The Countermove

The afternoon sunlight slowly and lazily filtered through the windows of Ashton’s penthouse as he and Thomas sat in the spacious lounge, they both held whiskey glasses in their hands. The atmosphere between the two men was heavy with unspoken tension, tension about the matter at hand. Ashton stared into his glass as he swirled the amber liquid while he tried to put his thoughts into words.

"I can’t believe Rebecca’s gone this far," Ashton finally said, his voice was low but was filled with frustration. "She’s not just trying to ruin me professionally anymore—she’s making it personal, dragging my name through the mud, claiming I abandoned her and some imaginary child." He said in frustration.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes were fixed on Ashton, thoughtful but concerned.

"It’s low, I’ll give you that," he replied. "But she’s always been ambitious and vindictive. I just didn’t think she’d sink this deep into playing the victim for the public." He said. He was so disappointed
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