Chapter 4

Cassian's voice dripped with a devotion that could fool anyone.

I looked at him quietly.

Paris.

Three years ago in the fall, Bianca spent a whole week in Paris, spamming photos. One was taken in the rain on the Champs-élysées. The camera didn't catch the man's face, only an arm holding a black umbrella over her.

At that exact time, I had asked to go to Paris.

But Cassian gave me a pained look and pulled me into a hug.

"Aria, there's a syndicate war in Europe right now. Your safety means more to me than my own life. Next time, I'll take you."

He still hasn't taken me.

Turns out he wasn't busy; he was simply taking his mistress on vacation.

His "protection" was just a flawless excuse. The endless "next times" were lies.

Once it all clicked, the dull ache vanished. Only cold peace remained.

I let go of his wrist.

"Okay," I said softly. "Go handle it. Be safe."

Cassian let out a breath of relief.

"Good girl. Get some sleep."

He turned and strode out the door.

The penthouse fell dead silent.

I stood up, dragged the trash bag back out, and swept everything inside.

Finally, my eyes landed on a small velvet box on the nightstand.

Inside lay a blood-red prayer rosary.

When I was in my coma, he supposedly knelt in a Sicilian church, trading his bleeding knees for this very rosary.

I used to treat it like a talisman, thinking it carried his divine protection.

But in reality, it was just a dirty prop to cover up his affair.

Without hesitation, I tossed it straight into the bag.

Next morning, 7:00 AM.

The lock clicked. Cassian was back.

The heavy gardenia smell punched my nose. He looked tired, but his eyes carried the lazy satisfaction of a man who'd spent the whole night getting off.

He walked into the closet, then froze.

Half the wardrobe was empty.

"Aria?" He walked out. "Why did you clear out your clothes?"

He didn't suspect a thing. To him, I was a foolish woman wrapped around his finger.

"They're out of season. I'm donating them." I sat at the marble island, drinking black coffee.

Cassian smiled fondly. "You're always so sweet."

He stepped up to kiss my forehead, but his phone rang. A FaceTime from Bianca.

Cassian didn't hang up. He walked out to the balcony, not even bothering to close the glass door.

He was so damn sure I would never eavesdrop on his "family business."

The breeze brought Bianca's whiny voice inside.

"Cassian, the wedding dress arrived." On the screen, she was wearing a pristine couture gown. "But the waist is too tight."

Cassian leaned against the railing and chuckled.

His fatigue vanished. "That's what you get for eating all those desserts last night."

"Should I have them let it out a bit?"

"No need." Cassian's voice dropped, pure lust lacing his words. "Wear it in bed for me tonight. I'll peel it off you myself."

The call ended.

Cassian pushed the door open, his lust-filled smile instantly switching back to the mild warmth of a perfect husband.

"Sorry, some trouble over in Europe." He straightened his collar.

I set down my coffee cup.

Calmly, I slid a document across the counter. It was tucked inside the family's quarterly financial report.

It was the divorce papers I had my lawyer draft overnight.

Cassian didn't even look. He assumed it was a routine authorization and signed it.

His head was filled with Bianca waiting in a wedding dress tonight.

He checked his watch and ruffled my hair.

"Aria, I'll give you anything you want. Once this blows over, we're going to Paris."