Chapter 7- The Night Shift

THREE MONTHS LATER

Cassie never thought she’d end up here.

Not the version of “here” where dreams die in fluorescent lighting and everything smells faintly of grease and cheap beer.

By day, she worked at a cramped downtown office — a data-entry graveyard where people forgot your name but remembered your mistakes. It wasn’t what her degree had promised, but it paid half her bills.

The other half came from Harper’s, a diner that didn’t close until dawn, where the staff ran on caffeine, adrenaline, and resentment.

She’d told herself it was temporary.

That something better would come along once her name cleared.

But it had been three months since she’d been blacklisted by Silverwood Industries and Murphy Magnolia Holdings — three months since every corporate door in L.A. had quietly closed on her. Apparently, when your ex-husband’s family and your father’s company both had reasons to bury you, opportunities disappeared fast.

So here she was — surviving.

The waitstaff at Harper’s wasn’t friendly. They were territorial, always eyeing her like a threat they didn’t understand. Cassie didn’t fit. Her posture, her diction, even the way she wiped down tables — it all rubbed them wrong.

“Smile, new girl,” Tori had warned her the first week. “People tip better when they forget you hate your life.”

Cassie had smiled. She always did.

Tonight, the diner buzzed with its usual energy — drunk laughter spilling from booths, the jukebox crooning some country heartbreak anthem, and the smell of burnt fries hanging like fog. Cassie’s feet ached. She could feel the sweat sticking to her apron, the faint headache that meant she hadn’t eaten since morning.

A group of college kids left a mess at booth five. Another couple was arguing softly near the window. Routine. Predictable.

Until the door opened.

The sound wasn’t loud, but it changed the air. Conversations faltered. The music seemed to dip, like even the speakers needed a second.

Cassie didn’t look up at first — not until Tori’s elbow nudged her side.

“Holy— look at that.”

Two men had just walked in. Both too sharp, too composed to belong anywhere near Harper’s. One wore a charcoal-gray suit that caught the light each time he moved; the other, a deep navy blazer, a smirk already playing on his lips.

They looked like they’d stepped out of a private club and wandered into a mistake.

“Table twelve,” the hostess said quickly, already smoothing her hair. But before she could grab menus, the man in gray — the one with the colder presence — spoke.

“I’ll wait for Cassie Murphy.”

Cassie froze. Her stomach twisted.

He knew her name.

The hostess blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Cassie Murphy,” he repeated, tone even, eyes flicking toward the counter where Cassie stood half-hidden behind the espresso machine. “I’ll wait for her. No one else.”

Every waitress in the room went still.

Tori’s jaw dropped. “Cassie? He asked for you?”

Cassie wished the floor would swallow her whole. “Probably a mistake.”

The hostess didn’t argue. She just gestured weakly toward Cassie. “Uh… she’ll be right over.”

When Cassie turned, the man’s gaze met hers — steady, deliberate. And there it was again, that unmistakable pull. The one she’d tried to ignore the night they first met.

Arden Rhett.

He looked exactly the same; like success personified. Smooth, contained, unreadable. His companion slid into the booth opposite him, easygoing, clearly amused.

Cassie tugged at her apron, trying to flatten the wrinkles, trying to pretend she didn’t care that her skirt was too short or that she looked like a tired extra in her own life.

Her sneakers squeaked against the tile as she walked over.

“Mr. Rhett,” she said finally. “What can I get you?”

His eyes flicked up. “You know I’m not here to eat.”

“Then maybe you should leave. We’re closing soon.”

He tilted his head, studying her face like he was trying to read something in it. “You’ve been hiding.”

“I’ve been working.”

“Working,” he echoed, glancing around at the sticky tables and flickering neon light. “If that’s what you call this.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “You don’t get to judge me.”

He didn’t rise to it. His calmness made it worse. “Three months, Cassie. I gave you three months to cool off. To stand up. Instead, you’re still here. Playing small. That’s not strength. That’s fear.”

Her pulse jumped. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“No,” he said quietly, “but you owe yourself the truth.”

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope, and laid it flat on the table between them.

Arden pulled her down so she was sitting in his booth. “Consider this a nudge in the right direction.”

Cassie frowned. “What is it?”

“The reason everything fell apart.”

Something in his voice made her stomach twist tighter. Slowly, she reached for the envelope, sliding out the pages inside. The words blurred, legal and cold and absolute.

THREE-YEAR AGREEMENT

Parties: Silverwood Industries & Murphy Magnolia Holdings

Subject: Cassidy Quinn Murphy

Purpose: Debt Repayment via Employment & Partnership

Her breath caught. “What is this?”

“The contract,” he said simply. “Payne Murphy owed Silverwood millions. You were the repayment. They dressed it up like a partnership, a chance to ‘strengthen family ties,’ but it was a transaction. You were the asset.”

Her hand shook. “That’s— no, that’s not—”

“The day you signed the divorce papers,” he continued evenly, “was the day your contract expired. Debt cleared. You were no longer useful.”

Cassie’s vision tunneled. Her father. Her husband. Her step-sister. Her whole life — a ledger entry. Days before she caught her husband in bed with her stepsister. This had to be some sort of cruel joke.

She sank onto the seat across from him before her knees gave out. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” His tone didn’t change. “You’ve seen the signatures.”

She pressed her palm to her mouth, a tremor slipping through her body. The betrayal cut so deep it almost didn’t feel real.

Arden watched, silent. Not cruel, not kind — just steady.

When she finally looked up, her eyes were red. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” he said, “you can keep being their victim, or you can remind them what they lost.”

Her laugh came out hollow. “And how exactly do I do that?”

He leaned forward, voice soft but sharp. “Come with me to the Silverwood–Murphy wedding. Walk in with me. Let them see what they threw away.”

Cassie blinked. “You’re serious.”

“I don’t joke about vengeance.”

Her gaze darted to the folder, then back to him. “What’s in it for you?”

His mouth curved faintly. “The Silverwoods and I have unfinished business. Watching them burn is just… good timing.”

She swallowed. “And what’s in it for me?”

“A job,” he said. “At Rhett Industries.”

Her pulse stuttered. “At… Rhett’s?”

He nodded once. “When I said my name was Arden Rhett, what did you think I meant?”

Cassie was in disbelief. She had to ask again for clarity sake. “You’re… you’re the Arden Rhett,” she breathed. “CEO of Rhett Industries.”

The name alone was enough to send a shiver through her. Rhett Industries. The phantom empire that had risen out of nowhere five years ago. Quiet, ruthless, impossible to stop.

Nobody had seen its founder. Not once. But every major company knew his hand when they felt it. The contracts slipping away, the markets folding, the buyouts that came in clean and bloodless.

He had devoured competitors like a shark in dark water. And now he was sitting across from her, offering her a deal.

Cassie’s throat tightened.

It was him.

He was the reason Silverwood nearly went under two years ago. The reason Trent had begged her to use her contacts, her relationships, her name, to secure that last government contract. She had done it. She had saved them then. For what? To be sold like a liability at the first chance they got.

Her gaze fell to the document again.

The neat rows of signatures glared back at her.

Her father’s.

Her husband’s.

Hers.

Her vision blurred. All she could see was the absurdity of it. The girl who once shook hands with board members now refilling coffee cups for drunks.

“The same,” he’d said. Like it meant nothing.

Cassie swallowed hard, and laughed even harder. “Of course you are. Of course it’s you.”

He said nothing, only watched.

“You almost took that contract from us three months ago,” she whispered. Her voice trembled between disbelief and bitter awe. “The one I fought for. You were this close.” She held up her thumb and forefinger. “And you lost because I called in favors.”

Her smile cracked. “Funny how they stopped answering after the scandal. Humans are so damn fickle.”

Her hand clenched around the pages, her knuckles white.

And still, Arden sat there, calm, collected, like a man who’d already won.

“So what do you say, Cassidy?” His voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Do you want to watch them crumble?”

She stared at him — at the man who’d spent five years dismantling giants, who’d come for her now not out of pity but precision.

Rhett Industries wasn’t a company. It was a storm.

And he was asking her to stand at its center.

Cassie looked down at the contract one last time.

Her tears hit the page and vanished into the ink.

For the first time in months, Cassie wasn’t numb.

She was awake. And furious.

They would all pay. Every last one of them.