Chapter 34 Katie #4
I follow him through the rows of empty cubicles, soon to be filled with oblivious lawyers, clerks, and paralegals. But now the silence is deafening.
I sink into one of his metal chairs. It’s freezing, the cold biting through my skirt.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Roth?”
He doesn't answer immediately. He draws a breath so deep I can hear the fabric of his shirt strain. The look in his eyes is the one lawyers give to clients they can’t save.
He slides a manila envelope across the desk. It hits the wood with a dull, heavy thud.
I don’t look down. Looking would make it real, and I don’t need to see the contents to know it is my damnation wrapped in cheap paper.
“I wanted to talk to you about this.”
He flips it open. The security stills aren't blurry. They are agonizingly sharp—the low light of the museum, the marble shadows, and the unmistakable, desperate curve of my jaw as I tilt my face into Stephan’s heat.
My stomach lurches, a cold wave of nausea rising in my throat.
So much for the Christmas party. So much for a week.
“I want you to know we take things like this very seriously at Marek, West, and Roth. So I’m not going to mix words here, Katie. Was this consensual?"
Sanctify. Sanctify. Sanctify. The word is a pulse in my head, a drumbeat of the martyr I’m becoming. I square my shoulders, feeling the phantom weight of Stephan’s hands still on my skin from the night before.
I straighten in my seat and find my voice. “It was.”
He arches a brow at me. “So Marek didn’t force himself on you?”
“No. It was a fling. A lapse in judgment driven entirely by me.” I swallow hard, the lie tasting like copper in my mouth. “I accept full responsibility.”
Cassian runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of rare agitation. “Yes, but that leaves me in a pickle, doesn’t it? Under firm bylaws, I can’t just fire a victim—and you’re insisting you aren’t one. Which leaves me with a scandal that burns the firm to the ground.”
I take a breath that feels like inhaling glass. This is it—the sacrifice. “You can fire me, sir. And you can do it for a reason that keeps the firm—and Stephan—out of the headlines.”
He lets out a sharp, cynical laugh. “Oh yeah? And what’s the magic bullet, Katie?”
“Because my sister is in the Halcyon cancer clinical trials. The paycheck I earn here goes directly toward the treatment. It’s a conflict of interest that I didn’t disclose to anyone. Not even Stephan.”
He just stares, the faint tick of the wall clock the only sound between us.
“You’re offering me your own head,” he says finally.
“If that’s what it takes to protect the firm,” I tell him, voice steady but trembling underneath, “then yes.”
He leans back, watching me like a man trying to decide whether to admire me or mourn me. The silence stretches until it hurts.
Cassian’s chair creaks as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. For a moment, I think he might actually thank me, but the look in his eyes is too sharp for gratitude.
“You understand what you’re saying,” he murmurs. “You hand me this, and it doesn’t just end your career. It destroys your license. Your name will be a footnote in a bar-disciplinary report, a warning to every law student in the country. You’ll never step foot in a courtroom again.”
“I know.” The words stick in my throat. “It’s cleaner this way.”
He looks at me for a long time. The hum of the vents fills the silence. Somewhere down the hall, a copier stirs to life, spitting out paper like an echo of what we’ve all done—copies, records, evidence.
At last, he sighs and shuts the folder. “Go home,” he says. “Take the rest of the day before you start trying to martyr yourself in front of a grand jury.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” His voice softens. “You and Marek both. The difference is, you still have time to decide what kind of ending you want.”
He pushes the folder aside, refusing to meet my eyes. The conversation is over.
I stand on unsteady legs. My reflection ghosts across the glass wall of his office—hair coming loose, skin too pale, the bracelet glinting like a secret I can’t bury.
As I reach for the door, Cassian’s voice catches me. “For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “you’re braver than he deserves.”
The words strike like a physical blow, but the sudden, icy slide of diamonds against my skin stops my breath.
I reach up, fingers curling around cold platinum links to shove the glint beneath my sleeve.
It weighs more now than it did in the penthouse—a leaden anchor tethering me to the man in the corner office.
This glittering brand marks my owner, proving I no longer belong to the law, the church, or myself.
I stand in the wreckage of my career, clutching a confession in one hand and his jewelry in the other.
The irony tastes like a bitter pill, stuck fast in my throat.
The contract may be ash, but the terms endure—his mark on my wrist, my silence in his defense.
We tore the paper, but we left the bond intact.
I don’t reply. Maybe he’s right. Or maybe Stephan Marek is more complex than Cassian gives him credit for.
The hallway is colder than before. My pulse drums in my ears as I walk past the rows of dark monitors. Every step feels like walking through smoke. I’m not free, but I’m finished. Sometimes that’s close enough.
Outside, the snow has started again—slow, heavy flakes that stick to my coat and refuse to melt.
I barely register the ride home. The city slides past in a blur of lights and silence.
Mom and Mary are still at chemo. The house is dim, waiting. I drop my bag by the door and stumble to my room, too tired to think.
Maybe this is all a bad dream. Maybe I’ll wake up, and none of it will matter.
But even as I close my eyes, I can still feel the cold on my skin—and the weight of everything I’ve already lost.