She gave him a choice: her, or us. But before he could choose, she disappeared.
And Cassian stayed. I thought he chose us, chose to be with our son. So we played the house, perfectly.
Until Leo’s sixth birthday. We were on the highway, headed to dinner. The brakes gave out. The car spun. Smoke. Screams.
Cassian got out. And he locked the door behind him.
That was when I realized he had never forgiven me for Alessia’s disappearance. He never loved me. Not truly.
Back in this moment. Given a second chance by whatever cruel god watched my life unravel.
And this time, I wasn’t going to waste it.
I was going to give Cassian exactly what he wanted—Alessia.
I found his phone and scrolled through until I saw her name. I hit dial. “Alessia? Cassian’s passed out in my room. He’s wasted. You should come get him.”
Cassian stirred on the bed, murmuring something I couldn’t quite hear.
…
Fifteen minutes later, Alessia swept into my bedroom like a storm in heels—eyes narrowed, face pale with suspicion.
“Everyone knows you’ve been mooning over Cassian for years,” she snapped, arms crossed like a challenge. “He’s in your bed. Alone. On your birthday. And instead of seducing him, you called me? What are you playing at, Isadora? Are you really that virtuous… or just plotting something?”
I didn’t have the patience for her theatrics.
“There’s no time for your paranoia,” I said flatly. “Cassian’s drunk and unconscious. Get him out of my room. I don’t care if you drag him home or toss him in a cab. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want him waking up in another woman’s bed, would you?”
Alessia shot me a razor-sharp glance but didn’t argue. She walked over and looped Cassian’s arm over her shoulder, struggling under his weight. They made it to the hallway before he collapsed like a felled tree.
“He’s too drunk,” she huffed. “We’ll stay in the guest room.”
“Down the hall, to the left,” I muttered. “Knock yourselves out.”
As long as it’s Alessia, I told myself. Then everything will go differently this time.
“Help me get him up,” Alessia barked. “I can’t carry him alone.”
“Of course,” I said quietly and moved to help.
Cassian barely stayed upright between us.
When we finally got him onto the guest bed, Cassian landed face-down with a soft groan. His suit was still immaculate. Not a hair out of place.
“You didn’t even try to kiss him, did you?” Alessia arched a brow as she straightened her blouse. “Didn’t even sneak a taste?”
I swallowed hard. “He’s all yours now.”
I left before she could say anything else.
Moments later, the muffled sound of kissing floated down the hallway. Then moaning. Laughter. The telltale rustle of sheets.
I froze. I told myself I didn’t care anymore. But the sounds still stabbed at something inside me.
Needles. Tiny, invisible ones pricking right through my resolve.
I ran.
I didn’t look back.
Enjoy your night with her, Cassian, I thought.
I gave her back to you. Just like you always wanted.
…
I had underestimated the effects of a whiskey.
By the time I hit the street, my head spun and my stomach twisted in knots.
Then it came the heels wobbling and the vision blurring. I stopped at the corner, clutching a street sign for balance.
The neighborhood was unfamiliar—gritty and shadowed. The only building with lights on was a strip club flashing RUBY in red neon.
Classy.
I checked my pockets. No phone. Just some cash. No Damian to call for a rescue. Brilliant.
Between the sleazy alley and the strip club, I picked the lesser evil.
Inside, Ruby was dark, smoky, and pulsing with bass. The music vibrated through my ribs. I made my way to the bar, weaving through bodies and stray glitter.
“Water?” I asked the bartender, blinking up at him. “Or something not alcoholic?”
He gave me a slow, amused grin. “You’re in the wrong place for that, pretty. But hang tight—I’ll check the back.”
I nodded, gripping the counter to keep from tipping over.
Trying to find a seat, I stumbled near a booth—and tripped. Landed straight onto someone’s lap. A very expensive, very male lap.
He looked too clean-cut to belong here. Buttoned shirt, dark jacket, sharp jawline. And god help me, he was gorgeous.
“I—sorry,” I mumbled, half-dazed. “You work here?”
“Yes,” He adjusted slightly, his pants cool against my bare legs. “Are you alone? Need me to call someone for you?”
“No,” I said quickly—and then, without thinking, I pressed my fingers over his mouth. “Today’s my birthday. I don’t want to go home yet…”
His eyes lifted to mine—dark, unreadable, and devastatingly intense. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he peeled my hand away from his lips.
“Have you been drinking all night, Isadora?” he asked, voice low, almost intimate.
“You know me?” I blinked, trying to sit up straighter and get a better look at him. The room tilted, and my lips—without warning—crashed into his.
