Chapter 16 – Cassandra
I wanted to stop Drew.
God, I wanted to grab his arm, pull him back, tell him not to go to the docks. The words were right there, burning on my tongue, but they stayed trapped behind my teeth like cowards.
Because how could I stop him without revealing everything?
Without admitting that I knew about the ambush before it happened?
Without confessing that I was the reason it was going to happen at all?
So I watched him leave. Watched the door close behind him with a finality that made my chest ache. And the moment he was gone, my heart went into free fall.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but stare at that closed door and pray to a God I didn’t believe in that Drew would come back alive.
Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool air in the apartment. My hands were shaking so badly I had to clasp them together to keep them still.
What have I done?
The question looped in my head like a death sentence.
I’d given Vance the intel. Given him everything he needed to orchestrate the ambush. And now Drew was walking straight into it, and if he died—if any of them died—it would be because of me.
My fault. My choices. My betrayal.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill over. But they came anyway, hot and bitter, streaming down my cheeks like accusations.
Stop him. Call him. Warn him.
But I couldn’t. Because warning him meant exposing myself. Meant admitting what I’d done. Meant facing Rafael’s wrath, Drew’s fury, the consequences I’d been running from for two years.
I was a coward. A liar. A traitor.
And the worst part? I deserved whatever was coming.
Minutes crawled by like hours. Or maybe they were hours. I couldn’t tell anymore. Time had stopped making sense.
I paced the living room, my heart hammering against my ribs, my stomach churning with nausea that had nothing to do with sickness and everything to do with guilt.
Please come back. Please come back. Please come back.
The mantra played on repeat in my head, desperate and broken.
I stared at my phone, willing it to ring. Willing Drew to call and tell me he was okay, that it was over, that he’d survived.
But it stayed silent.
Mocking me.
My lips were trembling. My voice shook when I whispered into the empty room, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
But sorry didn’t fix anything. Sorry didn’t bring people back from the dead. Sorry was just another useless word I threw around to make myself feel better.
My mouth went dry. My chest tightened until I thought my ribs might crack under the pressure.
Deep in my gut, I knew the truth.
If Drew died tonight, I’d never forgive myself.
If he survived and found out what I’d done, he’d kill me.
Either way, I was already dead.
The door opened.
I jerked my head up, my heart leaping into my throat.
Drew walked in, still in his tactical gear, smelling like gunpowder and sweat. His face was hard, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with something I couldn’t name.
Relief flooded through me so fast it knocked the air from my lungs.
He was alive. He was here. He was—
“Cassandra.”
The way he said my name—low, dangerous, filled with fury—made my knees buckle.
He knew.
He had to know.
The room tilted. My vision blurred. And then everything went black.
***
My eyes fluttered open, slow and disoriented. I blinked a few times, my gaze landing on him.
“Drew?” My voice was hoarse, broken.
“Hey.” He sounded calm. Normal. Even though something in his eyes looked like he was drowning. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” I tried to sit up, winced, and fell back against the pillows. “What happened?”
“You passed out. I brought you to the hospital.”
My brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because you collapsed on my living room floor, kitten. Scared the shit out of me.”
I looked away, my jaw tightening. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He leaned back in the chair, studying me. “The doctor said you’re dehydrated. Exhausted. Running a fever.”
“I’ve been sick. You know that.”
“Yeah.” He paused. “There’s something else.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“You’re pregnant, Cassandra.”
The color drained from my face. My lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Eight weeks,” he continued, his voice steady even though something in his eyes looked like he was falling. “The doctor confirmed it.”
I stared at him like he’d just told me the world was ending.
Maybe he had.
“That’s not….” I shook my head, my hands clutching the blanket like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. “That’s not possible.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was. The timeline matched. The symptoms made sense now.
My eyes filled with tears—fear, regret, guilt all tangled together.
I looked at him and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Get some rest,” he said, standing up. “We’ll talk later.”
He walked out before I could respond, before I could explain, before I could tell him any of the truths burning in my chest.
The door closed behind him, and I was alone.
***
Drew took me back to his place the next day. I was still weak, still shaky, but the doctor had cleared me to leave as long as I rested and stayed hydrated.
Drew hovered like a shadow, his hand on my lower back as we walked to the car, his eyes scanning the parking lot like he expected an attack.
“I’m fine,” I said for the tenth time.
“You’re not.” His tone left no room for argument.
When we got to his apartment, he settled me on the couch with a blanket and a glass of water, then disappeared into his room to change.
I sat there, staring at the TV that wasn’t even on, my mind spinning.
A baby.
I was going to be a mother.
The thought terrified me. Exhilarated me. Made me want to scream and cry and laugh all at once.
Drew emerged a few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a black shirt, his jaw still tight. “I have to go see Rafael. Tell him about the ambush.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“The arms deal was compromised. We lost the cargo.” His eyes were hard, unreadable. “Rafael needs to know.”
Panic clawed at my throat. “Drew—”
“I’ll be back.” He grabbed his keys, then paused at the door, looking back at me. “Don’t leave. And don’t do anything stupid.”
Then he was gone.
I sat there, frozen, my mind racing.
He knew about the ambush. Knew the deal had been compromised.
Did he know it was me?
Did he suspect?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, saw Vance’s name on the screen, and my stomach turned.
I didn’t answer.
Let it ring until it went to voicemail.
He called again an hour later. Then again. Then sent a barrage of texts.
Answer the phone.
We need to talk.
Don’t ignore me, Cassandra.
I turned my phone off and shoved it under the couch cushion.
I was done. Done with Vance. Done with his manipulation. Done with being his weapon.
Because I wasn’t going to let my baby grow up like I did—raised by strangers, haunted by what-ifs and half-truths, wondering where they came from and why they were abandoned.
My child deserved better.
I deserved better.
***
Days turned into weeks.
I started living with Drew. Not because he asked, but because he simply didn’t take me home. Kept my things at his place. Made room for me in his closet. Stocked the fridge with foods I liked.
He took care of me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
Made sure I ate. Made sure I rested. Made sure I took my prenatal vitamins—vitamins he’d bought without me asking.
He didn’t hover. Didn’t suffocate me. But he was always there. A steady, solid presence that made me feel safe for the first time in years.
And somewhere along the way, I started to fall for him.
Not the desperate, reckless attraction we’d had before. Not the itch that needed scratching.
This was deeper. Quieter. More terrifying.
I fell for the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Fell for the way his hand always found mine when we sat together. Fell for the way he talked to my belly when he thought I was asleep, his voice soft and full of promises.
“You’re going to be okay,” he’d whisper. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
And I believed him.
Everybody at the office knew we were living together. I could see it in their glances, their whispers, the way conversations stopped when I walked into a room.
But no one dared to say anything.
Not to Drew. And definitely not to Rafael.
Rafael himself said nothing. Just watched me with those dark, calculating eyes, like he was waiting for something. Waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for the truth to come out.
I kept my pregnancy hidden. Wore loose shirts. Avoided Hailey and Barbara because they’d notice immediately. Stopped going to the club. Stopped answering Vance’s calls and messages.
I was trying to disappear into the life Drew was building for us. Trying to pretend that the past two years hadn’t happened. That I wasn’t a traitor. That I hadn’t destroyed everything.
But the guilt never left.
It sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and unforgiving.
Every time Drew looked at me, I wondered if today would be the day he figured it out. The day he put the pieces together and realized that I was the reason for the ambush. The reason three men almost died. The reason the Bratva lost millions.
And every time he kissed me, every time he held me, every time he whispered that everything would be okay, I wanted to believe him.
But I knew better.
Because lies always came to light.
And when mine did, there would be no forgiveness.
No second chances.
Just blood and betrayal and the end of everything.
I pressed my hand against my belly, feeling the slight swell that had started to show. My baby. Drew’s baby.
The only good thing I’d ever created.
And I’d burn the world down to protect them.