Chapter 16 #2
My voice was low, my gaze pinned on Cassandra. “What did you say to Alessia?”
Her expression froze for a fraction of a second before smoothing over. “You’ll have to be more specific, Cassian. We’ve had many conversations. I can’t be expected to remember them all.”
I folded my arms and leaned back against my desk, never breaking eye contact. “Is that so?” My voice flattened. “Let me refresh your memory. Did you mention anything about a ‘connection’ between us? A special kind that my wife could never have?”
Liam snapped his head toward her, eyebrows shooting up. “What the fuck?” he muttered.
Cassandra’s composure cracked. She shot a nervous glance at Rohan, then Liam. “This is a private matter. We should discuss this alone.”
I didn’t move. “No. We’re having this conversation here. With an audience.” I let the word hang. “With witnesses.”
Her eyes narrowed, a flash of anger replacing the nerves. “Witnesses? What am I, a criminal?”
No, you’re a cockroach.
“You lied to my wife. You filled her head with poison. I don’t trust you not to twist your words later, so no, we are not talking in private. We do this here, now, with witnesses.”
Her jaw tightened. She glanced at Rohan. “At least let him leave.”
My voice could have cut glass. “No one is leaving this room until I am finished. So start talking, Cassandra. Now.”
She flinched at the command, her gaze dropping before she forced herself to meet my eyes. The words came out reluctantly, yet laced with a stubborn defiance. “Yes, I told her that. But you can’t deny it. We have a connection, Cassian. One deeper than your relationship with her. It’s a fact.”
My fingers curled into a fist against my arm.
A fact?
She had no concept of the word.
The fact was that she was a liar. The fact was that Alessia had left me. The fact was that I was a fool who had let the most important person in his life walk away.
What she called a fact was a delusion. A pathetic fantasy she had dressed up in reality’s clothes.
“And what, precisely, is this ‘connection’ we share? Enlighten me. Because my memory seems to be failing, and I can’t recall a single instance of it.”
She took a step forward, a desperate, bold move. “Cassian, you’ve known me since we were children. Alessia can’t possibly compete with—”
“Wrong,” I cut her off, my voice like a shard of ice. “I’ve known Liam since we were kids. I knew of you. There’s a difference.”
Her expression twisted with hurt and fury. “Don’t you dare downplay what we have.”
“Am I?” I tilted my head. “Then tell me, Cassandra. Give me one single, significant conversation we’ve had that wasn’t about work.
Have I ever confided in you? Asked about your personal life?
I don’t even know where you live, or if you have a single friend.
” I spread my hands. “So, please, tell me what I’m missing.
What specific interaction led you to believe we share an ‘unbreakable connection’ that eclipses my marriage? ”
The room plunged into a dead, ringing silence.
Cassandra’s face flushed a deeper, angrier red. “You helped me with my homework once, when we were kids. That was the moment I—”
“I helped Liam with his homework every other week. Next.”
She blinked, thrown off. “After your father left, you were always at our house—”
“Because I wanted to spend time with Liam.”
Because my mother was in one of her moods—where my existence offended her—and Liam had overheard it once. After that, he used every excuse to drag me to his house.
I never stopped him.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something. Then a smug, triumphant look crossed her face. “When I was going to prom, you took a picture of me. I saw you—”
“Because Liam begged me to take the picture while he stood behind you making faces that you couldn’t see.” My jaw ticked. “That photo was for him, not you.”
A throbbing pain began to pulse behind my eyes.
Was this it? Was this the flimsy, pathetic evidence for that ‘unbreakable connection’?
Was this fucking it?
“Damn,” Liam muttered from my side. “Maybe Alessia should be threatened by our connection.”
I turned a withering glare on him.
His smile vanished. “Not that I’m interested in you like that.”
I turned back to her, the tension coiling in my jaw like a spring. “Every example you’ve given is pathetic. Give me one. One genuine interaction that proves this delusion of a connection.”
Her composure was fracturing. Her eyes darted around the room in a panic before landing back on me.
“The night of the party! You could have left me there. You could have called Liam, but you didn’t.
You took me home. You took care of me.” She lifted her chin, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
“And when we got to your door, you laughed with me. That moment was just us.”
My hands came down on the desk, gripping the edge so hard the wood dug into my palms.
“Are you,” I said, my voice low enough to vibrate the air, “fucking serious right now?”
She faltered under the weight of my glare. “Cassian—”
I stared at her like she’d grown another head. “Are you telling me you had the audacity to spew that nonsense at my wife… because I didn’t leave you drunk in a bar and I laughed once?”
She lifted her chin, a final, defiant gesture. “How would you explain it?”
“Very easily, actually,” I said. The explanation felt absurdly simple.
“I didn’t leave you because you’re on my team, and I’m not a monster who leaves drunk, vulnerable people to fend for themselves.
And I laughed because you started reminiscing about the time Liam ran through the neighborhood screaming, completely naked, because he thought there was a spider in his pants. ”
Rohan, who had been standing there like a silent statue, blinked.
“What was it then?” he asked Liam.
Liam stared at the floor.
“A butterfly,” he muttered.
Rohan’s brows shot up. “How did it even get in your pants—wait, completely naked? Why’d you take off your shirt?”
Liam just shrugged. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”
I let out a long, measured exhale. “You know what, Cassandra? You’ve opened my eyes.
The next time I see a member of my team too drunk to stand, I’ll just leave them on the curb.
And the next time someone reminds me of a genuinely funny memory, I’ll be sure to scowl.
Otherwise, they might get the wrong idea and think we share an ‘unbreakable connection.’”
I was starting to despise that word.
Her eyes desperately searched mine, looking for any crack in my resolve. “You can’t just dismiss me like this—”
“I can,” I stated, my voice hardening into steel. “And I am. Everything you’ve said here today has only proven how dangerously delusional you are, and that bringing you into this company was a catastrophic error in judgment.”
I paused, my gaze flicking to Liam to see if he would defend his sister.
He remained silent, his expression grim.
I turned my full attention back to her. “You’re fired.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I rounded my desk, dismissing her.
A desperate, calculating look flashed across her face. “If you fire me, my father will pull out of the Aethelstan deal. Do you honestly think he will let it proceed if I’m not here?”
I rested my palms flat on the desk and looked at her, my gaze unwavering. “Then fuck the deal.”
She stared at me, stunned. “You’re bluffing. You’ll lose your company.”
I shrugged, a cold, deliberate gesture. “Then I lose it. But you’re still fired.”
The truth was, I wouldn’t lose it. Months ago, the Aethelstan deal was critical.
It was the fastest, most definitive way to stabilize the company and protect every job in it.
The sacrifice, the late nights, the distance from Alessia—it was the price of that singular, aggressive play for a rapid return to dominance.
But we weren’t fools. From the moment the crisis hit, we’d been running two plays at once. You never tie a company’s survival to a single client, especially not a man like Hartley, whose volatility and ego could turn a handshake into a corporate hostage situation overnight.
So while I was publicly fighting for Aethelstan, Liam was quietly moving in the shadows from day one: traveling, negotiating, securing a network of smaller but guaranteed contracts.
Aethelstan was our path to dominance.
Liam’s contracts were our insurance policy.
We pursued both with the same ruthless seriousness.
We’d kept the second strategy deliberately small. Only a handful of people on staff knew about it, because the moment Hartley realized we had alternatives, he would have tightened his terms—or walked away altogether. Cassandra, as Hartley’s daughter, had been kept in the dark too.
It was funny, in a hollow way. I had lost my wife because I was lost in that deal for months. But the situation had changed. The company was secure. The team was safe. And from the very beginning, that was the entire point of running both plays.
Cassandra’s laugh was sharp and shaky, a sound of pure desperation. “You think you can just back out? You can’t, Cassian. We signed a contract. Do you have any idea about the financial penalties, the lawsuit—”
I stared at her, and then a slow, deliberate smile spread across my face.
“Cassandra,” I said softly. “Did you forget the clause?”
Her face went still.
“What clause?” she whispered.
“The one your father insisted on. The one in the final term sheet you personally handed me.” I leaned forward slightly. “Clause 14.B. The Mutual Walk-Away.”
I watched the memory click into place behind her horrified eyes.
“It grants either party a ninety-day window to terminate the agreement,” I continued, calm enough to make every word feel clinical, “for any reason. Or no reason at all. No penalties. No damages. No legal recourse.”
Her expression faltered.
“You… you wouldn’t…”
“I would.” I let the smile disappear. “And I am.”
Even after softening half the contract, Hartley had made sure that clause remained.