Chapter 237
ASHLEY
The game room goes quiet the moment father steps fully inside. He feels like a stranger no one invited but no one knows how to ask to leave. Well, Asher and Ashton have always been gutsy enough to try.
I instantly feel the air change with his intrusion. The game room has always belonged to the four of us. For us, it’s a neutral territory in a house where every other space carries the weight of expectations and legacies and decisions that can make or break industries. Growing up, this was where we escaped the boardrooms and strategy meetings that began far too early in our lives.
The fact that Brett Rollins is standing here now means something has gone wrong somewhere.
His gaze sweeps across the room slowly, lingering on each of us in turn. Asher is leaning against the edge of the billiards table, his glass resting loosely between his fingers. The rest of us sit on the leather couch, posture relaxed but eyes sharp with attention.
I’m watching father carefully. Finally, he clears his throat.
"Asher,"
My brother straightens slightly. "Yes?"
"Could I speak with you privately for a moment?"
The request lands softly in the room but the tension behind it is unmistakable. Asher doesn’t move as quickly as he used to when father blinked in his direction. Instead, he leans back against the table, lifting his glass to his lips before taking a slow sip.
"No," he says calmly.
Father blinks. "Excuse me?"
Asher lowers the glass and meets his gaze. "I said no."
The blunt refusal makes the air thinner than ice. "You can say whatever you want to say right here," Asher continues, gesturing lazily toward the rest of us. "My brothers deserve to hear it too. They’re not props in the Rollins Group business."
Brett’s jaw tightens. "This is a company matter," he says carefully.
"And we’re each CEOs of every major subsidiary of said company," Asher replies evenly. "So, I’d say it concerns everyone in this room more than you care to admit."
The muscles in father’s temple twitch. "I understand but right now, I would prefer..."
"I’m done having private conversations about Rollins Group," Asher cuts him off. The firmness in his voice leaves little room for argument. "You’ve already kept enough from us as it is, from me!" He barely avoids sloshing his drink in the glass. A muscle ticks in his forehead as he grinds his teeth angrily.
For a moment, father simply stares at him. Then he exhales slowly and rubs a hand across his face.
"I’ve already apologized for that, Asher." And when Asher says nothing to affirm this, father lets a few awkward seconds pass before continuing. "Look, this matter is very delicate. The fewer people who know about this, the better." There’s a note of finality in his voice that’s almost firmer than Asher’s. Now. He looks across the room, deliberately settling to stare at each brother before focusing on Asher again.
I glance at my brothers. Ashal’s brows knit together slightly. Ashton’s posture stiffens against the couch. My own hands squeeze the closest throw pillow.
Asher studies father for another moment before nodding slowly.
"Fine," He drains the rest of his drink. "Lead the way."
Father turns immediately toward the door. Asher pauses only long enough to grab the bottle from the bar and refill his glass before following him out. The door closes behind them. The silence that settles afterward feels oddly anticlimactic.
Ashal sighs first. "So much for restoring the bond."
Ashton runs a hand through his curly dark hair. "That sounded ominous."
I drop back against the couch, staring at the empty doorway and add, "Everything about this family is ominous lately."
Ashal surges to his feet first. "I should go check on mother. She seemed pretty upset about the baby. I have a feeling she’s taking it harder than she let on. I need to talk to her."
He shrugs on his jacket and heads for the door. "Night, boys."
The room feels noticeably emptier when he leaves. Ashton stretches his arms above his head.
"I’m not sticking around to hear whatever corporate bomb Dad is about to drop," he says.
I arch a brow at him. "Where are you going?"
He pats his pant pocket to confirm his keys are still on him, then jumps to his feet. "A night drive is exactly what the doctor would order right now."
"At this hour?"
He shrugs. "I need to clear my head, Ashal. I haven’t let myself process a lot that’s happened lately and it’s slowly eating at me."
Then he’s gone too. The game room suddenly feels too large and too quiet. I glance toward the door one last time before pushing myself to my feet to head to my room. My mind is already somewhere else anyway.
Tomorrow is the first official meeting with the artists Matteo recruited for the collaboration for our new line.
And somewhere among them...Nova Simmons, the lady impersonating me as Noxx, will be there.
***
Sleep doesn’t come easily at night. Every time I close my eyes, I see my phone screen lighting up with notifications; Noxx.
The name has been everywhere since yesterday, from social media to news outlets to industry blogs. Everyone can’t get enough of the mysterious designer collaborating with Rollins Fashion to create and lunch their new line.
But someone had the nerve steal my thunder and wear my art and fame like a stolen crown. Nova Simmons. I roll onto my side and stare at the ceiling till the wee hours of the morning when I manage to catch a little sleep.
The atmosphere at Rollins Fashion headquarters feels different the moment I step through the doors. It’s subtle yet unmistakable.
For years I’ve been... the event here. Every hallway features my campaigns. Posters of past collections line the walls. Digital displays loop footage from runway shows where my designs stole the spotlight.
Employees used to light up when they saw me walk the halls every morning, not in an exaggerated way, but the admiration was there sparkling in their eyes. It was respect and recognition rolled into one.
Lately? That has dwindled. Today, I almost feel invisible in my own space. I walk through the lobby and no one stops to stare longer than polite, except to throw casual greetings.
A few people glance in my direction, but quickly look away. One woman near the reception desk offers a polite nod that feels almost...sympathetic.
Sympathetic? The thought irritates me instantly. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe people are just busy because there’s so much pressure on us to deliver a bestselling line or maybe after working for me for years, people are just used to seeing me around and the ’celebrity’ effect has worn off on them.
It’s a workday, I remind myself. They have things to do. Still... the usual buzz around me feels muted, like someone turned down the volume on a familiar song.
I repeatedly tell myself it’s in my head yet the uneasiness lingers as I ride the elevator to the main design floor. When the doors open, I hear the noise immediately: voices, excited chatter.
I follow the sound toward the lounge area. Sure enough, half the design team has gathered around the seating space near the windows. Curiosity sparks in my chest. When I step closer, the reason becomes obvious; the collaboration artists have arrived.
There are about a dozen of them. I didn’t realize they were that many. Creative energy practically radiates off the group. They’re dressed exactly how you’d expect—bold colors, unusual silhouettes, experimental fabrics.
They’re a ragtag set of young, hungry and hopeful faces, faces that I now scan carefully to sift out Nova.
The three women in the group immediately stand out. The first is tall and striking, her silver hair cut into a sharp bob that frames her angular face. She wears an oversized crimson blazer over a black corset top and leather trousers, the whole look screaming avant-garde confidence.
The second girl has an entirely different vibe—soft, dreamy, almost ethereal. Flowing pastel fabrics drape around her slender frame, and delicate rings adorn nearly every finger.
The third looks rebellious in the most deliberate way possible. Torn denim jacket. Combat boots. Neon green eyeliner that flashes when she laughs at something one of the guys says.
Any of them could be her.
Before I can study them further, someone bumps into my shoulder. I turn just in time to lock eyes with a young man whose expression immediately lights up with recognition.
"Oh my God." He stares at me like I’ve just walked off a runway. "THE Ashley Rollins!"
I smile politely. The guy practically vibrates with excitement.
"I can’t believe it," he blurts, pushing through the group toward me. "You’re the reason I started designing!"
Great. Within seconds, the others notice the commotion and suddenly I’m surrounded. They talk over each other, introducing themselves, praising past collections, sharing stories about how they followed my work growing up.
For a moment...it feels familiar again. I let the comfort of it swaddle me as they recount my glory days. It feels intoxicating and tempting to let myself drown in their admiration.
The guy who approached me first shoves a notebook into my hands. "Can I get an autograph?"
I chuckle softly. "Of course."
As I sign my name, more notebooks appear, phones, sketch pads. I accommodate them all patiently. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone standing apart from the group. A girl.
Her arms are folded across her chest. She isn’t smiling or trying to get a word in. When my gaze travels from her boots to her face, I realize she’s already staring directly at me. She has one of those unreadable faces unless she allows an expression truly outshine the other. One moment I want to believe she’s scowling at me but when I angle my head, she looks polite or shy.
She has to be Nova.
I know it instantly. Before I can react, Matteo’s voice cuts through the chaos.
"Alright, alright," he says, stepping between us. "Give the man some breathing room."
He places a firm hand on my shoulder and steers me away from the crowd.
The whole time, I feel Nova’s gaze following me.
***
Inside my office, Matteo shuts the door with a sharp click. When he turns around, he’s furious.
"Ashley," he says tightly.
I lean against my desk and cross my legs. "Yes?"
"Tell me something. Are you really Noxx?"
I blink at his question. That was the last thing I expected to hear him say.
"Matteo, how did you..."
"Oh, so it’s true?"
There’s no point denying it now. I gulp and adjust my neck scarf. "Yes, that’s...true. I am Noxx."
The word barely leaves my mouth before Matteo explodes. "Are you kidding me?!" He runs both hands through his hair and tugs at the strands.
"Do you have any idea what you put me through?"
"I can explain..."
"You let me spend weeks searching for talent," he snaps. "Interviewing artists, negotiating contracts, all while the designer we needed was sitting in this office the entire time!"
"I didn’t plan for it to blow up like this." Quickly, I explain everything to him: why I created the alias, why I needed unbiased feedback, why I didn’t trust the board to approve the designs under my real name.
By the time I finish, Matteo’s anger has cooled slightly. He sinks into the chair opposite my desk and sighs.
"Honestly? I get it."
Relief flickers through me. "You do?"
"Of course I do. You’ve been under insane pressure from the board and your fans to create something magical. Your own father even demoted you. I can see why you were desperate enough to do something so...unpredictable. But look at you now," Matteo continues, smiling faintly. "You proved them all wrong."
I rub my hands. "I wouldn’t celebrate yet. The real work hasn’t begun. I honestly don’t know if my designs will still be as appealing when created."
Matteo rises and jams his hands in his pockets. "If it looks that good on paper, it can’t be that bad in fabric. So, does this mean I’m canceling the collaboration."
My head snaps up. "What?"
"Why do we need anyone else?" he says. "Noxx is the comeback."
"No. There’s no need to cancel anything. The announcement already went viral. People are excited to see what we create with these youngsters. Also, these artists need this opportunity as a stepping stone to launch their own careers. I wouldn’t want to crush their dreams."
I hesitate briefly before adding, "And I believe we can create a better collection rubbing minds with other passionate talents than with just my designs alone. This could be life-changing, even for me." Nicola’s face flashes briefly in my mind. She believes in this project and so do the talents outside. I can’t take that away from them.
Matteo studies me for a moment.
"Fine." He heads for the door but pauses at it. "That reminds me. There’s someone beyond this door claiming to be Noxx. What do you plan to do about that? Do I apprehend her? Kick her off the project? You say the word and I’ll do it, Noxx." He winks at me.
I throw him a devious smile. "I’ll handle her."