15. Cassie
— ? —
Cassie
The ballroom glitters like the inside of a jewelry box.
Crystal chandeliers scatter light across marble floors.
Women in designer gowns drift past men in tailored tuxedos, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet.
It’s an event I’ve attended dozens of times as Charles’s wife, always on his arm, always in his shadow, always performing the role of the perfect corporate spouse.
Tonight, I’m on Elliot Beaumont’s arm. And I’m not performing anything except my own satisfaction.
“You’re smiling,” Elliot murmurs, his hand warm against the small of my back. The touch sends electricity racing down my spine, pooling low in my stomach. “Should I be worried?”
“I’m just enjoying the view.” I accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter, using the motion to press slightly closer to him. “Half these people watched Charles treat me like furniture for years. Now they get to watch me walk in with someone better.”
“Better?” His eyebrow arches, and his fingers trace a slow circle against my spine, dipping just low enough to make my breath catch. “That’s quite the compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” I take a sip of champagne, trying to calm the flutter in my chest. “Your ego is already big enough.”
“My ego is perfectly proportioned.” His voice drops to that low register that makes my thighs want to press together. “Unlike other things, which are significantly larger than average.”
“Are we really doing this here? In public?”
“I’m just making conversation.” But his hand slides lower, resting on the curve of my hip with possessive familiarity. “Unless you’d rather find somewhere private? I noticed a coat closet near the entrance that looked promising.”
“Later.” I force myself to focus on the room instead of the heat building between us, instead of the memory of what those hands felt like on my bare skin. “Right now, I have a performance to give.”
We’ve been here for almost an hour, working the room, making sure everyone sees us together. The whispers started the moment we walked in. I caught fragments as we passed: Isn’t that Charles Wallace’s wife? Who is she with? Is that Elliot Beaumont? Weren’t they both married to other people?
Let them whisper. Let them wonder. By the end of tonight, they won’t be wondering anymore.
Elliot guides me through the crowd with easy confidence, his hand never leaving my body.
Every touch feels deliberate, calculated to remind me of what’s waiting when we get home.
The brush of his thumb against my hip. The way he leans in to speak, his lips nearly grazing my ear.
The dark promise in his eyes every time our gazes meet.
He’s doing it on purpose, I realize. Winding me up. Making sure I’m as desperate for him as he is for me.
Two can play that game.
I stop to greet someone I recognize, and when I turn back to Elliot, I make sure to brush my body against his. My breast grazes his arm. My hip presses against his thigh. I hear his sharp intake of breath and have to fight back a smile.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Unless you want me to drag you into that coat closet right now.”
“Promises, promises.”
“He’s here,” Elliot says suddenly, his body tensing.
My stomach tightens. “Where?”
“By the bar. Two o’clock.”
I turn my head slowly, casually, like I’m just scanning the crowd. And there he is.
Charles looks terrible. His suit is expensive, but it hangs on him wrong, like he’s lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose.
His face is pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes that suggest he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.
He’s alone, no Celine in sight, clutching a whiskey glass like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
For a split second, I feel something that might be pity. This is the man I married. The man I loved, or thought I loved. The man I built a life with, gave up my own identity for, trusted with everything I had.
Then I remember walking into his office. Celine on top of him. The sounds they were making. The smug look on her face when she thought she’d won.
The pity evaporates like morning dew.
“Good,” I say, my voice hard. “I want him to see everything.”
Elliot’s hand slides from my hip to cup my waist, pulling me flush against his side. I can feel the heat of his body through our clothes, can feel the tension in his muscles. “Then let’s give him something to see.”
We move through the crowd, and I make sure our path takes us within Charles’s line of sight.
I laugh at something Elliot says, tilting my head back, exposing my throat in a gesture that’s deliberately sensual.
I let my hand rest on his chest, fingers splayed possessively over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath my palm.
Every gesture is calculated to communicate one thing: I’ve moved on, and I’ve moved up.
Charles’s eyes track us across the room. I can feel the weight of his gaze, the desperation in it. Good. Let him watch. Let him understand what he threw away.
We stop to talk with a group of investors I recognize from various industry events. They greet Elliot with the respect due to his position, but their curiosity is clearly focused on me.
“Cassie Wallace,” one of them says, a silver-haired man named Ashworth who I’ve met at least a dozen times at these functions. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Is Charles not attending?”
“Charles and I are no longer together.” I keep my voice light, pleasant, tinged with just the right amount of sadness. “I’m sure you’ll hear the details soon enough. These things always get around.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ashworth’s expression is appropriately sympathetic, but his eyes are sharp with curiosity. “You two always seemed so solid.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.” I lean slightly into Elliot’s side, feeling his arm tighten around me. “But I’ve been fortunate to find support during a difficult time.”
The implication lands exactly as I intended. Ashworth’s eyebrows rise. The others in the group exchange glances loaded with meaning. The gossip mill starts turning.
We excuse ourselves and continue our circuit of the room. I’m acutely aware of Charles tracking our movements, of his increasing agitation. His whiskey glass is empty now, and he’s gesturing to the bartender for another. His hand is shaking.
“He’s going to approach soon,” Elliot says quietly. “I can feel it.”
“Good. I’m ready.”
“Are you sure? We can leave if you’d rather not-”
“I’m sure.” I meet his eyes, drawing strength from the steadiness I find there. “I need to do this. I need him to understand that it’s over. That there’s nothing he can say or do that will change what he did.”
Elliot studies my face, his green eyes searching mine. Then he nods, his jaw tight.
“I’ll be right here,” he says. “Whatever you need.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand, feeling the reassuring pressure of his fingers around mine. “Thank you.”
We find a quiet spot near the windows, slightly removed from the main crowd but still visible to anyone who cares to look. I pretend to admire the view of the city while Elliot stands close behind me, his body heat warming my back through the thin fabric of my dress.
His breath stirs my hair when he leans in. “You’re trembling.”
“Adrenaline.”
“Want me to help you relax?” His hand slides around to rest on my stomach, pulling me back against his chest. “I can think of several ways.”
“Elliot-”
“Just trying to distract you.”
“You’re doing an excellent job.” I press back against him, feeling the evidence of his arousal against my lower back. “But we should probably save that for later.”
“Later,” he agrees, his voice rough. “Definitely later.”
It doesn’t take long after that.
“Cassie.”
I turn at the sound of my name. Charles is standing a few feet away, his face flushed, his hands trembling slightly.
Up close, he looks even worse than he did from across the room.
His eyes are bloodshot, his jaw unshaven, his whole body radiating a kind of desperate energy that makes my skin crawl.
He was my husband. The man I shared a bed with for five years. Looking at him now, I can barely remember why I ever thought I loved him.
“Charles.” I keep my voice neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I need to talk to you.” His eyes flick to Elliot, then back to me. “Alone.”
“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Elliot.”
“Cassie, please.” His voice cracks on the word. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes, after five years of marriage. Don’t I deserve that much?”
I consider refusing. I consider turning my back on him and walking away, letting him stew in his own misery. It would be satisfying. It would be what he deserves.
But it wouldn’t be enough. I need him to hear me. I need him to understand.
“Five minutes,” I say. “Elliot stays.”
Charles looks like he wants to argue, but he’s smart enough to know he has no leverage. He nods jerkily, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“Fine. Fine, okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Cassie, I know I messed up. I know what I did was wrong. But you have to understand, it didn’t mean anything. Celine was just... she was a mistake. A stupid, meaningless mistake.”
“A mistake.” I let the word hang in the air. “You slept with your secretary for months. You lied to me every single day. You told me to take a break from my own job so you could have her all to yourself. And you’re calling that a mistake?”
“I was weak. I was stupid. But I never stopped loving you, Cassie. I never stopped-”
“Don’t.” My voice is sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t you dare tell me you loved me. You don’t treat someone you love the way you treated me.”