The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 341

Chapter 158: Threads of Presence-1

Dinner at the Blackwoods’ Manor had ended hours ago, yet the air still carried the faint echo of what had transpired.

After the meal, everyone had retreated to the garden to enjoy tea under the soft glow of lanterns.

Laughter drifted through the night as Dahlia and Dominic shared old stories about Julian and Malia

-memories from days long past.

Maya and Jaime listened intently, eyes wide with wonder. Every tale’felt like discovering another

piece of their parents-a glimpse into the lives they never had the chance to know. The night was

warm, easy, filled with the kind of happiness that made time feel momentarily forgiving.

Everyone was content.

Everyone except one.

Ashcroft had excused himself early, his tone polite but clipped, muttering something about

needing to “take care of a few things”-something about arranging the medical team and

clearance for Jaime’s upcoming transfer.

Damien hadn’t argued. He knew better.

That sort of thing only took one call from Ashcroft-two minutes, maybe less. He could’ve sent James, Lee, or Monroe to handle it. It wasn’t the kind of task that required the boss himself.

But instead of pointing it out, Damien had simply watched his friend gather his coat, the controlled

movements barely masking the storm beneath.

Nicholas Ashcroft didn’t retreat often. But tonight wasn’t retreat-it was regrouping.

Damien swirled the amber in his glass, his gaze lingering on the back of his retreating friend as it disappeared down the hall-steady strides, rigid shoulders, the picture of control barely holding. A faint smile tugged at his lips, quiet and knowing.

He’d seen Ashcroft fight for territory, for legacy, for loyalty.

But this-this was a battlefield the man had never dared to cross before.

A war he wasn’t trained for.

A war called love.

The voice of his driver cut through the hum of the engine. Ashcroft turned his head slightly, pulled

from his thoughts.

“Found this earlier,” the man said, holding something out. A small, beaded bracelet lay in his palm- delicate, faintly worn. “It must’ve fallen from your pocket. I found it under the seat.”

Ashcroft’s gaze lingered on it, the faint glimmer of a loose thread catching in the passing streetlight. Memory tugged-that night. The exhaustion in her voice. The way she’d pulled her hand from his, shutting him out with that quiet, distant look in her eyes-something raw enough to make his chest tighten in a way he refused to name.

He hadn’t noticed when it fell. Only when he’d turned to leave, something on the floor had caught his eye-the bracelet, small and out of place against the marble floor. He’d picked it up without

thinking.

He’d meant to return it the next morning-during breakfast, perhaps. But she was already gone.

Now the trinket sat cold in his palm, deceptively simple, yet heavy with the weight of her absence.

The faint scent of her perfume still clung to the thread, almost taunting.