Page 40 of Unwrapped

The comments section makes me wish I'd never scrolled down.

@ChicagoSocialite:Seriously? She's so... basic. What happened to that supermodel he was dating last year?

@MercerFanxoxo:This has to be fake. Asher would never date someone who looks like THAT.

@BusinessInsider312:A baker? Please. She's clearly after his money. Give it three months tops.

My hands shake as I keep reading, each comment worse than the last. They've dug up everything - old high school photos, the bakery's financial records, even my LinkedIn profile.

@CorporateQueen:No degree from an elite university, no social connections, nothing special at all. At least his ex went to Yale.

@ChiTownGossip:Sources say she went to high school with him. Probably been stalking him for years. Talk about desperate!

@AshersMercy:Look at her clothes in that market photo. Does she even own anything designer? This is embarrassing.

The timer dings, making me jump. The cookies are burning - I can smell them now. But I can't move, can't stop reading as strangers tear apart everything from my appearance to my worth.

My phone buzzes with a text from Ivy. Clearly she’s already seen it.

Tessa:Don't read the comments. I mean it, Ivy. Call me.

But it's too late. The words are already burrowing under my skin, confirming every insecurity I've ever had about being with Asher. They're right - I don't belong in his world. I never did.

I sink down onto the kitchen floor, the burnt cookies forgotten as tears blur my vision. The worst part? They're not saying anything I haven't thought myself.

Chapter 12

Asher

The party becomes a blur after Ivy walks out, her words looping through my mind like a broken record. I force a smile, shake hands, thank people for coming—going through the motions while my thoughts remain elsewhere, circling around the one person who’s no longer here. I barely remember saying goodbye to the last of the guests, their cheerful wishes for the holiday season falling flat in my ears. Even the quiet ride back to my penthouse, the sound of the city muffled by the falling snow, is a haze.

But by the time I’m alone in my office, the weight of everything hits me like a punch to the gut. I slump against the edge of my desk, staring out at the Chicago skyline. The city is a sea of glittering lights, the streets below dusted with fresh snow, twinkling like a scene from a holiday card. Normally, this view gives me a sense of accomplishment, of pride. Tonight, it feels cold, hollow.

Because all I can think about is Ivy—about the way her voice cracked when she told me she didn’t belong in my world. About the pain in her eyes when she looked at me, like she was bracing herself for a disappointment she’d already accepted.

I press my palms against the cool surface of the desk, trying to steady my breathing, but the memory of her expression tightens around my chest like a vise. I can’t shake the image of her walking out, her shoulders tense, as if she was holding herself together by sheer willpower. And I can’t stop hearing her voice, brittle and uncertain, as she said, “I just don’t think I fit into your life, Asher.”

Zane’s words echo in my mind, warnings I brushed off too easily before.She’s not like the women you usually date. She’s got a future, a vision. Don’t mess with that.

He was right, damn him. I’ve been so focused on keeping up the image, on maintaining the persona that everyone expects from me—the smooth-talking CEO, the guy who always has it together—that I forgot what really matters. And what matters is Ivy.

She’s the first person who’s made me feel like I could be more than just the face of a company, more than a carefully crafted image. She’s the first person who’s seen through the act, who’s looked past the charm and found something worth saving beneath it all. And now she thinks she doesn’t belong in my life, that she’s not enough for me, when all I’ve ever wanted is to find a way to fit into hers.

I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair as the truth settles like a stone in my chest. I’m not afraid of losing my reputation or my carefully constructed persona. I’m afraid of losing her.

And suddenly, sitting here in my empty office, surrounded by the trappings of success, it hits me just how much I’ve been lying to myself. I’ve built my entire life around a version of myself that I thought people wanted to see, but it’s never felt real—not the way it did when I was standing beside Ivy in that Christmas market or when I kissed her under the mistletoe and everything else disappeared.

I don’t want to live my life behind a mask anymore. I don’t want to lose the one person who makes me feel like I don’t have to. I grab my phone, about to send her a message that I’m coming to her when I see a text from Zane with a link. I click it, my stomach dropping immediately when it populates across my screen.

"Sir?" Keri appears in my office doorway, her expression tense. I’m about to tell her to get back to the party when I register the look on her face. ”You need to see this."

I'm already looking at it. The article. The photos. The fucking comments that make me want to throw my phone through the window.

"Get our PR team on the phone," I growl, scrolling through the vicious remarks about Ivy. "And find out who leaked these photos."

My blood boils as I read each comment. These people don't know her. They don't see how her eyes light up when she talks about her dreams, how she stays late perfecting recipes until they're exactly right, how she makes everyone around her feel special without even trying.

@SocialiteSpotter:Remember when he dated that Victoria's Secret model? Major downgrade.

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