Cassie’s POV
"Dylan?" I was shocked. "What’s he doing here?"
"No idea." I could hear the panic creeping into her voice. "He saw my face, and you’re not even in disguise."
"It’s fine, honestly — Damien already told him I live with you. He knows I’m his brother’s assistant."
"When did all this happen? I had no idea."
"I’ll explain everything when I’m back from work."
I opened the door. He was still standing there, waiting for Kate.
"Hey, Dylan."
"Cassie. Already dressed for work, I see."
"Yeah. What brings you by?"
"Looking for Kate. Haven’t seen her since the hospital. She home?"
"No, she didn’t sleep here last night. She’s at her dad’s."
"Okay. Who was that, by the way?"
"Who?"
"The girl who opened the door the first time."
"Oh—" I let out a nervous laugh. "Just a friend. Crashed here since Kate wasn’t around. I’ve had trouble sleeping lately, after everything."
"That’s rough." He paused. "Since you’re heading to work, want a ride? I’m going to headquarters too, actually."
"I’ll manage, really."
"I insist. We’re going the same place, no reason not to."
"Fine." I grabbed my bag and followed him to the car, the morning air still cool enough to make me regret not grabbing a jacket on the way out.
"Ready?"
"Yeah." I muttered, settling into the leather seat.
"It’s honestly kind of wild how much you resemble Kate. Same energy, even the same perfume." He glanced over. "Strange, in a good way."
"We’ve been friends forever — I guess things rub off after a while."
"I’d love to see the two of you together sometime. I bet it’s fascinating."
I laughed, a little too nervously. "Yeah... totally." I kept my eyes on the window, watching the city slide by, grateful for any excuse not to look at him directly.
"So. Working for my brother. How’s that treating you?"
"He’s not the easiest person, but it’s fine. Manageable."
"Really? Did he say anything to you?" This felt like the opening I’d been waiting for.
"He might’ve mentioned you wanted to resign at some point. Didn’t seem thrilled about it."
"And what did he actually do about it?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light even though my heart had picked up pace.
He glanced over, clearly holding something back. "I don’t know. Nothing, probably."
"You’re lying. You’re covering for him."
"Me?" He laughed. "I’m the last person who’d go out of his way to protect him."
"I still don’t buy it."
He just laughed again. "Believe what you want."
We didn’t talk much after that, all the way to the building. He pulled into a private garage — quiet, cold, clearly reserved for people at the very top. There was a separate elevator too, probably only for family, polished steel doors that looked like they’d never seen a fingerprint in their life.
When I got up to the office, Damien was already there, phone pressed to his ear, deep in conversation — but not a business one, from the sound of it.
I tried not to listen, but my attention locked onto it anyway.
He was talking about a woman — specifically, instructing his security not to let her into his house. I’d never once heard him mention a woman before, not like this, and the realization sat strangely in my chest, somewhere between curiosity and something I didn’t want to name.
He hung up abruptly, fury still written across his face. Our eyes met for a second, and I looked away fast.
This is going to be a rough day. Whatever had set him off, I had a feeling it would land on me eventually, the way it always seemed to.
Hours passed in silence, which honestly worked in my favor — he was completely absorbed in work, ignoring his phone as it rang over and over, probably a hundred times by now, the screen lighting up again and again like it was mocking him.
Then the door opened, and a tall, striking woman walked in — designer clothes, a black Chanel bag, the whole look. She crossed straight to his desk like she owned the place, heels clicking against the floor with every confident step.
"Babe."
Babe? His girlfriend? I didn’t know what to do with that information. She was stunning — genuinely, intimidatingly beautiful. How could he possibly have any interest in me with someone like her in the picture?
"Why have you been ignoring my calls?" Her voice was soft, almost melodic.
"What are you doing here?"
"You wouldn’t let me into your house. I was left standing outside, and I want to know why." She pressed. "Did I do something wrong?"
Damien’s eyes flicked to me. "Cassie, give us a minute."
"Yes, sir." I slipped out quietly, desperate to know what was actually going on, my pulse already quickening at the thought of whatever was about to unfold behind that door.
I shut the door behind me and stood there, ear practically pressed to the wood.
"I already told you it’s over between us." His voice was flat, final.
"But babe, I miss you. I flew in from Paris just to see you, and this is what I get — left outside your own door." Her voice cracked.
"I’m sorry, but you can’t talk your way out of this one. I know everything, Jane. It’s done."
"I told you it was a mistake." Her tone shifted, almost defensive now. "I love you, and you know that."
"Jane. Go back to Paris. There’s nothing left for you here, and you’re not setting foot in my house again."
"Please, babe." I heard her voice drop lower — she was on her knees now, apparently.
Why would she beg like that? What had she actually done? Cheated on him? It seemed insane to me that anyone would cheat on Damien — he was practically everything.
"If you’re not gone in the next minute, I’m calling security, and they will not be gentle with you."
She stood, smoothed her dress, and looked at him one last time. "Think about what you’re throwing away. You know where to find me if you change your mind."
She pushed the door open — right as I was still leaning against it, listening. I nearly stumbled forward.
"Walk with me." She said it pleasantly, like nothing had happened.
I didn’t want to, but curiosity won out, and part of me was already rehearsing what I’d say if she asked anything too direct.
"You must be his assistant." She said.
"Yes, that’s me."
"Have you noticed anything unusual about him lately?"
I stared at her, genuinely confused. Since when was keeping tabs on Damien part of my job description? And even if I had noticed something, why would I tell her?
"Not really. Just work, home, nothing out of the ordinary."
"I think he’s seeing someone else."
"Did you actually see him with another woman?"
"No, but I heard he had someone over for dinner. Had his chef make her pasta and sausage."
Oh god. She thinks it’s me. Why would any of his staff even mention that to her, of all people?
"That could’ve been completely innocent. Just dinner." I kept my face as neutral as possible, even as my stomach twisted.
"Why’s he so angry with you, exactly?" I asked, playing dumb about the obvious answer.
"I slept with a coworker. I was drunk at a party and barely remember any of it." Her voice wavered. "Someone filmed it and sent it to him. He hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said since."
"I apologized. Repeatedly. It wasn’t some calculated thing — I wasn’t even in my right mind that night."
"I actually had the guy arrested, for taking advantage of me while I was that drunk. And Damien still won’t hear me out."
"So what do you want from me, exactly?" I asked, patience thinning fast.
"I want eyes on him. Everything he’s doing, any woman who comes around, any calls. I’ll pay you well for it."
I exhaled slowly. "I’m not sure what you’re expecting here, but I work for Damien. I’m not in a position to share anything about his private life — especially now that he’s clearly done with you."
"I can’t help you with this." I kept going. "I need to get back to work, if you’ll excuse me." I left her standing there and headed back to the office, grateful to put some distance between us.
"Cassie." Damien’s voice was still edged with irritation when I walked in.
"I don’t want that woman anywhere near this building again. I’ll send you her photo — print it, give copies to every security post, make sure they know her face."
"If she gets past them, they’re all losing their jobs. No exceptions."
"Understood." I headed to the printing room, made fifteen copies, and personally delivered one to each security post, making sure every guard committed her face to memory, repeating her name and description like I was briefing them for something far more serious than a workplace dispute.
Making my way through the last few posts, I turned a corner — and froze.
Malcolm.
He was standing there, staring right at me, like he’d been waiting the entire time for me to walk past.
I couldn’t face him. Not now. Not ever.