Chapter 29 #3
“And then Jameson came into our lives. This was my chance. Someone worth becoming. Someone worth impressing.” His voice rose.
“I looked up to him. I tried everything to earn his approval, his respect, his love. I studied his life. I watched what he did, what he wore, how he spoke, the people he surrounded himself with, and I copied him.”
He ticked the achievements off on his fingers, one by one, presenting evidence in a case he had spent his whole life preparing for.
“Top of my class. Valedictorian. The same college he went to—on full scholarship. Never asked him for a single penny. I became the perfect child.” His voice cracked. “But no matter what I did, he just never loved me. He loved my mother, that was clear. But me? I was just… there.”
Cassian shifted closer. I shot him a quick glance. Don’t. Let him talk. He held my gaze for a heartbeat, then gave the smallest nod.
Michael’s pacing grew more agitated. “When he died, I thought… maybe now. Maybe he was just someone who couldn’t show it, but deep down, he did love me. Maybe the will would prove it.” A sound escaped him. Half laugh, half sob. “But then we read it.”
He stopped. Stood still. When he spoke again, his voice was low, hollow.
“He left everything to my mother. Everything. There was no mention of me. Not a single word. It was like I didn’t exist to him.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “A decade. A decade of trying to earn his love. And at the end, I had nothing to show for it.”
His voice dropped to something barely audible.
“Not even his name.”
He started laughing.
“That was the day I realized,” he said, his voice carrying that same hollow quality, “that you don’t just get what you want by sitting there.
By trying your best. By hoping someone will notice.
” His eyes found mine, and there was something ancient in them.
Something wounded. “No. You’re supposed to take it.
You’re supposed to fight for what you deserve. ”
“And I did. Jameson might not have loved me, but my mother did. She named everything after me. Every account. Every property. Every trust.” A bitter smile. “I think she felt guilty. Her husband had spent years pretending I didn’t exist, so she made sure I would never have to worry about anything.”
Then he looked at me and smirked.
“Do you know how many things you can do when you have that kind of power, Alessia?”
I said nothing.
“You can take the name you’ve been desperate for your whole life. Just like that.”
He snapped his fingers. “Throw some money at the right people, and suddenly”—his smile widened—“I was Michael Hartley.”
He paused, his gaze turning inward. “With that much power, I found every single kid who’d ever made fun of my last name.
Every one of them. The ones who taunted me, whispered behind my back, made me feel like I was garbage.
” His voice dropped, soft and dangerous.
“And I made sure they never said another word. About me. About anything. I made them afraid of me.”
“I erased every trace of Michael Baylee. Every record. Every mention. Every little piece of proof that he had ever existed.”
He stopped.
Something flickered across his face, so brief I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so carefully.
“In the end… I won.”
He smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t look like victory.
“I spent my whole life running after a name. And when I finally got it…” He shook his head slowly.
“It didn’t feel good. It felt tainted. Because the voices were still there.
All those kids, still inside my head, telling me I didn’t belong here.
That I wasn’t supposed to be here. That I didn’t deserve any of it. ”
His voice dropped to something almost confessional.
“And then new voices joined them. Voices telling me I was a fraud. That I wasn’t a real Hartley.
That I hadn’t earned the legacy—I’d just bought it.
” He looked down at his hands. “No matter what I did, those voices wouldn’t go away.
Jameson didn’t give me the name. I worked for it, I earned it in every way that mattered.
But it still felt like I was wearing someone else’s clothes. ”
He looked up, and his eyes found Cassian’s.
“Most people didn’t notice. Didn’t care. Except for one.”
Cassian froze beside me. His fingers tightened around the chair handle until his knuckles blanched, bracing himself.
Michael’s voice softened into a murmur.
“Charles.”
Neither of us had expected him to bring up Cassian’s father.
His gaze was fixed on Cassian now, intent and burning.
“He talked to me. He always did.” Michael’s voice had dropped, becoming almost reverent.
“Even when I was Bay—” He stopped himself, the name catching in his throat.
“Even when I wasn’t a Hartley yet. He was old money.
Generations of it. He could have looked down on me, dismissed me like everyone else.
” A pause. “But he didn’t. He became my friend. And he stayed my friend.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk, his eyes locked on Cassian.
“When he saw me struggling, when he saw what that name was doing to me, how it was eating me alive, he made me a promise.”
He drew a breath.
“He said that if a name was twisting me up so badly, then he’d give me his.
Through our children. He promised that when we had children, they’d marry.
And then my child would carry the Sterling name.
A real legacy name. One that no one could take away.
Earned through family, not purchased through money. ”
I shifted in my seat, moving just enough that my arm rested against Cassian’s hand on the chair. His grip loosened slightly. A small thing, but I felt it.
Michael kept going, the words pouring out now, unstoppable.
“Years passed. My wife was pregnant, and Charles and Camilla still didn’t have children. I started to worry. What if he backed out? What if the promise meant nothing?” His jaw tightened. He resumed pacing, slower, his gaze far beyond the walls of the office.
“But then, when Liam was only a few months old, Cassian appeared out of nowhere.”
He looked at Cassian.
“I knew. I knew Camilla had never been pregnant. But there you were.”
Cassian remained utterly still.
“One night, Charles got drunk and told me everything. Everything about you.” Michael swallowed. “And I was relieved. He wasn’t backing out. He was keeping his word.” He smiled fondly. “He was my friend. My real friend.”
“Two years later, my Cassandra was born. Perfect. Beautiful. Destined for greatness. My daughter would have what I never could. The name, given freely, with intention. She would belong in a way I never did.” His voice softened, almost tender. “All was right in the world.”
The tenderness vanished. His face twisted, hatred flooding back in.
“But then Charles left. Ran away like a coward. Abandoned everything—his family, his name, his promises.” He shook his head, disgusted.
“But it was fine. You were still here, Cassian. The promise could still be kept. You just had to see Cassandra. I raised her to be perfect for you. Taught her everything she needed to know. She spent her entire life learning how to be the wife Cassian Sterling deserved.”
His eyes snapped to me, and the hatred in them was so pure it was almost impressive.
“Then you appeared.”
The words were venom.
“And everything went to shit. Nothing—absolutely nothing—has gone according to plan since you came into our lives.” He was gripping the edge of the desk now, his knuckles white.
“You were never supposed to be here. Never supposed to be with him. You did nothing to earn him. Nothing! You just… appeared. And he chose you.” His voice cracked on the words.
“You don’t deserve him. You’re not suited to even stand beside him. ”
He took a ragged breath, his chest heaving.