A NAME NO ONE SPOKE.

Cassian watched Anais from the doorway.

She was standing in front of the window in the study again, exactly where she’d stood the night Julien and Dahlia were thrown out. But today, her stance was different. Not just still—grounded. Like she had finally stepped fully into her skin.

She wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

And that realization sat heavier than any boardroom betrayal ever had.

He leaned against the doorframe, silent.

She didn’t turn to acknowledge him. She knew he was there.

Finally, he spoke.

“You haven’t asked me what’s going to happen next.”

Anais lifted her chin, eyes still on the street below. “Because I’m not waiting on your answer anymore.”

There was no bitterness in her voice. Just calm certainty.

Cassian stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him.

“You’ve changed.”

She didn’t move. “No. I’m just not performing anymore.”

He sat in the leather chair by the fireplace. A long pause settled between them.

“I miss the way you used to look at me,” he said.

She blinked once. Then turned to face him.

“I miss the way I used to trust you.”

That landed harder than he expected.

They spoke little that day.

Anais kept to her calls, emails, and quiet planning with Irene. The more she learned about Vale’s quiet transactions over the last two years, the more she realized how close her name had come to being pulled into the fallout.

Fallpoint wasn’t the only secret buried in Cassian’s empire. It was just the one with her signature in the margins—placed there after one of those nights he used to kiss her slowly while sliding papers in front of her to sign.

She wondered how many times she’d mistaken affection for distraction.

By evening, Anais was on the phone with Irene, pacing the long hallway outside the east wing.

“There’s something odd,” Irene said, voice low. “I’ve been pulling archived files. Financial records from right after your first separation.”

Anais paused. “And?”

“Cassian made a transfer to an unlisted account. Five million. Labeled as a ‘consulting retainer.’”

“That doesn’t sound like much for him.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Irene agreed. “Except the account is tied to a name that hasn’t come up in any of his recent dealings.”

“Whose name?”

Irene hesitated. Then said it.

“Selene Vale.”

Anais froze.

Her stomach tightened.

“…Selene?”

“I thought you’d recognize it,” Irene said.

Anais couldn’t speak for a long moment.

Selene Vale.

Cassian’s sister.

Dead nearly six years.

A name no one spoke anymore.

“What the hell was he doing sending money to a dead woman’s account?” Anais whispered.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Irene said. “But Anais—this isn’t small. Someone kept that account active. Someone’s still moving money through it.”

Anais closed her eyes.

It didn’t make sense.

Unless…

“Irene,” she said, her voice dropping. “What if she’s not dead?”

Back inside the study, Anais found Cassian pouring himself a drink. The bottle in his hand was one she hadn’t seen in years—dark scotch, the one he kept locked in the drawer under his father’s portrait.

She closed the door behind her.

“Selene,” she said softly.

The glass stopped mid-air.

He didn’t turn.

“Irene found the account,” Anais said. “Transfers labeled under her name. After she died.”

Still no answer.

She stepped forward. “Cassian, look at me.”

Slowly, he did.

And for the first time, she saw it in his eyes—not fear, not guilt.

Pain.

Raw. Old. Unhealed.

“She’s not alive,” he said.

“But you sent her money?”

“I sent it to someone who was helping me keep her out of the news. Out of the hands of people who would use her memory.”

Anais frowned. “Explain.”

He swallowed hard, setting the glass down.

“Selene didn’t die peacefully. It was suicide.”

Anais’s heart stilled.

“I thought the story was—”

“It was a lie. One I paid for. Heavily.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“She was sick. But she refused help. When she died, I made it look like an accident. I couldn’t let it become a scandal.”

Anais sat down slowly.

“You’ve carried that all this time?”

Cassian nodded. “And paid a man to keep the evidence buried. That’s who the money went to.”

Anais looked at him carefully.

“And now?”

Cassian rubbed his forehead. “Now he’s asking for more. A lot more.”

“Blackmail?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

That night, Anais dreamed of a hallway with no doors.

She walked it barefoot, the walls pulsing like a heartbeat.

At the end was a mirror, and in it—her reflection.

But it wasn’t her now. It was the version of her from their wedding night—eyes wide, dress glowing, heart full of unspoken hope.

The girl in the mirror didn’t blink.

She just said, “He will break you if you let him.”

Then the mirror shattered.

Anais woke before dawn, breath shallow, sheets twisted.

She stared at the ceiling for a long time before getting up.

Cassian wasn’t beside her.

She found him in the kitchen, barefoot, hands wrapped around a cup of tea she didn’t know he knew how to make.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“Me either.”

He looked tired. But more than that—haunted.

“Selene’s name can’t get out,” he said. “It would unravel everything.”

Anais leaned against the counter.

“Then we need to find this man,” she said. “And we need to know what he’s holding.”

Cassian shook his head slowly. “He’s careful. He covers his tracks. I tried to threaten him once. He sent a photo of her hospital file to my private line.”

Anais exhaled. “We’ll find a different way.”

Cassian looked at her then.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” she said softly. “But that’s not the point.”

Three days later, Irene called again.

“I found something,” she said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Anais had been in the middle of reviewing charity budget drafts. She pushed them aside.

“Go on.”

“The man blackmailing Cassian? His name’s Harlan Quinn.”

Anais didn’t recognize it.

Irene continued.

“He used to work for the government. Quiet division. Information cleanup. His job was to make problems vanish.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Yes. But that’s not what matters.”

Anais waited.

“Harlan Quinn is also tied to ThorneTech.”

Anais’s blood ran cold.

“The same shell company Cassian used for Fallpoint?”

“Yes. Harlan is one of its founding ghosts. He’s not just blackmailing Cassian.”

A pause.

“He’s been playing both sides.”

Anais’s mouth went dry. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Yet. But he’s not working alone.”

That night, Anais stood on the balcony again.

Cassian joined her after a long stretch of silence.

She didn’t speak right away.

Instead, she asked, “What would you do if everything fell apart tomorrow?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’d fight to keep you.”

She looked at him, startled by the immediacy of it.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t soften it with charm.

He meant it.

“I’m not perfect,” he said. “But I’m not the man who let you walk away last time. I see you now.”

Anais felt her throat tighten. She wanted to believe him.

But she also knew love wasn’t always loud. Sometimes it was the quiet choice to stay when leaving would be easier.

Before she could speak, her phone buzzed.

A message from Irene.

Just a photo.

Of Julien.

Stepping into a building.

Beside him?

Dahlia.

And just behind them—

Harlan Quinn.