Cassidy #3
I genuinely can’t survive a migraine right now.
Not when I’m already barely holding myself together.
The phone buzzes again, the vibration making me flinch. A soft, exhausted whine slips past my lips before I can swallow it back down.
I freeze, glancing at the door.
No one heard.
Good.
I look back down, and unfortunately, it’s not the twins.
Somehow, it’s worse.
Sterling
Cassie, can you meet me tomorrow afternoon? I just want to check in on how your first few weeks have gone.
Well, fuck.
My stomach drops so fast it almost hurts. I’d prefer it was the twins.
Sterling is… intense.
Chief Security Officer at Opus Media, and likely part of the reason I got my job—even despite me applying under my parents’ pack name.
He’s a good cousin. Protective in a way that can feel overwhelming sometimes, but good.
But he’s also intimidating. Controlled. The kind of person who never needs to raise his voice to own a room.
If Sterling wants to ‘check in,’ it’s not for something casual.
It means he’s heard something. About work. About me.
About how I’m handling things.
Or not handling them.
Even with a different surname, I’m still connected to him, and if I fail, it reflects on him, too.
My fingers hover uselessly over the screen before I force myself to reply.
Cassie
Yes, of course. At work?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Sterling
If that’s what works for you. I’ll drop you off afterwards, okay?
Sterling
See you tomorrow, CeCe.
I grimace at the nickname, affection and dread tangling together painfully in my chest, but I still tap the little heart beneath his message.
I’ve ignored my phone for barely an hour, and the notifications have already piled up.
Two more unread messages. And when I look at the group chat for Eliza’s engagement party, it’s sitting at nearly a hundred messages.
Naturally.
I read the previews from my notifications, dread sinking heavy into my stomach.
Auntie Jess
Cassie, love, when you get a minute, can you—
Uncle James
Hey Cass, I was meant to pick up a card for your mum, is there any chance—
Cat
Babe, will you tell your folks that I can’t—
I stop reading there.
I don’t open the rest. I can’t bring myself to answer anyone yet.
Because there’s never just a minute.
There never is.
There’s only carving one out.
Carving it out of myself. Cutting into my own time, my own space, until everyone else gets what they need.
Letting people down isn’t an option, not when I know they’re relying on me.
So, even if it means there’s nothing left for me by the end of it, I’ll do it. I’ll be whoever they need me to be.
My grip tightens around the phone until my knuckles ache.
Selfishly, I wish—just for one awful second—that everyone would stop needing things from me.
Not them. Never them.
Just, the constant pull.
The expectations.
The endless taking.
The exhaustion of never quite belonging to myself.
“Cassidy! Food’s on the table,” Mum calls up the stairs. “Do you need me to come up there and give you a hand?”
Guilt hits hard. Now she can’t even enjoy dinner properly because I’ve become another thing to worry about.
“I’m on my way, Mum! Sorry, I got a little distracted,” I call back, already moving, tucking my phone into my pocket.
Dinner’s already laid out by the time I get downstairs.
The plates are set. Food portioned out. Serving dishes filling the centre of the table with more than enough for seconds—and thirds.
Papa looks up as I walk in, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at me.
Relief flickers in my chest at the sight of him.
His salt-and-pepper hair has grown out slightly since I last saw him, curling just a little at the ends, and I know he’ll be itching to get it cut. His beard is still perfectly trimmed—neat, controlled, composed in the way he always is.
Like Mum and Dad, he’s still in his work clothes, his suit jacket left on, cufflinks catching the light when he moves.
The silver ones I bought him for Christmas a few years ago.
I give him the soft smile he’s expecting from me.
He’s seated at one head of the table, Mum at the other, and my usual place is already set out opposite Dad.
I pull my chair out and sit, forcing my shoulders to relax as Dad winks at me.
Papa reaches for my injured hand, his alpha scent tightening with concern, before I can hide it, turning it over gently and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.
Then he frowns.
“Why did you cover yourself up?” he demands, his alpha bark slipping through the words.
I pull my hand back into my lap, gaze dropping to my plate.
I should’ve scrubbed the suppressants off before coming home. I could’ve gone to the gym and used their showers, or stayed late to use them at work, or—something. Anything that could’ve made this easier.
“You know we love you, right, CeCe?” Papa asks softly.
The gentleness in his voice almost makes it worse, my body wanting to soften for it.
I lift my head with a small, forced smile. “I know. This all looks amazing. I’ve been looking forward to a proper meal.”
“Have you not been eating properly?” Mum asks immediately, leaning closer. “Have you not managed to get food shopping done? Are you not making the time—”
Of course, she’d take that as me not taking care of myself. She’s now got another worry added to her plate.
Damn it, Cassie, stop making yourself a problem.
“I just meant eating together,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m eating.”
Mostly.
When I remember.
When there’s time.
Sometimes other things feel more important.
Dinner stretches on, filled with gentle questions that don’t feel gentle at all.
Work. My hours. Whether I’m settling in.
Every answer I give seems to uncover something else I should be doing better. I’m finally a real adult, and yet, I’m failing.
I nod through all of it.
Smile at the right moments. Keep my voice soft and easy.
Keep them distracted enough not to notice my fork barely touches the food.
My body wants my nest more than it wants food.
“I’m glad you’ve been managing to get everything done, but you look exhausted,” Papa says eventually, watching me like he can see through the mask. “You look like you’re running yourself into the ground.”
I push a piece of roast beef across my plate. “It’s just the learning curve. I’ll get better at balancing everything. What about you guys?”
None of them notice my redirection for what it is, and I’m grateful.
“We’ve got a gala on Saturday night,” Mum says, brightening. “Are either of you free to come with me to a dress fitting?”
My stomach drops, but I stay quiet. Maybe one of them will volunteer first.
Dad shakes his head first, already halfway through explaining about a meeting. Papa grimaces, then gives Mum a sharp nod.
“I’ll cancel my call with—”
No. No, no—I can do it. I’ll go.
“I’ll come,” I cut in quickly.
Mum’s face brightens.
“Don’t cancel your work for me,” I add quickly, forcing another smile. “I need something for Eliza’s engagement party anyway.”
“Oh, this will be so fun,” Mum says, pleased. “Maybe navy? Or emerald—you always look so pretty in green.”
I murmur my agreement because it’s easier than disagreeing. Never mind that fashion is the one thing I actually know—Mum always knows best.
“Whatever you think is best, Mum.”
“Perfect.” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes already glimmering with excitement. “Now, boys—”