Chapter 4

•Cassie POV•

Tamara rushed to meet me, quickly shoving her phone into her pocket. Her eyes darted over my face, wide with worry. “How could Scott be this heartless? Jeez, he’s Layla’s fiancé and worst of all, you’ve been planning the wedding for a month now.”

My gaze dropped, and tears stung my eyes again. They slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I sniffled and wiped my face with the back of my hand. Tamara sat close, her arm brushing mine.

“It’s fine, Tammy,” I whispered, though my voice shook. “I’m going to get over him.”

She gave me a soft, almost broken smile. “I know you will. And when you’re over him, we’re going to sabotage their wedding.”

I sniffled, Tamara’s words pulling a small smile from me before the reality sank in again. When I’d sent her a message earlier, I hadn’t shared much about what happened. Even when she asked, I just told her I’d explain once I got to her place. Thinking back now, I realized I hadn’t paid much attention to her mom’s sympathetic hug, it almost felt like they already knew what had happened.

I turned toward her. “How did you know?” My voice was hoarse. “I didn’t tell you about what happened.”

Tamara’s face pinched, her eyes glistening. “Cassie…” she stammered, avoiding my stare.

My heart kicked hard against my ribs. “Did you know from the start that Layla’s husband was Scott?” I asked, bracing myself for another crack in my chest.

She shook her head quickly. “No, jeez. But…” Her throat bobbed. “I don’t think I’m the only one who knows now.”

Tamara pulled out her phone. My stomach dropped. A wave of dread rolled through me as the screen lit up with the New York celebrity tabloid. The bold headline screamed at me:

Wedding Planner: Cassie Newman Got Served.

I pressed a hand to my chest.

The video played, the lady in it smug voice filling the air. “New York’s best wedding planner, Cassie Newman, got a shock of her life today at a ring store. She’s been planning Layla Ken’s wedding for over a month, only to find out this morning that Layla’s fiancé is her own husband…”

My head spun. My ears rang as if the words were knives slicing through. Everything I worked for, everything I guarded so carefully, was falling apart in the ugliest way possible, and the whole city knew about it.

I bent forward, clutching my knees. My breaths came sharp and uneven.

“Calm down, Cassie,” Tamara whispered, rubbing my arm. “You’ll be fine. People will move on to another story soon.”

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “Too late, Tamara. How can I be calm? My life is ruined. What am I supposed to do now?” My voice cracked, my palms pressing hard against my face.

“We’ll figure something out,” she mumbled, though I heard the doubt in her tone.

Mrs. Brown broke the silence as she walked in carrying a tray. She set down a steaming cup on the table and said, “If you ask me, I’d say leave New York. Go to another country with Tamara and start over like none of this ever happened.”

“Mom, that’s not helping,” Tamara shot back.

“What?” Mrs. Brown raised a brow. “You know how gossip works. It sticks until something new replaces it. The only way Cassie can heal is if she’s away from here, away from reminders of her past.”

“Mom, even if…” Tamara sighed. “I don’t think Cassie wants to leave. Everything she’s built is here. How can she—”

“I’ll go.” My voice was low but steady enough to cut her off.

Both of them stared at me.

“Are you sure, Cassie?” Tamara whispered.

My eyes burned from all the crying, but I forced myself to meet hers. “Yes. Your mom is right. There’s nothing left for me here. I can’t stay in New York, not like this. I don’t want to be Cassie Newman anymore.”

Tamara’s lips parted. Her worried look reminded me of the way Scott used to stare when he thought I was breaking apart. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll go with you.”

“You have my support, Cassie,” Mrs. Brown said gently, patting my back.

I sniffled. “Thank you, Mrs. Brown.”

“Alright, enough tears,” Tamara said, flicking her fingers like she always did when switching moods. “If we’re going to another country, I'm thinking Paris, we need to get you ready. Makeover, new clothes. And goodbye to wedding planning.”

Her sudden excitement tugged a small smile out of me. I let her pull me up.

Hours later, after Tamara’s endless list of changes, I found myself standing in front of a full-length mirror at the boutique. A stranger stared back. My dark hair was gone, replaced with short blonde curls. My lashes were longer, my nails glowed with polish, and the black skirt hugged me tighter than anything I’d worn before. A cropped hoodie sat loosely over it, showing more skin than I liked.

“Jeez, Tamara, I’m not sixteen,” I muttered, tugging at the skirt hem. My heart still ached beneath all the paint and fabric.

Tamara bit her lip, then grinned. “Well, you are now. If you don’t want anyone to recognize you, you have to look different from the classy lady you used to be. And just so you know, the first thing we’re doing in Paris is hitting the clubs.”

I turned back to the mirror. My chest tightened as I studied the reflection. My life had cracked open in one day, and yet here I was, dressed as someone I wasn’t sure I could be.

“Come on, Cassie,” Tamara said softly. “You deserve to enjoy every bit of your life. And have you figured out your new name?”

Her words echoed in my head. I pressed my lips together, staring at my new look in the glass. The hurt was still there, deep and raw. But beneath it, something stirred, a quiet relief I hadn’t felt in years.

I traced a fingertip along the mirror’s edge, as if the glass itself could steady me. The woman staring back wasn’t the broken Cassie who was the top gossip for town, she was someone new. 

For the first time in a long while, I let myself believe it.

“Yeah,” I whispered to my reflection. “Maybe I do.”