. Don’t talk to media. Document everything. Save every threatening message, every article, every—everything. We’ll use it all to show the coordinated campaign against you.”
“What about work? I’ve been fired. All three jobs. ‘Sexual misconduct allegations’ they said. I can’t afford rent next month. I can’t—”
“I’ll cover rent,” Marius said immediately.
“No—”
“Aspen, please. You can’t fight legal battle while also fighting to survive. Let me handle survival logistics. You focus on the case.”
The charity thing again. The savior thing. The—
The practical thing. He was right. I couldn’t fight Dominic while also scrambling for rent money.
Pride warred with survival.
Survival won.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”
Marshall continued. “Discovery phase starts next week. Both families have to produce documents related to wedding planning, communications, financial records. We’ll be looking for anything connecting Dominic to you. Any evidence of embezzlement. Any pattern of behavior. Meanwhile—” He pulled out papers. “I need you to write down everything. Timeline. Every interaction with Dominic. Every detail. Reconstruct what you deleted.”
I took the papers. “When do you need this?”
“Yesterday. But realistically—end of week. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And Mr. Khatri—”
“Marius.”
“Marius. Your family’s lawsuit is complication. You’re being sued too but you have resources they don’t. I recommend separate legal representation for you. Someone to handle your family’s case while I handle Aspen’s.”
“Why can’t you handle both?”
“Conflict of interest. Your best defense might be to distance yourself from Aspen. Claim you were manipulated too. Paint yourself as victim. That protects you but hurts her. I can’t represent both of you if your interests diverge.”
Marius’s expression hardened. “My interests won’t diverge. I’m not throwing Aspen under the bus to save myself.”
“Noble. But not practical. Your father is serious about disowning you. You need to consider—”
“I’ve considered. I’m staying with Aspen. Whatever that costs.”
Marshall studied him. Then nodded. “All right. Then I’ll recommend colleague for your case. Rhea Patel. Excellent with family law. She’ll coordinate with me.”
He handed Marius a card.
We left the office two hours later with plan, timeline, and more paperwork than I’d ever seen outside a government office.
“That was overwhelming,” I said in the elevator.
“That was necessary,” Marius corrected. “We’re fighting back. Finally.”
“You heard him. You should get your own lawyer. Protect yourself. Don’t—don’t tie your defense to mine. If I go down, you don’t have to go with me.”
He took my hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Marius—”
“Aspen, I meant what I said. We’re partners. I’m not abandoning you when it gets hard. Not now. Not—ever.”
The certainty in his voice made my chest tight.
Outside, media was waiting. They’d followed us to Marshall’s office. Cameras exploded as we exited.
“Aspen! Are you being charged?”
“Marius! Is your family disowning you?”
“Are you two together?”
Marius pulled me close. Faced the cameras. “We have no comment at this time. Our legal team will be handling all inquiries. Thank you.”
We pushed through to his car. Got in. Drove away with media following.
“They’re going to follow us everywhere now,” I said.
“Let them. We have nothing to hide.”
“We have everything to hide. We’re living together in my tiny apartment. We’re—” I stopped. What were we? Partners. Allies. Something more? “We’re going to be under scrutiny. Every interaction documented. Every—everything analyzed.”
“Does that bother you?”
Yes. Terrified me. But—
“No,” I lied. “I just—I want to protect you. From fallout. From association with me being used against you.”
“Too late. I’m already associated. Already falling with you. Might as well fall together.”
We drove back to my apartment. Media vans were parked outside. Waiting. Watching.
“We can’t stay here,” Marius said. “Not with them camped outside.”
“Where else would we go?”
“Hotel. Different neighborhood. Somewhere they won’t find us immediately.”
Running again. Hiding. But maybe necessary.
My phone rang. Maplewood Assisted Living. Mom’s facility.
My stomach dropped. “I have to take this.”
“Ms. Colby?” Director’s voice. Sympathetic but firm. “We need to discuss your mother’s care. Given recent—publicity—we’ve had some concerns raised by other families. Questions about whether—”
“Whether I’m actually a prostitute like the articles say?”
Pause. “Whether your current legal situation might impact your ability to maintain payment.”
“It won’t. I’ll pay. On time. As always.”
“We understand these are difficult circumstances. But we need to ensure stability for all our residents. If payment becomes inconsistent—”
“It won’t. I promise. My mother’s care is my priority. Always.”
“We appreciate that. We’ll continue as normal then. But Ms. Colby—if circumstances change, please let us know immediately. We want to help. But we need transparency.”
They wanted to kick Mom out. Politely. Professionally. But the threat was clear.
I hung up. Tried not to cry.
Marius saw my expression. “What happened?”
“Mom’s facility. ‘Concerns were raised.’ They’re threatening to move her if I can’t guarantee payment. Which I can’t. Because I’m unemployed and being sued for five million pounds and—” The tears came. “I did all this for her. To keep her safe. And now I might lose her anyway.”
“You won’t. I’ll pay the facility. Guarantee payment for—”
“No. That’s too much. Rent is one thing. But twenty-eight hundred a month indefinitely? That’s—I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask. I’m offering. Aspen, please. Let me help. Let me do something useful instead of just—watching everything burn.”
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to maintain independence. Wanted to—
Wanted my mother to be safe more than I wanted pride.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back. Eventually. When this is over. When I can work again. I’ll—”
“You don’t owe me anything. This isn’t loan. This is—partnership. Taking care of each other. That’s what partners do.”
Partners. We kept saying that word. Like if we said it enough, it would become true.
Maybe it already was true.
My phone buzzed. Bailey: Where are you? Your apartment is surrounded by media. Are you safe?
Safe. With Marius. Going to hotel. I’ll call you tonight.
Okay. Love you. Be careful.
Love you too.
We checked into hotel under fake names. Different part of London. Anonymous chain. Exactly like before.
Room with two beds. Déjà vu.
“This is becoming a pattern,” Marius said. “Us hiding in anonymous hotels.”
“It’s our thing apparently.”
He smiled. Actually smiled despite everything. “Could be worse.”
“Could be better.”
“Could be,” he agreed. “But we’re together. Facing it together. That’s—something.”
It was something.
Maybe enough.
Maybe—
My phone buzzed again. Unknown number. Text message:
You think you can fight me? You think Marshall Lang can save you? You’re delusional. Drop the case or I make things much worse. – D
Dominic. Threatening me. Directly.
I showed Marius. “He’s scared.”
“Good. That means we’re winning.”
“Winning? We’re hiding in hotel. Unemployed. Being sued. Threatened with prison. How is this winning?”
“Because he’s scared enough to threaten directly. That means we’re close to something. Something he doesn’t want found.”
Maybe. Or maybe we were just desperate people clinging to hope.
Either way—
We were fighting.
Together.
Whatever came next.
War had officially begun.
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