Chapter 7- We have bad decisions to make

7

**Five Years Earlier**

The estate sprawled across fifteen acres of prime Cape Town real estate, its Georgian architecture a testament to old colonial wealth. Today, it was alive with the chaos that only a children's birthday party could bring—high-pitched squeals of delight echoing across manicured gardens, the splash of small bodies jumping into the Olympic-sized pool, and the constant rustle of expensive party planners orchestrating what was essentially a production rather than a celebration.

A princess-themed birthday party for Isabella, Greyson's eight-year-old niece, was in full swing. Pink and gold balloons bobbed from every available surface, creating a canopy of pastel perfection over the outdoor festivities. A towering cake five tiers of elaborate fondant work that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary sat like an edible castle on the main table. Near the fountain, a small orchestra played Disney classics while children in elaborate costumes danced on the marble terrace.

Greyson stood near the champagne table, a crystal flute of Dom Pérignon untouched in his hand, watching the carefully choreographed chaos with a mixture of amusement and unease. At thirty-one, he felt decades older than the young father he was supposed to be, the weight of his past his real past sitting heavy on his shoulders like an invisible cloak.

His attention was drawn to his sister Meagan, who was attempting to manage both her daughter's increasingly dramatic demands and the growing tension in her marriage. At thirty-five, Meagan still carried herself with the grace of the debutante she'd once been, but the strain was showing around her eyes. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back in a perfect chignon, her pale pink Chanel suit immaculate despite the chaos around her, but Greyson knew her well enough to read the signs of stress in the tight line of her shoulders.

Isabella, resplendent in a custom-made princess gown that probably cost more than most wedding dresses, stood in the center of a circle of admirers mostly other wealthy children and their nannies holding court like the tiny monarch she believed herself to be.

"But Mama," Isabella's voice carried across the garden with the imperious tone of someone who had never been denied anything,

"I wanted the diamond purse! The real one, like Tiffany & Co makes! Sabrina's cousin has it, and she's only ten!"

Meagan's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, a tell that Greyson recognized from their childhood. He knew that look his sister was calculating how to explain, yet again, that some things were beyond their current means. The Harrington name still opened doors, still commanded respect in certain circles, but actual liquid assets were becoming increasingly scarce.

Brendan, Meagan's husband, had just lost another major investor the week before. His venture capital firm was hemorrhaging money faster than they could bring it in, and the whispers were starting to circulate in the small, insular world of Cape Town's elite. The Harringtons had old prestige, bloodlines that traced back to the earliest British settlers, but generational wealth had a way of evaporating when not properly managed.

Greyson was contemplating whether to intervene when she walked in.

Cassie Hunter.

Even in a crowd of Cape Town's most beautiful and expensively dressed women, she commanded attention without seeming to try. She wore a simple yellow sundress—probably Ralph Lauren , if Greyson had to guess—that skimmed her curves without clinging, the kind of effortless elegance that came from having access to the world's best stylists and the confidence to trust their judgment.

Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, catching the afternoon sun like spun silk, and she moved with the fluid grace of someone who had never doubted her place in the world.

Jake wasn't with her ,he never was at these family gatherings. Greyson had noticed that pattern over the years, the way Cassie's fiancé always seemed to have pressing business elsewhere whenever there were children involved. It was just one of many small cruelties that Jake inflicted, isolating his future wife from the simple joys that might remind her there was life beyond their toxic relationship.

Cassie carried two elegantly wrapped gift bags, her heels clicking softly against the stone path as she made her way toward the birthday girl. She moved through the crowd of socialites and business moguls with practiced ease, stopping to exchange air kisses and brief pleasantries, but Greyson could see her true focus was on the children.

"Aunt Cassie!"

Isabella's shriek of delight could probably be heard in neighboring suburbs.

Cassie's face transformed as she crouched to the little girl's level, the polite social mask falling away to reveal something genuine and warm underneath. This was the Cassie that Greyson remembered from before her engagement, before Jake had systematically begun crushing the light out of her eyes.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," she said, her voice carrying the kind of affection that couldn't be faked. She handed Isabella the first bag, wrapped in metallic pink paper with an elaborate bow.

Isabella tore into it with the enthusiasm that only children could muster, her gasp of delight echoing across the garden. "THE DIAMOND PURSE! AND THE MATCHING SHOES!" She held up a miniature Judith Leiber rose clutch encrusted with genuine crystals and a pair of tiny designer heels that probably cost more than most adults' entire wardrobes.

"IT'S PERFECT!"

She spun in circles, the princess dress flaring around her like a pale pink cloud, and for a moment the calculating little socialite disappeared, leaving just a genuinely happy eight-year-old girl.

Meagan's face paled as she recognized the designer labels, doing quick mental calculations about what those gifts must have cost. "Cassie, you shouldn't have this is too much."

"It's nothing,"

Cassie said lightly, but Greyson saw the way her gaze flickered across the party, taking in details that others might miss. The slightly frayed edge of one table cloth. The way the servers were being a little too careful with the crystal. The subtle signs that the Harringtons were maintaining appearances while struggling financially.

Her eyes found his son, Liam, who was kicking a soccer ball alone near the perfectly trimmed hedges, away from the main party. At six years old, Liam was already showing signs of the serious, thoughtful nature that would serve him well in life but made him seem older than his years. He'd inherited Greyson's dark hair and serious gray eyes, along with a tendency toward solitude that worried his father sometimes.

Cassie pulled out the second gift bag, this one wrapped in blue and white. "Liam?"

His head snapped up, surprise flickering across his young features. Most adults at these gatherings barely acknowledged the children unless they were performing some sort of entertainment value.

"I heard you like Arsenal ."

Liam's eyes went wide as she handed him the bag. Inside was a limited-edition signed jersey from his favorite player, a rare collector's soccer ball that gleamed like a jewel in the afternoon sun, and what looked like VIP tickets to an upcoming match.

Greyson's throat tightened as he watched his usually reserved son's face light up with pure joy. How did she even know? He'd mentioned Liam's obsession with football exactly once, months ago at a business dinner, and only in passing when someone had asked about his son's interests.

Liam, usually shy around adults he didn't know well, threw his arms around Cassie's waist without hesitation. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he repeated, his voice muffled against her dress.

Cassie laughed, a sound like silver bells, and ruffled his dark hair with genuine fondness. "Anytime, superstar."

That was the moment.

The moment Greyson knew he was completely, irrevocably lost.

It wasn't just her beauty, though she was arguably the most stunning woman in Cape Town. It wasn't even her wealth, though the Hunter fortune could solve the Harrington family's financial problems without her even noticing the expense. It was this the way she saw people, really saw them, and cared enough to act on what she observed.

Watching his son's face transform with pure happiness, seeing Isabella dance with her impossible gifts, witnessing the relief that flickered across Meagan's features Greyson felt something fundamental shift inside his chest. A door he'd kept locked for years suddenly swung wide open, and he was powerless to close it again.

"Quite something, isn't she?"

Greyson turned to find Brendan beside him, his brother-in-law's usually composed face showing signs of strain. Up close, Brendan looked older than his thirty-eight years, the stress of his failing business carved into the lines around his eyes.

"Isabella seems happy,"

Greyson replied carefully, taking a sip of his champagne to buy himself time to regain composure.

Brendan let out a bitter laugh. "Twenty thousand rand worth of gifts will do that." He paused, swirling his own drink. "Cassie just saved my marriage, you know. Meagan's been stressed about not being able to give Isabella everything she wants. This party alone is stretching us thin."

They stood in companionable silence, watching as Cassie helped organize an impromptu game of princess charades with the children. She'd kicked off her designer heels and was dramatically acting out what appeared to be Sleeping Beauty, much to the delight of her young audience.

"She's extraordinary,"

Brendan continued, his voice thoughtful.

"Beautiful, obviously, but it's more than that. The way she remembers details about people, how she anticipates needs before they're even voiced. Jake doesn't deserve her."

Greyson's grip tightened on his glass. "No, he doesn't."

Something in his tone made Brendan glance at him sharply.

"Careful there, brother. That sounded almost proprietary."

"Don't be ridiculous." But even as Greyson said it, he caught a drift of her perfume on the afternoon breeze something subtle and expensive, jasmine and white tea with notes of bergamot and felt his resolve crumble like sand. The scent hit him like a drug, flooding his system with a want so intense it was almost painful.

He was in absolutely no position to fall in love. His past was a minefield of secrets that could destroy not just him, but anyone close to him. The identity he'd built so carefully over the past decade was solid but not unbreachable. There were people who would pay handsomely for information about Marcus Vale's whereabouts, and Greyson Harrington's perfect life could shatter with a single phone call.

More than that, Cassie was engaged. Untouchable. Spoken for by a man who might not love her properly but who would never let her go, not when she represented everything Jake craved beauty, status, and a fortune that dwarfed even his considerable wealth.

But watching her now, seeing the way she moved through his family's world with such natural grace, how she'd managed to bring genuine joy to his son's face with a simple gesture of kindness Greyson realized that logic and reason had become irrelevant.

She had flicked a switch in him, one he hadn't even known existed. Years of careful emotional control, of keeping everyone at arm's length, of never allowing himself to want anything he couldn't have all of it crumbled in the space of a heartbeat.

"Christ,"

he breathed, the admission torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

Brendan followed his gaze to where Cassie was now braiding flowers into Isabella's hair, the two of them laughing at some shared joke

"Ah," he said quietly. "I see."

"See what?"

"The way you're looking at her."

Brendan's voice carried a note of warning.

"Like she's the answer to a question you didn't know you were asking."

Greyson forced himself to look away, but it was already too late. The damage was done. In the space of twenty minutes, Cassie Hunter had managed to do what no one else had accomplished in over a decade she'd made him forget who he was supposed to be and remember who he wanted to become.

"Jake will destroy her," Greyson said, the words escaping before he could stop them.

"Probably."

Brendan finished his champagne and set the glass on a nearby table.

"But that's not your problem to solve, is it?"

Wasn't it? Greyson watched as Cassie stood, smoothing her dress, and caught Liam's hand to lead him back toward the main party. She was laughing at something the boy had whispered to her, her whole face alight with genuine amusement, and Greyson felt something inside him break apart and reassemble itself around this new, terrifying truth.

He was falling in love with a woman he couldn't have, in a life he'd built on lies, with secrets that could destroy them both.

And for the first time in ten years, he didn't care about the consequences.

"Give it time."