25. Cassie
CASSIE
T he reflection staring back at me in the full-length mirror seems both familiar and foreign. My hand instinctively cradles the swell of my belly, now impossible to hide at six months along. Not that I want to hide it—not anymore.
"Five minutes, Ms. Monroe." The event coordinator's voice floats through the door of my makeshift dressing room.
"Thank you," I call back, smoothing the fabric of my hand-designed maternity dress, a flowing masterpiece in emerald that makes my eyes pop and somehow manages to make me feel both powerful and feminine.
Roman appears in the doorway, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored charcoal suit, his tie matching my dress in a way that makes my heart flutter. We hadn't planned it, which makes it all the more perfect.
"Ready to conquer the world?" His voice is low, intimate, meant only for me despite the chaos of the event staff buzzing around us.
"As ready as I'll ever be." I take a deep breath, watching my chest rise and fall. “Ten months ago, I was sketching designs in my tiny apartment, wondering if I'd ever make it. Now I'm launching my own line with an actual team behind me, carrying your child, and?—"
"And absolutely crushing it." Roman approaches, standing behind me in the mirror, his hands sliding around to rest atop mine on my belly. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
"A whale in designer clothing?"
He chuckles against my hair. "I see the woman who brought color back into my life. The most talented designer I've ever met. And yes, the extraordinarily sexy mother of my child who somehow manages to make pregnancy look like a fashion statement."
The baby chooses that moment to deliver a swift kick, right against our joined hands.
"See? Even our daughter agrees."
"We don't know it's a girl," I remind him, though we've both taken to using female pronouns more often than not.
"Call it intuition," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple, careful not to smudge my meticulously applied makeup. "Two minutes. Ready to shine?"
I nod, letting him lead me toward the door, toward the culmination of years of dreaming, months of relentless work, and a partnership that has defied every expectation.
The launch event for "Cassandra: Reinvented Classics" couldn't be going better if I'd scripted it myself.
The large industrial space in Manhattan's Garment District has been transformed with my aesthetic—clean lines meeting unexpected bursts of color, just like my designs.
Fashion editors from Vogue, Elle, and Harper's Bazaar mingle with buyers from major department stores.
I catch snippets of their conversations as I move through the crowd, Roman never more than a step away.
"The construction is impeccable—" "Fresh perspective on workwear—" "Can't believe this is her debut collection?—"
"Ms. Monroe!" A reporter from Fashion Week Daily approaches, recorder already extended. "Your collection is being heralded as ‘approachably luxurious.' Was that your intention?"
I smile, feeling surprisingly at ease. "Absolutely. Luxury shouldn't be untouchable. I wanted to create pieces that make women feel elevated in their everyday lives—pieces that work as hard as they do."
"And speaking of working hard," the reporter's eyes flick briefly to my stomach, "how are you balancing your career launch with impending motherhood?"
Before I can answer, Roman's hand finds the small of my back. "If I may," he says smoothly, "Cassie isn't 'balancing' anything. She's excelling at everything she puts her mind to, simultaneously. That's who she is."
Warmth floods through me at his defense, but I place my hand on his arm.
"It's okay," I murmur, before turning back to the reporter.
"The truth is, I don't know yet. I'm figuring it out day by day, just like every working mother does.
What I do know is that this collection—and this baby—are both expressions of love.
And I've never been afraid of hard work. "
The reporter seems satisfied, jotting down notes before moving on to another question about my design influences.
As we continue the interview, I spot Mia across the room, confidently showing a fashion blogger through the collection's key pieces.
Her knowledge of every stitch and design decision makes pride swell in my chest.
When I hired her as my first intern a few months ago, whispers immediately circulated that it was nepotism—Roman's little sister getting special treatment.
Those whispers died quickly. Mia has an instinctive eye for fashion and a work ethic that puts most industry veterans to shame.
Just last week, she presented a capsule collection concept that left me speechless with its innovation.
The interview wraps up, and Roman guides me toward the refreshments. "You need to sit. And hydrate," he instructs, pulling out a chair at a high-top table.
"Yes, Dr. Kade," I tease, but gratefully sink into the seat. My ankles have been swelling after just an hour of standing these days.
"Just looking out for my two favorite people," he murmurs, signaling a server for sparkling water.
I'm about to respond when I spot a familiar figure approaching through the crowd, and my breath catches.
Camden.
We've seen each other exactly three times since our breakup. Both times were brief, awkward encounters that left me feeling hollow.
But something about the way he carries himself tonight seems different.
Roman follows my gaze and stiffens slightly beside me. "I can ask him to leave."
"No," I say quickly. "It's fine. Really."
Camden reaches our table, looking surprisingly at ease in a well-fitted navy suit.
"Cassie," he says, and there's none of the bitterness I half-expected. "Congratulations. The collection is incredible."
"Thank you." I search his face for signs of resentment but find none. "I'm surprised to see you here."
He shifts slightly.
“My new lawfirm Langston Reed & Carrington represents Levesque Textiles—they're debuting a new fabric line tonight, and your brand happens to be the one showcasing it."
He offers a smile that’s self-deprecating, but not without bite.
"Guess breaking up with a fashion designer has its perks. Turns out I get a front-row seat to your next big moment.”
"That's... that's great, Cam."
An awkward pause follows before Roman extends his hand. "Roman Kade"
Camden shakes it without hesitation. "Camden Sullivan. Though I guess you know that."
"I've read some of your thought pieces," Roman says, surprising both Camden and me. "Your coverage of the sustainable fashion movement was insightful."
Camden's eyebrows shoot up."Thanks. That means a lot, actually." He turns back to me. "I won't keep you. Just wanted to say your work deserves all this success. You always had it in you, even when I was too self-absorbed to see it properly."
Something tight in my chest unravels. "That means a lot, Cam. Really."
He nods, a silent acknowledgment of closure, then slips back into the crowd.
Roman's arm wraps around my shoulders. "You okay?"
I lean into him, oddly moved. "Yeah. Better than okay. I think that chapter of my life just got a proper ending."
Four hours later, my feet are killing me, my back aches, and I've never been happier. The event has been deemed a resounding success, with preliminary orders exceeding projections by nearly forty percent.
Roman and I are in the back of his car, headed to our new home—a spacious brownstone that we're still in the process of renovating.
"You were magnificent," Roman says, his fingers laced through mine. "Everyone could see it."
" We were magnificent," I correct him. "Having you there, supporting me but never overshadowing me... that meant everything."
He raises our joined hands to his lips. "Get used to it. It's you and me, equal partners, remember?"
"Equal partners with very unequal bank accounts," I joke, though it's something I still struggle with sometimes—the vast disparity in our financial situations.
"Money is just a tool, Cassie. Your creativity, your vision—that's the real wealth."
I rest my head on his shoulder, watching the city lights blur past the window. "Olivia texted during the event. She's got 'epic plans' for the baby shower next month. Should we be worried?"
He laughs. "Probably. But I've learned to trust her instincts. She knows how to bring people together in ways that actually work."
"She said something about 'bringing both our worlds together.' I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds potentially chaotic."
"Chaotic good, though." Roman shifts to look at me. "Speaking of bringing worlds together, how are you feeling about the house? Be honest."
The brownstone had been a compromise—his desire for luxury meeting my need for character and warmth. The renovation has been guided by both our visions, sometimes clashing but ultimately creating something neither of us would have conceived alone.
"It's starting to feel like home," I admit. "I was skeptical about that ridiculous soaking tub you insisted on, but now I can't imagine the bathroom without it."
"And I was wrong about the exposed brick in the nursery," he concedes. "With your color scheme, it's perfect."
The car pulls up to our address, and Roman helps me out, his hand steady under my elbow.
Inside, the entryway is still a work in progress, with paint samples dotting one wall and a chandelier waiting to be installed.
But as we move deeper into the house, the completed spaces reveal our shared aesthetic—his clean, modern sensibility softened by my eye for texture and unexpected color.
In the kitchen—my favorite room so far—I kick off my heels with a grateful sigh and sink onto one of the counter stools. Roman moves around the space with practiced ease, filling a glass with water and grabbing the container of mixed berries I prepped this morning.
"You need to eat something," he says, sliding both in front of me.