Chapter 4

"What’s your problem?” I lunged forward instinctively, fury surging as juice dripped down my clothes—but an arm shot out and stopped me before I could reach her.

“You’re the problem,” the customer snapped back.

The disdain in her eyes was sharp and deliberate, as if she had been waiting for this moment. I didn’t recognize her at all—I was certain we’d never met—but the hatred she wore was unmistakable.

“You’re an eyesore,” she sneered, her lips curling in disgust.

Then she turned to my manager, her voice rising, cutting, merciless.

“Why would you even hire a thief like her? She seduced her sister’s boyfriend and slept with him. What a shameless bitch.”

The words slammed into me one after another, leaving no room to breathe.

That was when it clicked.

Now I understood why she had been glaring at me since earlier, why her entire group had watched my every move as I served them. They knew who I was. Or rather—they knew the version of me the world believed in, like the other customers who showed me the same disgust.

They are all self-proclaimed protectors of Mirriam and Ashton’s love story.

And I was the villain they all loved to hate.

I stood there, frozen, utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say to rebuke her—nothing that wouldn’t sound like another lie in their ears. How could I blame them, when everyone had already decided who I was?

To them, I wasn’t a victim. I was the woman who ruined a perfect romance.

One night. One mistake. And it was a sentence I seemed doomed to serve for the rest of my life.

"Aren’t you ashamed to still show your face in Bay City?”

The woman seated at one of the café tables sneered openly, her voice loud enough to draw every eye in the room.

“The Knowles family gave you a roof over your head. Mr. and Mrs. Knowles took you in, gave you their name, and Miss Mirriam treated you like a sister—despite the fact that you’re only their maid’s daughter.”

Her words were sharp, deliberate, each one meant to wound.

“And this is how you repay them?” she continued venomously. “With betrayal? You’re not even worthy to breathe the same air they breathe, or step on the ground they walk on.”

I stood frozen at the center of the café, unable to move, unable to lift my head. My feet felt rooted to the floor, my throat locked tight as I avoided every gaze turned in my direction. The silence around me was heavy, judgmental—thick with unspoken agreement.

I felt sick.

Not just from the humiliation—but from the lie they all believed so easily.

I wasn’t adopted by the Knowles. I wasn’t a charity case born of their compassion.

I am a Knowles.

The daughter my father never wanted the world to know about.

The living proof of his betrayal to his wife.

And yet, in their eyes, I was nothing more than an ungrateful outsider who had bitten the hand that fed her.

I swallowed hard, the truth burning in my chest—unseen, unheard, and unwanted.

"Let me handle this, Cassidy. Go to the staff room.”

My manager’s voice left no room for argument, and I obeyed immediately, turning away before anyone could see how badly my hands were shaking.

For almost a month now, these assaults had become a cruel routine—ever since my first day working here. Whispers, glares, thrown insults… and lately, thrown drinks. I was endlessly grateful for my manager’s patience, and for the few coworkers who quietly stood by me, but this couldn’t keep happening. I could endure a lot—but not forever.

Inside the staff room, the door closed softly behind me.

I walked straight to the large mirror mounted on the wall. The reflection staring back at me was pitiful.

My hair hung in damp, tangled strands, still dripping with sticky juice. It clung to my cheeks, my neck. My uniform was soaked from collar to hem, the fabric darkened and heavy, right down to my shoes.

I barely recognized myself. The misery etched into my reflection only deepened the ache in my chest, making it harder to breathe.

Is this my punishment? I wondered bitterly. For a mistake—one I had been a victim of as much as Mirriam and Ashton?

The girl in the mirror didn’t look like a seductress, a villainess. She looked tired. Broken.

"Cassidy.”

I flinched when my manager barged into the staff room.

“This can’t keep happening,” he said bluntly. “The café will suffer.”

There was no anger in his tone—just exhaustion, the weight of a problem he had tried to shield me from for as long as he could.

“I understand, sir.”

I bowed my head instinctively and swallowed hard. Somewhere along the way—since the scandal broke—I had developed the habit of lowering my gaze, of folding in on myself as if constantly bracing for punishment. As if submission might soften the blow.

Silence settled between us. I heard him sigh.

“You’re a good girl, Cassidy,” he said more gently. “I’ve never had a staff member as devoted and patient as you.”

His words were meant to comfort, to ease the heaviness pressing down on us both—but they only made my chest tighten.

“But this can’t go on,” he continued, another weary sigh escaping him. “These days, customers don’t come here just to dine anymore. They come to see you.”

He paused.

“To retaliate on behalf of your sister.”

The truth of it hit harder than any thrown drink.

I lowered my head further, fingers curling tightly in my damp uniform. I had known this moment would come. No matter how hard I worked, no matter how quietly I endured, my presence had become a spectacle—a problem the café couldn’t afford.

"I understand, sir. You’ve helped me so much already. Thank you.”

I nodded, forcing the words out while fighting back the tears threatening to spill. My chest felt tight, heavy with gratitude and quiet despair.

“I’ll prepare your final salary,” he said gently. “I’m sorry, Cassidy.”

He let out another weary sigh before turning away.

And just like that, it was over.

After he handed me my last pay, I left the café without a word—torn, broken, and utterly exhausted.

On my way back to the tiny room I had rented, I passed by an appliance store. My steps slowed… then stopped.

A large television in the display window caught my eye.

Bright lights. Cameras. Familiar faces.

“So, are we waiting for the official announcement of the engagement, Miss Mirriam?” a reporter asked.

Cheers and playful teasing erupted from the surrounding media, their excitement filling the street even through the glass.

“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” Mirriam replied smoothly, her smile practiced and flawless.

“Ashton and I are both focused on our respective careers. I’ll also be busy with my training at Knowles Corporation.”

“But this vacation abroad with CEO Ashton Pierce comes at a very timely moment—especially after the scandal,” another reporter pressed, blunt and fearless.

A hush fell. Cameras shifted. Anxious glances darted toward Ashton standing beside her.

“Well,” Mirriam said lightly, turning to him, “we decided a short getaway would help us refresh our minds.”

Ashton didn’t respond. He only stood there, composed, unreadable—wearing the same inscrutable expression he always did.

They looked perfect together. A picture of success. Of unity. Of a future already written.

Even I thought so.

Never—not once—had it crossed my mind to come between them. I had accepted my place long ago. But that one unfortunate night had changed everything.

If only I could turn back time, I would never have gone home that night.

“We are still trying to cope with what happened recently,” Madame Rima said on the screen, her voice heavy, her expression carefully worn with sorrow.

“I never expected that I had raised a snake in my household—one that bit us all the moment she found the chance.”

Her words drew murmurs of sympathy from everyone around her. Heads nodded. Faces softened. Pity bloomed exactly where it was meant to.

“But still,” she continued gently, “I don’t regret raising her. Even if she hadn’t insisted on leaving, we were prepared to give her another chance—just as we did so many times before, when she repeatedly failed at school.”

I almost laughed.

The sound caught painfully in my throat, bitter and hollow. Every word she spoke was a lie dressed up as mercy, carefully crafted to earn admiration and compassion. And the world swallowed it whole.

“Cassidy Knowles is ungrateful,” one reporter declared angrily. “She doesn’t deserve to carry the Knowles name.”

Then my father spoke.

“With how she repaid our compassion,” he said coldly, without hesitation, “Cassidy Knowles is dead to us.”

“No…” The word slipped out of me in a broken whisper as I stared at the screen in horror.

I had thought I’d already endured the worst heartbreak imaginable that night—the accusations, the rejection, the abandonment.

I was wrong.

My legs gave out, the strength draining from them all at once, and I slowly sank down onto the pavement. The exhaustion hit me without warning—heavy, crushing, unbearable. Even tears denied me.

I pulled my knees close and rested my forehead against them right there on the sidewalk, unbothered by the people passing by, to the curious glances or hurried footsteps around me. In that moment, none of it mattered.

I just knew I couldn’t take another step.

I needed this pause—a moment of rest—before everything inside me completely gave way.

****tbc****