Chapter 9
She looked nothing like Cassian.
She had bright blue eyes, was a good foot shorter than me, and wore a smile. A chilling, condescending smile, but a smile nonetheless.
My plan had been simple enough. Get to my office, sit down with Naija, go through the day’s schedule, and start clawing my way across the three-year gap in my memory.
I had already built a mental list of everything I needed to learn, and it was long enough to make my head ache before I’d even reached the building.
The industry had changed. PR was no longer just press releases, media coverage, and brand partnerships.
Social media, creators, short-form content, crisis response, and real-time audience analytics had become central to almost every campaign.
Clients expected faster turnarounds, campaigns were built across multiple platforms, and a story could become a crisis before a traditional news outlet had even picked it up.
And my agency had changed with it.
We had expanded into digital strategy, content production, creator campaigns, and crisis communications—departments I didn’t remember building.
There were new A-list clients, new department heads, and entire systems I had never seen before.
Our project management software, client dashboards, reporting systems, even the way teams communicated internally were unfamiliar.
I had to relearn everything. Our campaigns. Our pitching strategy. How we measured results. How the agency functioned.
Even the junior employees were strangers to me.
Some of them, Naija had told me, were people I had personally hired and mentored.
I had built my media and PR agency from nothing, fresh out of college, working brutal hours to earn every client, every campaign, and every shred of our reputation.
Now, I was three years behind.
That was the cruelest part. This was my empire, and I was the stranger walking through its gates.
I needed a strong dose of coffee before I could face the day, and Naija was already waiting with it. But she wasn’t alone.
Another woman stood beside her.
Cassian’s mother.
I’d seen pictures. I’d heard the stories.
None of it prepared me for finding her waiting for me at eight in the morning, looking perfectly at home in a place I was still struggling to recognize as mine.
She surged forward and pulled me into a hug the second our eyes met.
What is it with people in Cassian’s life and unsolicited hugs?
She released me a moment later, smoothing her expression into a polished smile. “Alessia, darling.” Her gaze travelled over my face, lingering a second too long. Her brow creased. “Are you all right? You look a little… worn out.”
What is it with people in Cassian’s life not liking me?
“What are you doing here?” I walked straight past Camilla Sterling and stopped beside Naija, taking the coffee from her with a quiet thank-you before turning back to her. “At eight in the morning, no less.”
She didn’t seem offended by my bluntness. If anything, her smile grew more practiced. “I’m here to talk to you, of course. Now, let’s go to your office.”
“We’ll talk here.” I crossed to the couch near the entrance and sat down, then gestured toward the chair opposite me. “Sit.”
For the briefest moment, her pleasant expression cracked. Her eyes hardened, her mouth tightening with unmistakable irritation before the smile returned.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alessia.” Her voice had lost its warmth. “Let’s go.”
She moved toward the door again.
I didn’t move.
Naija did.
She shifted into the doorway, calmly cutting off Camilla’s path. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling, but I can’t let anyone into the office without my boss.”
I took a slow sip of my coffee.
At least my taste in coffee hasn’t changed.
Camilla stared at Naija. The polished socialite disappeared from her face, replaced by something colder and far less forgiving. She took a step toward my assistant, her eyes narrowing into a warning that would have made most people retreat.
Naija didn’t.
“Camilla.”
My voice was low enough to stop her.
Her glare shifted toward me.
I leaned back against the couch, coffee still warm between my fingers, and met her eyes without giving her an inch. My expression remained pleasant. My voice even carried the sweetness of a polite request.
The steel underneath it was anything but polite.
“Sit. Down.”
No one intimidated my employees.
Camilla glanced between us, her composure cracking for the briefest moment before she forced another smile into place. “Of course.” She lowered herself into the chair with all the dignity she could muster. “We can talk here.”
I gave her a cool, dismissive smile. “Glad we could agree.”
Her gaze slid toward Naija with unmistakable expectation. “I’d like a tea.”
I crossed my legs and sank deeper into the couch, taking another sip of my coffee. “She works for me, not you. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and we can all get on with our day?”
The muscle beneath her eye twitched.
She leaned forward, lowering her voice until it was little more than a venomous hiss. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Alessia, but do not take that tone with me.”
I blinked at her. “What tone?”
I turned to Naija, eyebrows lifting in innocent confusion. “Did I use a tone, Naija? I thought I was being quite pleasant.”
Naija didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know, Boss. This is how you always speak. I don’t see a problem.”
I turned back to Camilla, tilting my head with exaggerated concern. “Is this one of those midlife-crisis things? Should I call a doctor for you, Camilla?”
Her face tightened so hard I thought she might actually combust.
I took another leisurely sip of coffee.
Who looks worn out now, huh?
She looked away with a dismissive scoff. “Forget it. Just tell me the theme for my tea party this month, and I’ll be on my way.”
I arched a brow. “Tea party?”
Naija went completely still beside me.
Camilla nodded, offended that I needed clarification. “Just make sure this month’s party is worthy of me. Last month was… decent, I suppose, but the one before that?” She shuddered delicately. “I still have nightmares about it. How I managed not to lose all my social standing, I’ll never know.”
She gave me a thin, superior smile. “A few compliments from my friends don’t mean you’ve perfected anything. You still have a long way to go. That’s why I’m here. We can discuss the details together and make sure you don’t embarrass me again.”
She continued talking, picking apart details I couldn’t even remember organizing, completely oblivious to the cold fury gathering beneath my skin.
I was working for this woman?
Not only was I shackled to a man who didn’t value me, but I was also at the beck and call of his ungrateful mother?
What the hell had happened to my life?
My fingers tightened around my coffee cup until my knuckles turned white.
I shot Naija a look. She immediately found something fascinating on her tablet.
She hadn’t mentioned any of this when I’d asked for everyone’s information. The file she’d handed me had been neat, thorough, and almost spectacularly useless. Just generic updates about everyone.
Nothing about this.
Nothing about the fact that I’d apparently been organizing tea parties for Cassian’s mother.
She’d also neglected to mention that Cassandra had the hots for my husband.
Though maybe Naija didn’t know anything about that.
Which would have been impressive, considering anyone with two functioning eyes could see exactly how Cassandra felt about Cassian.
My attention snapped back to Camilla, who was now explaining, in excruciating detail, how last month’s floral arrangements had been far too ordinary for the guest list.
She was interrupted by a new, familiar voice.
“What are you doing here?”
The man of the hour had arrived.
I looked over to find Cassian standing there, a coffee cup in one hand and a takeout bag in the other.
Camilla was on her feet before I could blink. “Cassian!” Surprise crossed her face, followed by something sharper that she tried to hide. Alarm. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze moved from her to me, his expression giving nothing away. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
Camilla faltered. Her fingers immediately went to her earring, twisting it between them. Her gaze darted toward me. “I came to see my daughter-in-law, of course.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She gave an exaggerated huff, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense.
“Because I missed her, you silly boy.” She reached over and gave his arm a playful smack, but instead of laughing, Cassian stiffened beneath her touch.
“Honestly, you and that emotionally illiterate personality of yours. I still don’t know how Alessia manages to put up with you. ”
Cassian flinched.
It was tiny. A brief tightening around his eyes, a faint recoil beneath her touch before his face locked itself back into place.
My eyes tracked between them, reading the silent story in their posture. Camilla was a performance of warmth, all exaggerated gestures and bright tones. Cassian was a statue, rigid and unmoving, absorbing her blows without response.
Even standing side by side, they looked nothing alike.
I pushed myself to my feet, cutting straight through her performance. “You know, Camilla, since you’re so talented and have such a superior eye for detail, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble planning your own tea parties from now on. Consider my services officially retired, mother-in-law.”
Her eyes darted toward Cassian, panic flashing across her face before she smoothed it over with a tinkling laugh. “Alessia, darling, of course I didn’t mean—”
“Wait.” Cassian’s brow drew together. “What tea party?”