The Dress she Didn't Choose

Morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and gray.

Cassandra lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the cameras flashing, heard the whispers, felt Dante's lips on hers.

And then she saw the text message.

Congratulations on the engagement. Too bad it won't last.

She sat up slowly, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her eyes landed on the dress hanging on the door—the beautiful blue gown she'd worn to the gala. It shimmered in the morning light, elegant and expensive.

She hadn't chosen it. Dante had. Just like everything else in her life now.

Her clothes. Her safety. Her future.

All chosen by someone else.

Cassandra swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was tired of being a puppet. Tired of pretending she was fine when she was falling apart inside.

She dressed quickly in jeans and a simple sweater. No makeup. No pretense. Just her.

She needed air.

---

The garden was quiet, the morning mist still clinging to the flowers.

Cassandra sat on a stone bench, staring at nothing. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and frustration. She felt trapped. Caged. Like a bird with clipped wings.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel. She didn't look up.

"Emma." Dante's voice was soft. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." The word came out flat.

He sat beside her. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her face.

"You're not fine," he said quietly. "You haven't been fine since the gala."

Cassandra finally looked at him. His face was hard, controlled. But there was something in his eyes—something almost tender.

"I'm tired," she admitted. "I'm tired of pretending. Tired of being afraid."

"Then stop pretending."

She laughed bitterly. "It's not that simple."

"I know." He reached out, his hand covering hers. "But you don't have to do this alone. I'm here."

She stared at their joined hands. His fingers were warm against hers.

"I know," she whispered. "I just don't know how to let you in."

---

The front doorbell rang, echoing through the mansion.

Cassandra looked up, startled. No one ever visited the mansion. Not without warning.

She walked to the front door and opened it.

Samantha stood on the doorstep, her arms crossed, her eyes blazing.

"Sam?" Cassandra's heart lurched. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw the headlines." Samantha's voice was sharp. "Engaged? To a man twice your age? And you didn't even tell me?"

Cassandra's throat tightened. "Sam, I can explain—"

"You better." Samantha pushed past her into the mansion. "Start talking."

They sat in Cassandra's room, the door closed.

Cassandra told Samantha everything. The necklace. The attack. The fake engagement. The danger.

Samantha listened in silence, her face growing paler with every word.

When Cassandra finished, Samantha reached out and took her hands.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't know."

Cassandra shook her head. "It's fine. You didn't—"

"It's not fine." Samantha squeezed her hands. "You've been carrying this alone. All of it. And I've been here, worrying about stupid things."

"You didn't know."

"I know now." Samantha's eyes were determined. "And I'm going to help you. Whatever you need."

Cassandra's eyes burned with tears. "Thank you."

They hugged tightly. For the first time in weeks, Cassandra felt like she wasn't alone.

---

Later, Cassandra walked through the mansion, heading back to her room.

A woman stepped out of the shadows.

She was tall, elegant, her gray hair swept into a severe bun. Her eyes were cold, assessing.

"So you're the girl," she said. "The one who's caused all this chaos."

Cassandra's heart pounded. "I'm sorry—I don't know who you are."

"I'm Dante's aunt." Her voice was sharp. "And I'm here to tell you that you're not welcome in this family."

Cassandra's blood ran cold. "I'm not trying to—"

"You're a nobody. A college student with no money, no connections, no class." The aunt stepped closer. "You're using him. Everyone can see it."

Cassandra's hands trembled. But she forced herself to stand tall.

"I'm not using anyone," she said firmly. "And I don't need your approval."

The aunt's eyes widened. For a moment, she looked almost impressed. Then her face hardened again.

"We'll see how long that lasts," she said. "You don't belong here. And sooner or later, you'll realize that."

She swept past Cassandra, her heels clicking against the marble.

Cassandra leaned against the wall, her chest heaving. Her hands were shaking. But she didn't cry. She wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction.

Dante found her in the hallway.

He took one look at her face and his jaw tightened.

"What happened?"

"Your aunt," Cassandra said, her voice steady. "She made it clear I'm not welcome."

Dante's eyes darkened. "I'll handle her."

"No." Cassandra shook her head. "I handled it. I'm tired of being afraid, Dante. I'm tired of letting people push me around."

He stared at her. Something shifted in his eyes.

"You're the strongest person I know," he said quietly.

Cassandra looked up at him. "Then teach me to be stronger. Teach me to fight."

Dante's hand cupped her face.

"Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure."