Chapter 35
There were some moments in my life that I kept close. Moments I pulled out when I needed something to remind me that things could go right, that the world could balance itself, that people got what they deserved.
Watching Michael sputter about calling his lawyer while they cuffed him was going to be one of those moments.
We stood in his house—his grand, empty, meticulously curated house—and I watched the officers read him his rights.
Liam was already moving, calling for Cassandra, his voice echoing through the hallways.
Cassian stayed beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine, keeping me company while I watched the show.
The officers guided Michael toward the door. His face was red, his protests growing louder, more desperate. I watched every step. Every stumble. Every moment of a man who had spent decades believing he was untouchable finally learning otherwise.
I should have brought popcorn.
They were almost through the door when a voice cut through the chaos.
“Dad?”
I turned. Cassandra stood in the doorway, her eyes fixed on her father, her face pale. Liam was behind her, reaching for her, trying to talk to her, but she wasn’t listening.
“What’s happening?” Her gaze swept the room—the officers, the cuffs, the weight of something she didn’t understand pressing down on all of it. Her eyes stopped on Cassian. He shifted closer to me, almost imperceptibly, and her eyes tracked the movement.
“Cassian.” Her voice cracked. “What’s happening? Stop them. They can’t take my dad.”
Michael straightened, his composure snapping back into place. “They won’t be able to do anything. I’ll be back in no time, okay?”
Cassandra still looked unsure. Her eyes darted from face to face, looking for someone to explain, someone to fix this. Then they landed on me.
“Alessia.” Her voice hardened. “You’re behind this, aren’t you? If you hate me, come after me. Leave my father out of it.”
I felt Cassian shift beside me, ready to speak, but I stopped him from speaking.
Liam tried to speak, tried to reach her. She ignored him. Her focus was on me, blazing with the kind of loyalty her father had never deserved.
I looked at her. At the daughter who had spent her whole life trying to be what he wanted, who had never once been asked what she wanted. And then I looked at Michael.
“Tell me something, Baylee.”
His jaw tightened at the name. Good.
“What’s your daughter’s favourite food?”
He glared at me. Silent. Furious.
“Too hard? Okay, easier question then.” I tilted my head. “Name one of her friends.”
The glare stayed, but something else flickered behind it. Something uncertain.
“Still too hard? Alright, Baylee. The easiest one.” I smiled. “What’s your daughter’s dream? Since you love her so much, you must know. She must have told you. What is it?”
I waited.
His eyes darted to Cassandra. Then back to me. The glare was gone. Something else had taken its place. Something that looked like panic.
“That’s strange.” I let my smile widen, let it turn sympathetic, let it cut. “For someone who’s spent so much time telling everyone what a loving father he is, you don’t seem to know anything about your daughter at all.”
I turned to the officers. “You can take him away now. Baylee seems tired.”
He opened his mouth. I could see it—the words forming, the desperate attempt to claw back control. But they were already pulling him away, already dragging him through the door, already taking him somewhere his money and his power and his precious name couldn’t follow.
Oh no. Now I’d never find out what he was going to say.
I turned to Cassandra. She was still staring at the door where her father had disappeared, her expression hollowed out, like she didn’t know what to do with herself now that the man who had defined her entire life was gone. Her eyes drifted to me, unfocused, and she opened her mouth.
I didn’t let her speak.
“You think you and Cassian are meant to be, right?”
Behind me, I felt Cassian’s hand settle on my back.
Cassandra’s gaze flickered to him, then back to me. “We are meant to be,” she said, and there was something desperate in her voice, something clinging. “You don’t understand. You weren’t there. You don’t know what we were supposed to—”
Liam stepped forward, his mouth opening. Cassian moved too, a breath away from interrupting. I waved them both off without looking. They stopped. Waited.
I nodded at Cassandra. “Okay. So you know him, then?”
“Of course I know him.” Her chin lifted, defensive. “I’ve known him for years. I’ve been there for him. I’ve—”
“Okay.” I cut her off again. “When he drinks coffee, which hand does he hold it with?”
Cassandra blinked. “What?”
“His coffee. When he’s standing, talking to someone, not sitting at a desk. Which hand?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her eyes flickered to Cassian, then back to me. “His right. He’s right-handed.”
I shook my head. “He holds it with his left. So his right hand is free. So he can shake hands. So he can be ready.”
Cassandra stared at me.
“In a restaurant, when the food comes, does he eat first or wait?”
She didn’t answer.
“He waits. He waits until everyone at the table has their plate. Every time. Even when he’s hungry. Even when no one’s watching.”
Her face was pale now. Her hands were shaking.
“Next question. What’s his order at the hot dog cart across from his office?”
“I don’t—”
“Classic. Extra relish. No onions. He eats it the same way every time.”
Cassian’s hand moved on my back, a slow, almost unconscious stroke. I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on Cassandra.
“Okay,” I said, softer now. “Different questions. Does he drive with both hands on the wheel or one? What’s his tell when he’s lying? When he’s nervous? When he’s happy?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.
“What’s the worst meal he’s ever had? What’s the song that makes him turn the volume up when he thinks no one’s watching?”
Her breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster.
“You don’t know him. You’ve been chasing a version of him that doesn’t exist.” I stepped forward.
“The one your father built. The one who was supposed to complete some plan, fill some hole, give you the future your father decided you were meant to have.” I paused.
“He’s right here. The real him. And you’ve never once asked him who that is. ”
She was sobbing now, her shoulders shaking, her hands pressed to her mouth like she was trying to hold herself together.
“You don’t know him at all.”
She sank to the floor, her hands covering her face, and the sob that escaped her was raw, broken, the sound of someone who had just realized they’d been living a lie for years.
I moved ahead and crouched in front of her.
If someone spent your whole life telling you something was true—was it their fault for telling you, or yours for believing them?
“You’re not alone, Cassandra.” My voice was low, meant only for her. “There’s someone who loves you. Who cares about you. Who’s been here the whole time. You just have to let him in.”
She pulled her hands from her face. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks wet. She looked to her side, and there was Liam, already kneeling beside her, waiting.
A sob broke through her—raw, childlike. She threw her arms around her brother and held on like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
Liam’s breath shuddered out of him. His arms came around her, tight and fierce, and he closed his eyes. Over her shoulder, he mouthed two words: Thank you.
I mouthed back: I want a million dollars.
A hand appeared in front of my face. I looked up. Cassian was smiling down at me, his palm open, waiting. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet.
We walked toward the door, his hand still in mine. Behind us, Liam was murmuring something to Cassandra.
“You weren’t this sweet when you proposed to me,” Cassian said, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand.
I squeezed his fingers. “Give me a million dollars, and we’ll talk.”
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Deal.”
“I’ve wanted to show you this for so long.” Cassian’s hand was warm around mine, pulling me forward, his steps quick with barely contained excitement.
The restaurant had been up and running for a few weeks now, and Mrs. Garcia had insisted on inviting everyone for a little get-together. Nothing formal. Everyone except Liam was here. He’d been spending most of his time with his sister.
The second I arrived, Cassian was there. “Come with me,” he said, already reaching for my hand. “I want to show you the garden. Everything I’ve done.”
He’d wanted to drive together. I told him I’d meet him there—I had a surprise for him, something I wanted to give him when I walked in.
But he was so excited, so eager, so full of whatever he was about to show me, that I managed to hide it.
Slipped it to Naija before he grabbed my hand and pulled me away.
He led me to a corner near the back, where the sun hit differently, where the soil was darker, where stakes had been driven into the earth and vines had been trained to climb them.
And at the end of it, nestled between broad green leaves, were the tomatoes.
He stopped in front of them, his hand still holding mine, his whole face lit up. “I grew them.”
They were small. Some still green, some blushing toward red, clustered together on vines he’d tied carefully to stakes. The leaves were full.
He had been growing tomatoes.
I stood there, looking at the small red fruit he had coaxed out of the ground with his own hands, and felt something loosen in my chest.
“When I started coming here,” he said, quieter now, “I didn’t know what I was doing.
Mr. Garcia gave me a corner and told me to figure it out.
I killed the first batch. Overwatered them.
” He smiled, sheepish. “The second batch almost made it. Then a rabbit got to them. Mr. Garcia said that was part of it. That you don’t get to grow something without losing some of it along the way. ”