Chapter 11
Ishould have stayed home.
My gaze swept across the grand ballroom, skimming over clusters of guests engaged in polished small talk.
I need to get the caterer’s contact.
It seemed every influential person in the city was here.
Except for Felicity.
She was late. I checked my watch again. Still no sign of her.
My gaze swept across the room again and instantly collided with a familiar, brooding pair of brown eyes.
Mr. Garcia was standing beside him, talking animatedly, but Cassian’s attention was anchored to me. His eyes would flicker back to the older man out of politeness, only to snap back to mine a second later.
I narrowed my eyes in a silent warning. In response, he gave me a look of pure, desperate pleading. Rescue me.
Mrs. Garcia had invited us both, and despite my explicit instructions for him to stay away, Cassian had shown up. So, I’d simply handed him a problem.
All I’d had to say was that Cassian was deeply passionate about gardening, and Mr. Garcia had lit up like a kid at Christmas, and Cassian, too polite to crush an old man’s enthusiasm, had been trapped in a horticultural hell for the last thirty minutes.
I was so beyond done with this party already.
I had already wished Mr. Garcia a happy birthday, handed over my gift, and talked to Mrs. Garcia. My social duties were complete. All I wanted now was to go home and take a nap.
A gloriously, obscenely long nap.
The past week had been hell. Work was a relentless storm, and on top of it, I’d been shadowed by a certain man who refused to be shaken.
After a solid week of petty, meticulously delivered revenge, I was done. Done with his face. Done with the very concept of this marriage. Watching him run himself ragged had its amusing moments, but the novelty had worn off.
I couldn’t waste another second on him.
I could be doing more productive things.
Like watching paint dry.
Now, I was just waiting for Felicity to show up. I’d say a quick hello, then go back to his house and finally break the news. After that, it would be just me, my bed, and a long, long nap.
All weekend.
I took a slow sip of my drink when I felt someone step up beside me.
“I see you’ve been avoiding me.”
I glanced to my side. Cassandra stood there, her expression tight. I then looked to my other side, scanning the empty space, before turning back to her.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked, pointing a finger at my chest.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m talking to you.”
“Ah,” I said, turning fully to face her. “You said something so utterly bizarre that I had to confirm it was actually directed at me.”
She drew a sharp breath, her composure cracking. “Alessia, enough is enough. You need to stop making Cassian miss work. It’s been weeks since the accident, and you look perfectly fine. Forcing him to neglect his responsibilities when the company needs him is just cruel.”
I tilted my head, my gaze turning analytical. “That’s an interesting assumption. Why do you think I’m making him do anything? Do you not think Cassian is capable of making his own decisions?”
She shook her head, a condescending smile playing on her lips. “Alessia, please. We both know Cassian wouldn’t miss work for anything, especially not now. You’re obviously using his guilt over your accident to manipulate him into staying with you.”
I gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Or—and brace yourself, because this might blow your mind—Cassian is a grown-ass adult who makes his own decisions, and he decided on his own to take time off?”
Her jaw tightened. I watched with detached amusement as her eyes darted around my face, her features twisting with barely suppressed anger. All the while, I took a calm, leisurely sip of my drink.
I really need to get this recipe.
Then, her expression cleared, a look of sudden, venomous realization dawning.
“It’s… it’s not because of me, is it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, a brittle laugh escaping her.
“Oh, my god. It is. And here I thought you were actually being mature about all this.” She shook her head in mock pity.
“You’re making him miss work because of me? God, Alessia, that’s pathetic.”
I simply blinked, letting her words hang in the air.
She took my silence as an invitation to continue her deluded monologue.
“I always knew you had a problem with me, but I never thought you’d stoop this low.
” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
“Cassian and I have been in each other’s lives forever.
We have a history, a connection you can’t even comprehend.
We will always be in each other’s lives, and there is nothing you can do to change that.
I’m sorry you don’t share that bond with him, but that’s not my fault. ”
She took a deliberate step forward, invading my space. “So you need to get over your childish insecurities and let us do our jobs. We have real work to do. We don’t have time for your little tantrums. Understood?”
A slow, incredulous smile spread across my lips. “Is that supposed to intimidate me? You’re adorable.” Then, I couldn’t contain it. A full, genuine laugh tore from my throat. “You have a connection,” I repeated, shaking my head as another wave of laughter hit me.
She took a step back, eyeing me with deep suspicion. “What is wrong with you?”
I let my laughter die, my expression cooling.
“I don’t know what you want from me. You just gave a whole speech about your profound, unbreakable connection with Cassian.
If that’s true, why are you talking to me?
Go use your famous connection and get what you want from him. What do I have to do with it?”
“You’re guilt-tripping him because of your accident!”
“Then have your own accident,” I said with a casual shrug. “Break a leg. Cry a little. Guilt-trip him yourself. You don’t need me as a middleman for your relationship problems.”
She stared at me, utterly speechless.
My eyes scanned the room and landed on Felicity as she made her entrance.
Perfect.
“What is wrong with—” Cassandra started again.
“Lovely chat,” I cut her off, my tone flat and final. I turned and walked toward Felicity, leaving Cassandra standing there, silenced and seething.
“You’re late,” I said as I reached her.
“Mr. Fitzherbert was throwing a fit,” Felicity explained, rolling her eyes. I snagged another one of those mocktails from a passing server and handed it to her. “Here. You need to try this.” I glanced around the crowded room. “Where’s Naija? I thought you two were coming together.”
She took a sip, her eyes widening in approval. “She said she had to talk to the caterer. Apparently, her cousin is in charge of it.”
We both looked toward a corner of the room where Naija was deep in conversation with a man whose back was to us.
“She really does have a very large family, doesn’t she?” I remarked.
Turning back to Felicity, I asked, “Can you ask her to get the recipe for this?”
“Of course.” She took another sip, her expression turning serious. “Are the papers ready?”
I gave a single, sharp nod. “My lawyer sent them over yesterday.”
“So,” she pressed, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “When are you doing it?”
I checked my watch. “As soon as we leave.”
She took a slow sip, her gaze sweeping the room before it stopped, lingering on a point across the crowd.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” she asked, her voice softening.
“You don’t want to wait, to give it a little more time?
I mean… you did fall in love with him once.
You married him for a reason.” She gestured subtly with her head.
I followed her line of sight and found Cassian. He was still deep in conversation with Mr. Garcia, yet his eyes, as ever, were darting toward me every few seconds. A silent watchman.
I turned back to Felicity. “And look where that got me,” I said, my voice flat and final.
She held my gaze for a moment, then offered a resigned shrug. “Fair enough. So, you’re leaving now?”
“Yeah,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Better to just get this over with.”
After a quick, final goodbye to Felicity, I turned and began making my way through the crowd, cutting a direct path toward Cassian.
Mr. Garcia was in the middle of explaining the intricacies of cultivating a specific hybrid rose when I reached them.
“Mr. Garcia,” I said, smoothly interrupting. He paused and looked at me. Beside him, Cassian’s eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated gratitude. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid we have to leave.” I glanced at Cassian, who gave me a small, triumphant smile.
Mr. Garcia fished out a business card and pressed it into Cassian’s hand. “So we can finish our discussion.” He then turned his warm gaze to me. “You’ve got a good one here, you know.”
I offered a thin, non-committal smile and said nothing. We made our farewells to the Garcias and moved toward the exit.
As we walked through the lobby, Cassian leaned in, his voice a low, hopeful whisper. “I knew you wouldn’t let me suffer for too long.”
I stifled a groan. “Just bring the car around.”
He gave a mock salute, a genuine, unguarded lightness in his expression. “Yes, ma’am.” He then jogged off toward the parking lot to get the car.
The whole ride back, he hummed a cheerful, off-key tune. I turned the radio on, loud enough to drown him out.
The moment we reached the house, I went straight to the bedroom. The manila envelope was right where I’d left it, tucked safely in the cupboard. My hand closed around its crisp edges, then dropped to the suitcase standing beside it. It was already packed, zipped, and ready. I’d done that yesterday.
When I’d arrived a week ago, I’d brought nothing with me. My old life was already waiting in these closets. But over the last few days, I’d taken inventory and found suits and dresses that were too good to leave behind.
Everything else—the life, the wife, the memory—could stay.
My hand closed around the suitcase handle. In the other, I held the manila envelope.
It was time.
I turned to leave when my gaze landed on the sword.
The memory from earlier that week came rushing back: me curled up on the sofa with my book, while Cassian hovered nearby.
“I’m sorry, did you just say you want a sword?” he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
I didn’t look up from my book. “Yes.”
“Like… a sword sword?”
I finally lowered the book, meeting his bewildered stare. “Is there a different kind? If so, you can get me that one, too.” I returned to my reading.
“But… why do you want a sword?”
I turned a page. “It’s been a lifelong dream of mine to own one.”
Silence hung between us for a long moment. I glanced up.
“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” he admitted.
“When have I ever been sarcastic?”
The very next day, I found it leaning against my door: an antique cavalry saber, beautiful and lethally sharp.
I stepped forward and took the sword from its stand. Its weight felt solid and right in my hand. I carried it with me as I left the room and walked into the living room.
Cassian was there, slumped on the sofa, eyes closed, head resting against the back cushions. His jacket was draped over the arm of the sofa beside him.
I walked up to him, pulled a chair opposite the sofa, and sat. His eyes fluttered open, finding me. A flicker of warmth appeared, only to be extinguished the moment his gaze landed on the suitcase.
His body went rigid. “What is that?” he asked, his voice low.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I opened the manila envelope, slid the documents from inside, and laid them carefully on the coffee table between us.
The first page landed faceup.
A petition for dissolution of marriage.
My signature was already there, dark and final at the bottom of the page.
His eyes locked onto the papers, and I watched as they hardened from confusion into sheer, unadulterated horror. He refused to look away, especially from my signature, as if he could erase it by force of will alone.
“You can fight it,” I said, my voice chillingly calm. “But I am divorcing you. I don’t have any more time to waste on this. On you.”
He shook his head, a raw, betrayed look in his eyes. “You said you’d give me a chance.”
“I am,” I said, my voice steady. I waited until his tormented gaze lifted to meet mine. “So, here’s your chance. Tell me your side. Explain to me how you became so consumed by your work that you forgot you had a wife.”
I don’t give people chances?
Look at me now, Mrs. Garcia.
I didn’t want filtered versions from Naija or pitying looks from Felicity. I wanted the unvarnished truth, straight from the source. I would grant him this hearing, this final chance to speak his piece, and then I would close this chapter for good.
He held my gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes. “And if I tell you… you’ll stay?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and dragged his hands over his face. He took a long, shuddering breath, then nodded as if steeling himself. When he looked up, his eyes were dark with a painful intensity.
“You know I was struggling with work,” he began, his voice low and gravelly. “What you don’t know is that I was on the verge of losing it all. I was about to lose Velaré.”