15. Cassie #2
“I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.
” He steps closer, and I see tears welling in his eyes.
Real tears, or a convincing performance.
I can’t tell anymore, and I find that I don’t care.
“But we can fix this. We can go to counseling. We can work through it. Our marriage doesn’t have to be over. ”
“Our marriage has been over for years. I just didn’t want to see it.” I shake my head. “You stopped seeing me a long time ago, Charles. I was convenient. I was useful. But I was never what you actually wanted.”
“That’s not true-”
“Isn’t it? When was the last time you looked at me the way you looked at her? When was the last time you touched me like you couldn’t help yourself? When was the last time you made me feel like I was anything other than furniture in your life?”
He doesn’t have an answer. Of course he doesn’t.
“Come home,” he says instead, his voice breaking. “Please. Just come home and we can figure this out.”
“I am home.” I don’t look at Elliot, but I feel his presence behind me like a wall of warmth and safety. “I’ve found somewhere I actually belong. Someone who actually sees me.”
“Him?” Charles’s face twists with something ugly. “You’re choosing him over me? Over five years of marriage?”
“You made that choice for me. The day you decided Celine was more interesting than your own wife, you made that choice.”
“I told you, it didn’t mean anything-”
“It meant everything!” I don’t realize I’ve raised my voice until I see heads turning in our direction.
Good. Let them hear. Let them all hear. “You took everything I gave you and threw it away like it was nothing. My time, my energy, my love, my entire identity. I became your wife, Charles. I stopped being anything else. And it still wasn’t enough for you. ”
“Cassie-”
“We don’t have a prenup.” I watch his face go pale. “My lawyer informed me of my options. The more you fight this divorce, the more I’m going to take from you. And after what you did, I don’t feel particularly inclined to be generous.”
“You can’t - the company is suffering, clients are leaving-”
“I wasn’t just your assistant, Charles. I was your wife. And you told me to take a break, remember?” I smile, and it’s not a nice smile. “You screwed me over as my husband. Why shouldn’t I screw you over in return?”
Something shifts in his face. The desperation hardens into anger, and for a moment I see the real Charles underneath the groveling facade. The petty, vindictive man who couldn’t stand being told no.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You think he’s going to make you happy? You think this is going to end well for you?”
“I think it’s going to end a lot better than staying with you would have.”
He grabs my wrist.
His fingers close around the bone hard enough to bruise, yanking me toward him with a force that makes me stumble. I see Elliot move behind me, feel him start to intervene, his body coiling with barely restrained violence.
I stop him with my other hand, pressing back against his chest. Not yet.
Because I’ve been waiting for this. Planning for it. And Charles just gave me exactly what I needed.
I scream.
“You’re hurting me!” My voice is loud enough to carry across the entire ballroom. Every head turns. Every eye focuses on us. The music seems to fade into the background as the crowd’s attention locks onto our little drama. “Charles, stop! You’re hurting me!”
He releases me immediately, stumbling backward, his face a mask of horror as he realizes what he’s done. What I’ve made him look like he’s done.
I let myself sway, let Elliot catch me, let my face crumple into an expression of wounded betrayal. Tears spring to my eyes, real tears that I’ve been holding back all night, finally given permission to fall.
“I can’t believe you,” I sob, loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. “I caught you cheating on me and now you’re - in front of everyone-”
“Cassie, I didn’t - I barely touched you-”
“You grabbed me!” I hold up my wrist, and even though it doesn’t actually hurt that much, I make sure everyone can see where his fingers were. The red marks are already forming, perfect evidence. “All I wanted was to move on with my life and you can’t even let me do that!”
The crowd is pressing closer now. I hear murmurs of shock, of sympathy, of outrage on my behalf. A woman I don’t recognize touches my shoulder and asks if I’m alright. A man steps forward and tells Charles he should be ashamed of himself.
“This is ridiculous,” Charles sputters, looking around at the hostile faces surrounding him. “She’s putting on a show. She’s manipulating all of you-”
“Perhaps you should leave,” Elliot says, his voice cold and commanding. “Before you embarrass yourself further.”
“Stay out of this. This is between me and my wife.”
“Your soon-to-be-ex-wife,” I correct, still playing the wounded victim. “And I have nothing more to say to you. Please just leave me alone.”
The wealthy, the powerful, the influential surround him now, all of them looking at him like he’s something they scraped off the bottom of their designer shoes.
His reputation is crumbling in real time. And he knows it.
“This isn’t over,” he says, but his voice has lost all its force. “You’ll regret this, Cassie. Both of you will regret this.”
He turns and pushes through the crowd, nearly knocking over a waiter in his haste to escape. I watch him go, my tears already drying, my performance complete.
“Are you alright?” someone asks. “Do you need water? Should we call security?”
“I’m fine,” I say, mustering a brave smile. “I just... I’m sorry everyone had to witness that. My husband - my ex-husband - he’s been having a difficult time accepting that our marriage is over.”
“What a horrible man,” the woman says sympathetically. “You poor thing. And to think we all thought he was such a gentleman.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” I say, echoing my earlier words to Ashworth.
Elliot’s arm tightens around my waist. “I think we should go,” he says quietly. “You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
I nod, letting him guide me toward the exit. The crowd parts for us, murmuring condolences and support as we pass. By the time we reach the door, I’ve accepted at least a dozen offers of help, sympathy, and recommendations for divorce lawyers.
The car is waiting outside, engine running, ready for a quick escape. Elliot helps me in, then slides in beside me, and as soon as the door closes, the act falls away.
“Oh my God.” I’m grinning, my heart racing with adrenaline. “Did you see his face? When everyone turned on him? I thought he was going to pass out.”
“That was quite a performance.” Elliot’s voice is strange, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car.
“It worked, didn’t it? Everyone in that room now thinks Charles Wallace is an abusive cheater who can’t control his temper. His reputation is destroyed. His business is going to suffer even more.” I laugh, giddy and breathless. “I can’t believe it actually worked.”
“Cassie.”
Something in his tone makes me stop. I turn to look at him properly, and what I see in his face makes my breath catch.
He’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before. Like I’m something wild and dangerous and utterly captivating. Like he wants to devour me whole.
“What?” I whisper.
“I’ve been watching you all night,” he says slowly. “Watching you work the room. Watching you manipulate an entire ballroom full of people. Watching you destroy your ex-husband without breaking a sweat.”
“And?”
“And I’ve never wanted anyone more in my entire life.”
The air in the car changes. Charges. Becomes something thick and electric that makes my skin prickle and my heart race.
“Elliot-”
“I told myself this was fake.” He shifts closer, his thigh pressing against mine. “I told myself I was just helping you get revenge. That the kiss was for show. That none of this was real.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No.” His hand finds my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. “It was real from the moment you walked into my office. I just wasn’t ready to admit it.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m done pretending.”
He kisses me.
This isn’t like the kiss in front of Celine, calculated for maximum impact. This isn’t a performance. This is raw and desperate and hungry, his mouth claiming mine like he’s been starving for it, like he can’t wait another second.
I kiss him back with equal fervor. My hands fist in his jacket, pulling him closer. His tongue slides against mine and I moan into his mouth, all the adrenaline from the evening transforming into something hotter, more urgent.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my lips. “Tell me this is too fast, too complicated, tell me you need more time-”
“Don’t stop.” I pull him back down to me. “Don’t you dare stop.”
The partition between us and the driver is up, but I’m barely aware of it. All I can feel is Elliot’s hands in my hair, on my waist, sliding up my thigh beneath the hem of my dress. All I can taste is champagne and desire and the promise of everything I’ve been denying myself.
By the time the car pulls up to his house, we’re both breathing hard, disheveled, desperate to get inside.
“Bedroom,” I gasp as we stumble through the front door. “Now.”
“Yes ma’am.”
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, and we’re kissing again as he carries me up the stairs. My back hits the bedroom door, then the wall, then the mattress, and through it all his mouth never leaves mine.
This is it, I think hazily. This is the point of no return.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.