Deposited Money

Cassandra woke to the feeling of Dante's arm draped across her waist, his breath warm against her neck. The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden. She turned in his arms, watching him sleep. His face was relaxed, peaceful. The tight lines that had been etched there for days had finally softened.

She reached out, her fingers tracing his jaw. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Good morning," she whispered.

His lips curved into a slow smile. "Good morning." He pulled her closer, his voice rough with sleep. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep. I was too busy watching you."

He laughed softly. "Creep."

"Romantic."

They lay there for a while, tangled together, not speaking. The silence was comfortable. Peaceful. Dante was lighter today. The watch had grounded him. The forgiveness, even if tentative, had freed something in him.

But Cassandra could feel the weight of something else pressing down on her. Something she'd been ignoring for days.

Dante must have sensed it too. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"The future. What happens next." She paused, her voice quiet. "We still don't know who killed my mother. We still don't know the whole truth."

Dante was quiet for a moment. Then he reached for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a stack of documents. "I found something."

Cassandra sat up, her heart pounding. "What?"

"A bank account," he said, handing her the papers. "In your name. Opened over twenty years ago."

She stared at the documents, her mind spinning. "Twenty years ago? I was a baby. I don't—" She shook her head, confusion flooding through her. "I've never heard of this. I've never had that kind of money."

Dante's jaw tightened. "I know. That's why I started looking into it."

"You've been investigating?"

"I wanted to know who opened it and why. I called my lawyers, my contacts. I'm not stopping until I find out who did this."

---

Dante spent the hours making calls, sending emails, digging deeper. Cassandra watched him, a mixture of curiosity and unease swirling in her chest. She didn't like the feeling that there were more secrets—more things hidden from her. More lies.

Finally, he found something. The trail led to a lawyer named Mr. Harrington. He was an elderly man, soft-spoken, with kind eyes. He had handled Grace Hayes's affairs before she died. And he was still alive. Still practicing.

Dante arranged a meeting. He tried to convince Cassandra to come with him. But the emotional weight of everything had caught up with her. She felt drained, hollow.

"I can't do this right now, Dante," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I'm too tired. I just... I need a break. Maybe another day."

Dante didn't push. He pulled her into his arms, his hand stroking her hair. "Okay. Another day. We'll go when you're ready."

She nodded, leaning into him. "Thank you. For understanding."

"Always."

---

Later in that evening, Samantha visited.

She arrived at the cottage with a basket of fresh fruit and a smile that could light up a room. Cassandra hugged her tightly, relieved to see her friend.

"Look at you," Sam said, pulling back to study her face. "You look different. Happier. Softer."

Cassandra laughed. "I feel different."

Sam's eyes narrowed playfully. "I know you're involved with him. I just hope you aren't pregnant."

Cassandra groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Sam!"

"What? It's a valid question! You're living with a man in a secluded cottage. Things happen."

Cassandra laughed, shaking her head. "Sam, I'm a sharp girl. I'm doing exactly what I need to do to prevent that. Trust me."

Sam sighed in relief. "Good. Because you're too young to be a mother right now."

"I know."

Then they settled onto the sofa, catching up. Sam asked about everything—the cottage, Dante, the danger. She asked about Dante's aunt, the one who used to torment Cassandra.

"She left," Cassandra said simply. "Finally. After everything, she just packed up and left."

"Thank goodness." Sam shook her head. "That woman was a nightmare."

Cassandra smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Sam noticed. Her expression softened. "I'm surprised you're not asking about school."

Cassandra's smile faded. She looked down at her hands. "It makes me sad to think about it. I feel like I'm missing out on everything. On graduating. On being normal."

Sam reached out, squeezing her hand. "You'll get there. I know you will. You're the strongest person I know."

Cassandra blinked back tears. "I don't feel strong."

"You don't have to feel it. You just have to be it."

They talked for a while longer, about nothing and everything. Then Sam had to leave. Cassandra walked her to the door, hugging her tightly.

"Take care of yourself," Sam said. "And call me when you need me."

"I will."

---

Cassandra stayed alone after Sam left.

The cottage felt quieter, emptier. She walked to her room, her mind drifting. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sam's words echoed in her head.

I hope you aren't pregnant.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I can't be pregnant now. I'm too young. I'm not ready. Not while things are happening like this."

She pressed her hands to her stomach, imagining what it would mean. A baby. A life that would depend on her. A life she couldn't protect.

She pushed the thought away. She wasn't ready. She might never be ready.

As she drifted toward sleep, her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

You think you're safe. You're not.

Her blood ran cold. She sat up, her heart pounding. They were still watching. They were still coming.

She didn't show Dante. She didn't want to disturb his peace. She just sat in the darkness, staring at the phone.

They'd never stop. Not until she found the truth.