She heard the phone ringing; anwhile, she kept her eyes locked on Cassian’s.
Cassian slipped his hand inside his blazer, drew out his mobile, glanced at the screen, and cut the call, which felt exactly like a stab in her back.
Her eyes zeroed in on Cassian, who kept his phone on the table instead of putting it back into his blazer.
Her legs shook beneath her, and even if she did not want to admit it, she had no choice but to accept that she did not trust him with won, despite signing the contract.
Even after he had written promises in his own hand.
Even after he had told her he would believe her above others.
She still did not trust him.
The truth lodged itself in her chest like a shard.
Perhaps it was because the people she had called her parents had not even been her parents... as per Cassian’s words.
In Cixi’s defence, who would believe a man who kept changing won every week? He had not slept with anyone for six months, and that was even more concerning for her. What if he slept with another woman, and in passion, he kissed her? Maybe she should have applied for his personal bodyguard job—to go with him everywhere and keep an eye on him at the sa ti.
Could she ask for an andnt in the contract, or was it too late?
She did not know, but watching Cassian without him realising she was watching felt like stalking him.
The realisation sickened her.
Before she could think better of it, she opened his ssages and typed:
"I don’t trust you... especially when it cos to won."
She stared at the line for one brief second, then sent it and imdiately switched off the phone, sparing herself the humiliation of seeing his wicked reply.
The mont the screen went black, regret crept in.
"What was that?" she muttered, angry with herself. "We signed the paper, and still I sent that like so jealous fool."
The guilt made her jaw tighten. If she could not even honour the contract in her own heart, then what right had she to demand faith from him?
She did not want to look in the mirror anymore. She did not want to see him there with another woman while knowing she had exposed her own doubt so plainly.
But before she could decide whether to look away or up again, the image vanished.
The ceiling returned to reflecting only her.
Cixi let the phone slip from her grasp, landing softly on the expensive blanket under her. She remained seated for a mont, her feet still firmly planted on the floor, and her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts too jumbled to make her feel settled.
So she decided to explore more. She searched for another door, and when she turned her head to the left, looking carefully, she noticed one on the far side of the bedroom. The door was painted in the sa shade of white as the wall, blending perfectly with it.
She rose and walked towards it with curious anticipation. The mont she opened the door and stepped inside, her mouth parted.
The bathroom was huge, comparable to Cixi’s current apartnt.
Its size was not the only reason she stared at it in stunned silence; it was not rely expensive, but beautiful in a calm and indulgent way that made her pause at the threshold and simply look.
The bathroom was made of black-and-white marble, with clean lines running along the walls. A large, round jacuzzi bathtub, deep enough for two adults with extra space, had been placed near a curved glass window that offered a view of the sky, the garden, and a dark line of forest in the distance.
Even the light in the room had been arranged with care—soft enough to flatter, and warm enough to soothe.
*
*
*
Far away from Demond City, in a city called Valtham, Cassian sat in a bar that was located on one of the wealthiest streets. It was the sort of place where power did not need to announce itself because everything it was brought from an auction.
Across from him sat Sashkia Valtham, wife of Raynor Valtham, a woman who married into a royal family that had ruled the city for centuries, a family that politicians were well aware not to challenge.
The pale-looking bartender approached them, placing their drinks before them with respectful silence, and withdrew imdiately.
Cassian and Sashkia touched glasses lightly before taking a sip.
Sashkia was the first to lower her gaze, then she observed him with intense curiosity. "What brings you here, Cassian? And why are we eting in the bar early in the morning?"
"Because I am looking for an answer."
That earned him a sharp look. Calling her here just to "look for an answer"? For a mont, she wondered if sothing was wrong with him. Depressed? The thought almost made her scoff. Cassian did not get affected—he affected others. He would depress other people and never take one...
Still, she needed to understand more before deciding anything.
"And how exactly will alcohol help you find an answer?" she asked, glancing at his drink before looking back at him. "Do these drinks even make you feel anything?"
Cassian took out a cigarette from a silver case, lit it, and started smoking.
"Let worry about that."
Sashkia leaned back, clearly noticing the irritation on his face. That alone surprised her. As far as she knew, he gave tension to others—he never carried it himself.
"How are you and France?" she asked after a pause. "Did he recover from the gunshot?"
Cassian inclined his head once. "Yes. After taking your potion, he recovered quietly." His fingers turned the whisky glass slightly on the table before his gaze returned to hers. "And as you can see, I healed as well."
"Always." A faint smile touched her lips, though she noticed his expression remained unchanged. His thoughts seed sowhere else. "I am still surprised you were hurt at all," she added. "How was that even possible? You were bleeding as if you were about to die. You almost did that night."
Cassian took another sip and set the glass down. His eyes drifted to a group of won nearby who were openly admiring him.
Then his gaze shifted to their drinks.
"That was the second attack. Whoever was behind it was no ordinary person. I sensed nothing. I heard nothing. It was as if soone was cloaking themselves so I couldn’t detect them."
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