Rewriting Fate I’ll Never Love You Again

Isadora’s POV

Cassian was sprawled across my bed like a fallen angel, half-conscious, his shirt rumpled and fingers reaching out to me with a drunken slur of my name.

“Isadora?” he murmured, eyes barely open. “Why are you standing so far away?”

The sound of his voice—so familiar, so heartbreakingly intimate—made my chest tighten.

I froze.

This was it. The moment everything went wrong in my past life.

Cassian smiled, slow and lazy, as he tugged at the buttons of his shirt. “Come on, Isadora.”

He looked like sin and temptation and everything I used to want.

But I knew better now. I didn’t move closer. I took a step back instead.

In my past life, Damian—my brother—had handed me that glass of whiskey tonight with a knowing smile. He knew I had a crush on Cassian, his dangerous, untouchable mafia friend.

He’d poured Cassian a drink. Said it was to loosen him up.

“If he doesn’t love you,” Damian had whispered, “What’s the harm in a one-night stand?”

Back then, I’d been naïve. I’d believed Cassian and I were the perfect match.

He was the ruthless king of the mafia world. I was the daughter of Manhattan’s most powerful casino mogul.

Together, we could’ve ruled New York.

So I went along with my brother’s plan, got myself overwhelmed by the fantasy that Cassian actually wanted me. I’d let him—when he kissed me, when his hands slid under my clothes.

One night. That’s all it took. One night led to a pregnancy. And then a rushed proposal from the ever-honorable Cassian.

I thought love would grow from responsibility. That he’d come to love me the way I loved him.

But Cassian left the day I gave birth. Vanished for five long years.

When he finally returned, he wasn’t alone. He brought Alessia—his first love, his forever, the one he’d abandoned us for.

She hated me. Hated our son, Leo.

She gave him a choice: her, or us. But before he could choose, she disappeared.

And Cassian stayed. I thought he chose us, chose to be with our son. So we played the house, perfectly.

Until Leo’s sixth birthday. We were on the highway, headed to dinner. The brakes gave out. The car spun. Smoke. Screams.

Cassian got out. And he locked the door behind him.

That was when I realized he had never forgiven me for Alessia’s disappearance. He never loved me. Not truly.

Back in this moment. Given a second chance by whatever cruel god watched my life unravel.

And this time, I wasn’t going to waste it.

I was going to give Cassian exactly what he wanted—Alessia.

I found his phone and scrolled through until I saw her name. I hit dial. “Alessia? Cassian’s passed out in my room. He’s wasted. You should come get him.”

Cassian stirred on the bed, murmuring something I couldn’t quite hear.

…

Fifteen minutes later, Alessia swept into my bedroom like a storm in heels—eyes narrowed, face pale with suspicion.

“Everyone knows you’ve been mooning over Cassian for years,” she snapped, arms crossed like a challenge. “He’s in your bed. Alone. On your birthday. And instead of seducing him, you called me? What are you playing at, Isadora? Are you really that virtuous… or just plotting something?”

I didn’t have the patience for her theatrics.

“There’s no time for your paranoia,” I said flatly. “Cassian’s drunk and unconscious. Get him out of my room. I don’t care if you drag him home or toss him in a cab. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want him waking up in another woman’s bed, would you?”

Alessia shot me a razor-sharp glance but didn’t argue. She walked over and looped Cassian’s arm over her shoulder, struggling under his weight. They made it to the hallway before he collapsed like a felled tree.

“He’s too drunk,” she huffed. “We’ll stay in the guest room.”

“Down the hall, to the left,” I muttered. “Knock yourselves out.”

As long as it’s Alessia, I told myself. Then everything will go differently this time.

“Help me get him up,” Alessia barked. “I can’t carry him alone.”

“Of course,” I said quietly and moved to help.

Cassian barely stayed upright between us.

When we finally got him onto the guest bed, Cassian landed face-down with a soft groan. His suit was still immaculate. Not a hair out of place.

“You didn’t even try to kiss him, did you?” Alessia arched a brow as she straightened her blouse. “Didn’t even sneak a taste?”

I swallowed hard. “He’s all yours now.”

I left before she could say anything else.

Moments later, the muffled sound of kissing floated down the hallway. Then moaning. Laughter. The telltale rustle of sheets.

I froze. I told myself I didn’t care anymore. But the sounds still stabbed at something inside me.

Needles. Tiny, invisible ones pricking right through my resolve.

I ran.

I didn’t look back.

Enjoy your night with her, Cassian, I thought.

I gave her back to you. Just like you always wanted.

…

I had underestimated the effects of a whiskey.

By the time I hit the street, my head spun and my stomach twisted in knots.

Then it came the heels wobbling and the vision blurring. I stopped at the corner, clutching a street sign for balance.

The neighborhood was unfamiliar—gritty and shadowed. The only building with lights on was a strip club flashing RUBY in red neon.

Classy.

I checked my pockets. No phone. Just some cash. No Damian to call for a rescue. Brilliant.

Between the sleazy alley and the strip club, I picked the lesser evil.

Inside, Ruby was dark, smoky, and pulsing with bass. The music vibrated through my ribs. I made my way to the bar, weaving through bodies and stray glitter.

“Water?” I asked the bartender, blinking up at him. “Or something not alcoholic?”

He gave me a slow, amused grin. “You’re in the wrong place for that, pretty. But hang tight—I’ll check the back.”

I nodded, gripping the counter to keep from tipping over.

Trying to find a seat, I stumbled near a booth—and tripped. Landed straight onto someone’s lap. A very expensive, very male lap.

He looked too clean-cut to belong here. Buttoned shirt, dark jacket, sharp jawline. And god help me, he was gorgeous.

“I—sorry,” I mumbled, half-dazed. “You work here?”

“Yes,” He adjusted slightly, his pants cool against my bare legs. “Are you alone? Need me to call someone for you?”

“No,” I said quickly—and then, without thinking, I pressed my fingers over his mouth. “Today’s my birthday. I don’t want to go home yet…”

His eyes lifted to mine—dark, unreadable, and devastatingly intense. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he peeled my hand away from his lips.

“Have you been drinking all night, Isadora?” he asked, voice low, almost intimate.

“You know me?” I blinked, trying to sit up straighter and get a better look at him. The room tilted, and my lips—without warning—crashed into his.