Meeting Her

Cassandra woke to the sound of beeping machines.

Her eyes fluttered open, the fluorescent lights stabbing at her pupils like needles. She tried to move, but her limbs were heavy—weighted down by exhaustion and whatever drugs were pumping through her veins. Her throat was raw. Her mouth tasted like copper and antiseptic.

She turned her head slowly, the movement costing her more effort than it should have.

Dante was there.

He was slumped in a chair beside her bed, his head resting on his hand, his eyes closed. He looked terrible—unshaven, pale, dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days.

He must have sensed her movement, because his eyes snapped open. The moment he saw her awake, his face crumpled—relief and fear and love all crashing together at once.

"Cassandra." His voice cracked. He was on his feet in an instant, his hands cupping her face. "You're awake. You're awake."

She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn't cooperate. She tried to speak, but her throat was too raw.

"Don't talk," he said quickly. "Just rest. You're safe. You're safe."

---

Dante told her everything.

He sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, his voice low and steady. He told her about Jane—about the poison, about the betrayal, about the antidote. He told her about Marco's investigation, about the security footage, about the confession.

Cassandra listened, her heart sinking with every word.

Jane. The one person in the mansion she'd trusted. The one who'd brought her tea, held her hand, promised to protect her. The one who'd smiled at her like a friend.

Why? she wanted to ask. But the word wouldn't come.

---

Days passed.

Cassandra grew stronger. The antidote worked—slowly, but it worked. She was able to sit up, then walk, then eat solid food. The doctors were amazed by her recovery. They said she was lucky.

She didn't feel lucky. She felt hollow.

Dante never left her side. He slept in the chair beside her bed, his hand wrapped around hers. He held her through every test, every procedure. He told her he loved her a hundred times a day.

She believed him. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was still wrong.

---

Cassandra was discharged from the hospital a week later.

Dante took her to a new house—a smaller one, on the outskirts of the city. It was quiet, peaceful, surrounded by trees. Nothing like the mansion. Nothing like the place where Jane had tried to kill her.

The staff was new. The security was doubled. The house was safe.

But Cassandra couldn't sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jane's face. The smile. The coldness. The hatred.

She needed to understand. She needed to know why.

"I want to see her," Cassandra said.

Dante looked up from the papers he was reading. "What?"

"Jane. I want to see her."

"No." His voice was firm. "Absolutely not."

Cassandra crossed the room, sitting beside him. She took his hand.

"I need to understand," she said quietly. "I need to know why she did it. I need to look her in the eye and ask her."

Dante stared at her. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark.

"She tried to kill you."

"I know. But I need closure. I need to face her."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Okay. I'll take you."

---

The holding facility was cold and gray.

Cassandra sat in a small room, a glass partition separating her from the other side. She waited, her hands clasped in her lap, her heart pounding.

Then the door opened. Jane was led in.

She looked different—smaller, paler, stripped of the warmth and kindness she'd worn like a mask. She sat across from Cassandra, her eyes meeting hers through the glass.

"Hello, Cassandra," she said. Her voice was flat. Empty.

"Jane." Cassandra's voice was steady. "Why?"

Jane smiled.

It was cold, cruel—nothing like the warm smiles she'd given Cassandra in the mansion.

"Because you took everything from me," she said.

"I didn't take anything from you."

"You took everything." Jane leaned forward, her eyes blazing. "My mother worked for the Morettis. She was a servant—just like me. Vincent fired her. Falsely accused her of theft. She died penniless, broken. And no one cared."

Cassandra's heart ached. "I'm sorry. But that wasn't my fault."

"It was your family's fault." Jane's voice was sharp. "Your fiancé's family. The Morettis destroyed my mother. So I decided to destroy them."

---

Jane told her everything.

She'd been planning this for years. She'd infiltrated the mansion, gained Cassandra's trust, waited for the perfect moment. The poison was slow-acting—designed to make Cassandra suffer before she died.

"I was going to kill you," Jane said. "But then I realized—watching you suffer was better. Watching Dante suffer was better."

Cassandra's hands trembled. "You're a monster."

Jane laughed. "So are you. You just don't know it yet."

Cassandra stood.

Her legs were unsteady, but she forced herself to stay upright. She looked at Jane—really looked at her. The hatred in her eyes. The coldness in her smile.

"I'm not a monster," Cassandra said quietly. "And I'm not you."

Then, she turned and walked out.