Page 87 of Ruthless Regret

"That's what we need to find out," I say, my voice softening. "You were just a kid, Ashley. Traumatized and vulnerable. Ramsey knew exactly how to exploit that." As the words leave my mouth, I'm struck by how different my view of her is now.

The entire time I was in prison, I blamed her completely for my incarceration. I saw her as the villain, the one who stole my life. But now, looking at her across the table, I can’t deny the truth I’m faced with.

She was just a child, a kid caught in something far bigger than herself. The real villain was Ramsey, and a legal system that allowed him to manipulate a traumatized kid because he wanted an easy win.

How much anger have I wasted on her? How much time have I spent plotting revenge against someone who was as much a victim as I was? The truth of it all threatens to overwhelm me.

Ashley nods, oblivious to my thoughts as her fingers move across the keyboard. "So we need to ask Holson about Ramsey's tactics, especially how he handled child witnesses like me before."

"Exactly," I say, pulling myself back to the present. "And we need to know if there were any off-the-record conversations, any pressure from higher up to close the case quickly. Holson might have seen or heard things that didn't make it into the official reports."

We spend the next hour going over every detail we can think of, building a list of questions and points to address. By the time we're done, the tension in the room has shifted. It's no longer just about the case. There's something else crackling in the air between us, an awareness I'm not sure how to handle.

I glance at the clock, surprised by how much time has passed. "We should go out and grab something to eat before we head to the station. Clear our heads."

Ashley looks up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "You want to go out? Together?"

"Unless you'd rather stay here."

What are you doing? Why the fuck would she want to be seen with you?

She shakes her head. "No, going out sounds good. I could use some fresh air."

We stand to leave the kitchen, and both reach for the laptop at the same time. Our hands brush, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. Ashley freezes, her eyes widening slightly as they meet mine.

For a moment, we're both silent, staring at each other.

I clear my throat, taking a step back. "After you."

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ASHLEY

"Before we go,I have something for you," Zain says as we're about to leave the house. He disappears back down the hallway and into the kitchen, then returns a few minutes later with a familiar object in his hand. "Your phone. I meant to give it back to you the other day after the interview, but with everything that happened after …"

I take it from him, feeling a mix of relief and surprise. I turn it over in my hands. I should tell him I bought a new one, but I don’t. It might ruin the tentative peace between us.

"Thanks."

A flicker of something—regret maybe?—crosses his face. "I shouldn't have taken it. I'm sorry."

The apology catches me off guard. It's such a small thing compared to everything else, but it feels significant somehow. I nod, not quite sure how to respond.

We head out to the car, and the drive to the diner is quiet. I find myself stealing glances at Zain, trying to reconcile this version of him—the one who returns phones and offers apologies—with the man who blackmailed me into marriage and threatened to have my mom arrested just days ago.

The diner isn’t busy when we walk in, just a handful of patrons scattered at the tables. Zain leads the way to a booth in the corner, sliding in across from me. The vinyl seat squeaks as I sit down.

"So," he says, his eyes scanning the laminated page in front of him, "are you ready for this? Facing Holson, I mean."

I take a deep breath, considering his question. "I think so. But it still feels ... I don't know, surreal maybe?"

His gaze lifts to meet mine. "Yeah, I get that."

"What if he doesn't tell us anything new? What if we're just chasing ghosts?"

His expression hardens slightly. "Then I’ll keep searching."

The waitress interrupts, taking our orders, and I take the opportunity to study his face while he’s distracted. The hard lines I've become so familiar with are still there, but there's something else now. A weariness, maybe? Or is it uncertainty? Stress from the situation we’re in?

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