Chapter- 13 The Ghost of Cassandra

The room was still, unnaturally so. There was only the hum of the city outside the glass walls, punctuated now and then by the soft clatter of a car or the hum of a street vendor far beneath. Alexander sat back in his chair, trying to calm the racing heartbeat in his chest. There was something alive, something tight, in every nerve of his body, and he couldn't understand why, couldn't sense anything except what was brewing, and he couldn't sense anything except that it was something he couldn't see, couldn't touch, and couldn't escape. Isabella had withdrawn from the room moments before, hastily escaping to change her soaked garments, and he was left alone with his own anxiety's ghost.

He closed his eyes, trying to breathe, to think, but the tension in the air denied him the ability to do so. His mind kept circling back around the person he never wanted to see again Cassandra. His mental picture of the scowl on her face, the ice-cold precision of her tongue, and her capability of insinuating her way into his life years ago now burrowed its way back into his world.

Then his phone buzzed on the desk.

Alexander stood still. The screen flickered alive by a text message from an unknown number:

"See you discovered your little distraction. Don't forget who you belong to."

A shudder went through his chest. He recognized that tone immediately. venomous. Cold. Cassandra's. Her spirit was pervasive in the letter, haunting and deliberate. His chest tightened, a jolt of rage and fear running through him, but he forced himself to focus. He couldn't give her the luxury of seeing him falter.

He typed back, hands calm though thunder raged through his head:

"You can't say anything to me. Mind your own business."

The response was immediate, intentional, taunting:

"Nothing? It's you who can't be trusted. It's you he's afraid of. And I'm not finished yet. Be on guard, Alexander."

The room pulled in around him, air thickening as if it had swallowed the danger in her statement. His muscles tightened up. Cassandra was no longer of the past; she was here, casting a shadow over the vulnerable balance he had so laboriously created for himself and for Isabella. Her return was a storm he was not ready for, and it was there to tear up the life he was rebuilding slowly for himself and for Isabella.

Footsteps approached softly, and Isabella stepped into the room, wearing a dry coat. Her hair was damp and sparkled dully under the office lights, her appearance calm and natural. She saw his eyes right away, big and filled with alarm, registering the tension he was projecting.

"Alexander … what's wrong?" She inquired, her tone a combination of anxiety and fear.

He presented his cell, the screen shining harshly on his rigid face. Her eyes widened on the text, and without thinking, she pressed her nails slightly into his arm, holding him fast with her touch.

"Cassandra…," she was shaking, her voice barely audible. "She's back. I knew she would not relinquish so easily."

He pulled her into his arms involuntarily, his jaw set in decisiveness. "I will not let her touch us. Not her. Not anyone," he said, past betrayals kindling fire in his resolve.

Her hands against his chest, tracing the rhythm of his heartbeat. "We can battle her together," she whispered. "You no longer need fight her alone."

It was the first time there was a chink in the almost impenetrable armor of Alexander. "I tried so hard to keep everyone at arm's length. I never would have dreamed of … protecting someone else so badly," he confessed.

"No dreams," she answered softly, her eyes never leaving his own. "I am here. And I will not flee."

He drew her near, and the heat of her resolve enfolded him, hardened around him, like armor. Outside, the storm might have blown over, but inside, something more sinister was brewing. Cass's influence was still out there, lurking, measuring, biding its time, ready to strike at the place it would most damage.

And somewhere in the city, Cassandra smiled, her eyes glinting as she stared at her own phone. Poised, lethal, she knew exactly which buttons to push, which fears to exploit, and she was ready.

But what Cassandra didn't know, what was incapable of being known by her, was that Alexander was no longer the same person who was left behind. He had Isabella now—a woman who would never give in to fear, a woman who would stand up for him at any cost. Together, they would stand up against Cassandra. And this time, they would not break.

The countdown was on. And things would never remain the same again.