Chapter 28
The next morning, I woke before the sun.
For a few disoriented seconds, I didn’t know where I was. The ceiling above me was high and pale, the curtains heavy and still. Then I felt the arm draped across my waist and remembered.
Cassian.
Last night had not been subtle. It hadn’t been cautious or careful or strategic. It had been a line drawn in permanent ink.
I love you.
The words still felt unreal in my mouth. Too large. Too final.
His hand shifted slightly at my hip as I moved, tightening reflexively like my body might disappear if he didn’t anchor it. Even in sleep, he held on.
Hunters don’t let go.
Neither do I.
The thought should have frightened me.
It didn’t.
What frightened me was everything waiting outside this room.
My phone lay face-down on the nightstand, silent for now, but I knew better than to trust that. By now, the gala would be dissected, clipped into thirty-second segments, quoted out of context, posted in comment threads where strangers would decide who I was.
Advocate Lia Quinn chooses hunter over principles.
I slid carefully out from under his arm, easing myself upright. The sheet fell from my body, cool air brushing my skin. I didn’t bother covering myself. There was something almost defiant about standing bare in his bedroom after the night I’d had.
The mirror across the room caught my reflection. My hair was tangled, my lipstick long gone, a faint mark blooming along my collarbone where his mouth had lingered.
I looked less like an advocate and more like a woman who had made a decision.
The bed creaked softly behind me.
“You’re up,” Cassian said.
His voice was low with sleep, rough in a way that made heat coil low in my stomach despite everything else.
I turned.
He stood in the doorway in nothing but dark pants slung low on his hips, hair still tousled, eyes steady. He didn’t look panicked. He didn’t look worried.
He looked ready.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted.
He walked toward me slowly, stopping just within reach. His gaze flicked to the faint bruise at my collarbone, then back to my face.
“Regret?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
He studied me for another beat, like he was searching for cracks.
“You’re thinking,” he said.
“Always.”
His mouth curved faintly. “About?”
“The cost,” I said.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
He nodded once. “We’ll see it soon.”
Not we’ll fix it.
Not I’ll handle it.
We’ll see it.
We.
I picked up my phone.
Forty-three notifications.
Texts from Harper.
Three missed calls from Eleanor.
Two emails from Thomas Price’s assistant.
An alert from the Post and Courier: “Lia Quinn Doubles Down at Gala.”
I exhaled slowly and opened Harper’s message first.
Call me. Immediately.
Then another:
You absolute lunatic. I love you. But also call me.
Despite myself, I smiled.
Then I opened Eleanor’s email.
Lia,
The board has called an emergency meeting for 10 a.m. Attendance is mandatory. We need to discuss your remarks last night and their implications for the organization.
Implications.
Such a polite word for threat.
I lowered the phone.
“It’s starting,” I said.
Cassian didn’t ask what that meant. He already knew.
“When?” he asked.
“Ten.”
He nodded once. “I’ll drive you.”
I hesitated.
Last night I’d walked onto that stage with him behind me. I’d made it clear he wasn’t a secret.
Today would be different.
This wasn’t a gala.
This was a boardroom.
“I need to go alone,” I said.
He didn’t react immediately. Just held my gaze.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted. “But I need to do this without you in the room.”
Something shifted in his expression—not anger, not wounded pride. Assessment.
Then he nodded.
“I’ll be close,” he said.
Not a question.
Not an argument.
Just a statement.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Thank you.”
He stepped closer and brushed his thumb along my jaw.
“You don’t owe them an apology,” he said.
“I know.”
“You don’t owe them your life.”
“I know.”
His eyes softened slightly. “Then go remind them.”
The boardroom at our downtown office felt smaller than it ever had before.
I’d sat at the head of this table dozens of times, guiding strategy sessions, calming donor nerves, outlining five-year plans. Today, every seat was filled and every gaze sharpened the moment I walked in.
Eleanor sat at the far end, posture rigid, tablet in front of her like a shield. Thomas Price was already there, though he rarely attended emergency meetings in person. His expression was cool, controlled.
Abigail hovered near the wall with a notepad, looking like she wished she were anywhere else.
I closed the door behind me.
“Thank you for coming on short notice,” Eleanor began, voice clipped.
“I assume this is about last night,” I said.
Thomas leaned forward slightly. “You put the organization in an impossible position.”
“Did I?” I asked evenly.
Eleanor sighed. “Lia, your speech—while passionate—directly contradicts our mission.”
“No,” I said. “It contradicts your donors’ comfort.”
A murmur ran along the table.
Thomas’s jaw tightened. “You admitted publicly to a relationship with a man whose business interests involve hunting. How do you expect us to reconcile that with our anti-violence platform?”
“I don’t,” I said.
Silence.
Eleanor blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t expect you to reconcile it,” I continued. “Because my personal life isn’t a policy statement.”
Thomas’s voice hardened. “You are the face of this organization.”
“I am,” I agreed. “And I have spent years advocating for women to have autonomy over their lives. Last night, I exercised mine.”
“That’s a convenient reframing,” he snapped.
I met his gaze. “Is it? Or is it inconvenient for you?”
Eleanor rubbed her temple. “Thomas has informed us that he will be withdrawing his pledge unless you issue a statement clarifying that your relationship does not reflect on the organization.”
“There it is,” I said quietly.
Thomas didn’t flinch. “We can’t afford controversy.”
“No,” I corrected. “You can’t afford dissent.”
The room went still.
I took a breath.
“I won’t issue a distancing statement,” I said.
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Lia—”
“I won’t apologize for loving someone,” I continued. “And I won’t pretend that my personal choices invalidate the work we’ve done.”
Thomas leaned back, folding his hands. “Then you leave us no choice.”
“Actually,” I said, surprising even myself with the calm in my voice, “that’s not true.”
All eyes fixed on me.
“I resign,” I said.
The word landed heavy.
Abigail’s pen froze mid-scratch.
Eleanor stared at me. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Lia, think about what you’re giving up.”
“I have,” I said softly. “All night.”
Thomas’s expression shifted—less anger now, more calculation. “That’s … dramatic.”
“No,” I replied. “It’s clean.”
Eleanor’s voice wavered. “We could weather this. If you just—”
“Compromised?” I finished. “Issued a carefully worded half-truth? Distanced myself from the man I stood beside last night?”
She didn’t answer.
I straightened.
“I built this organization because I believed women shouldn’t have to shrink themselves to fit someone else’s narrative. If I stay and let you control mine, what does that make me?”
Silence stretched.
Finally, Eleanor closed her tablet slowly. “If you step down, the board will appoint an interim director immediately.”
“I understand.”
Thomas rose from his chair. “Your departure will mitigate some of the fallout.”
I looked at him evenly. “Or expose it.”
He didn’t reply.
I gathered my bag.
“Lia,” Eleanor said quietly as I reached the door. “What will you do?”
I paused.
“I’ll figure out who I am without a title,” I said.
And then I left.
The air outside felt different.
Not lighter.
Just clearer.
I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, watching cars pass, people moving through their ordinary lives. No one pointed. No one whispered. The world hadn’t ended.
My phone buzzed.
Cassian.
I answered.
“It’s done,” I said.
A beat.
“And?” he asked.
“I resigned.”
Silence on the other end.
Then, softly, “Are you okay?”
I surprised myself by laughing.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I don’t feel trapped.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
The words hit harder than they should have.
“I’ll meet you at the house,” I said.
“I’m here.”
Of course, he was.
When I walked back into his South of Broad home, the courtyard fountain was running softly, water catching sunlight like nothing had shifted.
Cassian stood near the kitchen island, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable until he saw my face.
He didn’t ask for details.
He didn’t demand a recap.
He just opened his arms.
I stepped into them.
For a moment, I let myself fold.
Not collapse.
Fold.
He held me steady, chin resting lightly against the top of my head.
“It’s quiet in here,” I murmured.
“It can stay that way,” he said.
I pulled back slightly, searching his face.
“I didn’t ask you to sell anything,” I said.
“I know.”
“I won’t.”
He nodded.
“I didn’t resign for you,” I added.
His eyes flickered faintly. “I know.”
“I did it because I couldn’t stand in that room and let them define my choices.”
A pause.
“That’s why I love you,” he said.
The words were steady this time. Not rough with heat. Not edged with possession.
Clear.
I exhaled slowly.
“Thomas will paint this as instability,” I said. “Eleanor will spin it as a temporary step. The press will move on in a week.”
“And you?” he asked.
“I’ll build something else,” I said.
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Good.”
“Good?”
“You were never meant to be contained.”
Something in my chest loosened.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was my mother.
I answered.
“Lia?” she said.
“I resigned,” I told her.
A pause.
Then: “Are you devastated?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I’m … relieved.”
She exhaled softly. “Daniel left this morning.”
My stomach tightened. “What happened?”
“I realized I liked the idea of him more than the reality,” she said. “And I don’t want to repeat my own patterns.”
A faint smile touched my mouth.
“Neither do I,” I said.
There was silence on the line—comfortable this time.
“Are you sure about him?” she asked gently.
I looked at Cassian, standing there in his quiet power, not demanding, not hovering, just present.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m glad,” she replied.
When we hung up, I felt something settle.
Alignment.
Cassian stepped closer, brushing his fingers along my jaw.
“You chose,” he said.
“Yes.”
“For yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And me,” he added softly.
I smiled faintly. “And you.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine.
“No more shrinking,” he murmured.
“No more hiding,” I agreed.
Outside, Charleston moved on.
Inside, I felt something shift permanently.
I hadn’t burned my life down.
I’d stepped out of a cage.
And when Cassian’s hands slid to my waist and pulled me close, when his mouth found mine in a slow, deliberate kiss that held no urgency and no apology—
I didn’t feel owned.
I felt chosen.
That was enough.