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SOUTHBRIDGE.
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2025-06-19 17:05:42Anais didn’t sleep.
That had become the pattern lately—nights spent tracing the outlines of truths she hadn’t asked for, and mornings spent swallowing the ache of pretending she didn’t care.
The message haunted her.
Ask him about Southbridge. 2019.
She had. He didn’t answer.
That was an answer in itself.
By morning, the house felt smaller. Colder. Like the walls knew something too.
Cassian had left again—early, like always. She hadn’t heard the door. Just woke to find the bed untouched on his side and a mug with a full cup of untouched coffee on the kitchen counter. Black. Still hot.
He’d made it.
Then walked out.
Anais didn’t bother dressing up when she left. No makeup. No heels. Just jeans, a hoodie, and a ball cap pulled low to cover up her chestnut brown hair which was put in a messy bun. She took one of the company cars, gave no explanation to the driver, and sat silent in the back until the city swallowed her whole.
She was going to Southbridge.
Not because she knew what she’d find—but because not knowing felt worse.
The town was two hours outside the city. A quiet, too-normal place where nothing looked important enough to be scandalous. Just long stretches of highway, the occasional gas station, and the heavy air of something forgotten.
She’d expected secrets to look dramatic.
Instead, they looked ordinary.
She asked the driver to wait at a diner, then started walking. A folder of printouts and maps under her arm—the few scraps she’d been able to dig up on her phone at 3 a.m.
Southbridge. Vale Industries. Year: 2019.
A real estate project. Land acquisition. A woman’s name she didn’t recognize but couldn’t stop repeating in her head.
Eleanor Wyatt.
She found the address.
An old brick house at the end of a cracked, narrow road. The kind of place that had a story long before money ever got involved.
She hesitated at the gate.
Then rang the bell.
A woman answered.
Mid-forties. Sharp eyes. Faded beauty, the kind that didn’t care to be restored. She stared at Anais like she already knew why she was there.
“You’re not a reporter,” the woman said.
“No.”
“You’re not with zoning either.”
“No.”
“You’re from his world.”
Anais swallowed. “You know Cassian Vale?”
The woman gave a short, humorless laugh that exposed her white set of teeth. “Don’t we all.”
Her name was Eleanor. And she didn’t offer coffee. Or pleasantries. Just motioned for Anais to sit in a worn-out armchair and started talking.
“Back in 2019, Vale Industries bought out most of Southbridge. Promised to ‘develop responsibly.’ Said they’d turn this area into a high-end tech district. Sounded good at first. Good jobs, better schools, modern roads.”Eleanor said whilst reclining in her chair
Anais nodded slowly. “What happened?”
Eleanor’s eyes darkened.
“They lied.”
Anais leaned forward. “How?”
“They bought the land. My land. My sister’s. Our neighbors’. And they didn’t wait for the permits. They started excavation before legal clearance. My sister’s health collapsed from the dust, the chemicals. She filed a complaint.”
She paused.
“She died a month later.”
Anais felt the chill in her chest spread.
“And Cassian?” she asked softly.
Eleanor nodded once. “He was behind it all. Not just a signature. Not just a figurehead. He came here. Sat in that chair. Told us it would all be worth it.”
“And it wasn’t.”
“It destroyed us.”
Anais looked down. “I’m sorry.”
Eleanor stared at her. “Are you here to make it right?”
“I don’t know what I’m here for anymore.” She whispered.
Back in the car, Anais stared out the window in silence as the city came back into view.
Cassian wasn’t just a man with a locked drawer.
He was a man who built his empire on things that couldn’t be buried forever.
And someone out there knew it.
Someone wanted her to know it too.
By the time she got home, the sun was already slipping behind the skyline.
Cassian was in the living room, glass in hand, jacket draped over the back of the chair. He looked tired. Like the day had clawed at him.
She walked in without saying a word.
He looked up.
“I got your text,” he said. “You were in Southbridge.”
She nodded.
He didn’t ask what she saw.
So she told him.
“Eleanor Wyatt says your company caused her sister’s death.”
His grip tightened around the glass leaving a crack at the rim “That’s not the full story.” He seethed painfully.
“No?” She stepped closer. “Then tell me the full one. Right now.”
Cassian looked at her. “You don’t want the whole truth.”
“You don’t get to decide what I want.”
His voice dropped. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far. We had permits pending, and the land was going to be cleared eventually. The team made a call to move forward. I approved it, yes. But the chemicals—they weren’t part of the original plan. The subcontractor cut corners.”
“And you didn’t stop it?”
“We didn’t find out until it was too late.”
She laughed once, low. “You’ve got excuses ready for everything, don’t you?”
He looked at her, finally really looked at her. “You think I sleep at night?”
“You think I do?”
The silence between them wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was cutting.
She walked to the bedroom.
He followed her.
“Anais,” he said, softer now. “Why are you really digging into all of this?”
She turned to face him. “Because I came back thinking I knew who I married. And now every day, I realize I don’t.”
He didn’t speak.
She stepped forward.
“You could’ve told me about Lina. You could’ve told me about Southbridge. You could’ve treated me like your partner instead of your PR solution.”
“I didn’t know how,” he admitted.
She stared at him. “Then you shouldn’t have married me again.”
That landed harder than she expected.
Cassian stepped back. Just slightly.
Like something inside him gave out.
She left the room.
Not storming.
Not slamming doors.
Just walking away from the man who kept asking for loyalty and offering shadows in return.
That night, a new message came in.
Same unknown number.
He’s not done lying. Check the second floor of his office. Behind the painting.
She stared at the text.
Then got up, grabbed her sweater, and walked back down the hall.
Cassian’s home office was dark just as she had left it the previous day.She didn’t turn on the light.
The second floor was more like a private mezzanine—glass-railed, minimalist, and barely used.
The painting hung above the bookshelf. Abstract. All cold angles and sharp streaks of black and gray.
She tilted it.
Behind it—nothing at first.
Then a magnetic click.
A slim panel slid open in the wall.
Inside: a leather notebook. Locked.
And a small white envelope. No seal. Just her name in Cassian’s handwriting.
She took it.
Walked back to her room.
Opened it slowly.
Inside, a single sheet of paper.
One line.
If you read this, I’ve already lost you. But I loved you anyway.
Anais stared at it for a long, long time.
And for the first time in days, she cried.
Not because she was weak.
Not because she’d been hurt.
But because somewhere in this twisted, broken mess of secrets and business and silence—she still loved him too.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Latest chapter
Twice His Wife EVERYTHING LEFT UNSAID.
The air inside the study thickened like it was soaked in secrets.Anais didn’t speak. Couldn’t.Because the woman standing in the doorway wasn’t a ghost, or a hallucination.It was her mother.Alive.Alive, and real, and staring at her like nothing had ever gone wrong.She hadn’t aged like time expected her to. Her hair was darker than Anais remembered. Her eyes—still that steel-blue shade—narrowed as they took her in, like she was assessing her own reflection years removed.“Hello, Anais,” she said calmly.Julien stood beside her, smug and untouched, as if this had been the plan all along.“You’re supposed to be dead,” Anais managed.Her mother’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “A lot of things are supposed to be. Doesn’t mean they are.”Julien moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of dark amber liquid, handing one to her mother. “She kept the right people close. Paid off the wrong ones.”“Why?” Anais asked. Her voice cracked. “Why would you fake your death? Let me think yo
Twice His Wife PAPER CUTS AND WOUNDS YOU CAN’T SEE.
There’s a silence Anais had never heard before. Not the absence of noise, but the space between expectation and collapse. It’s the silence before something breaks.That’s what the morning felt like.She sat alone in her office at Vale Holdings, the light outside too still, too bright. Her phone buzzed, screen flashing with a number she didn’t recognize. She let it ring.Then it rang again.Same number.Something in her chest stirred.She picked up on the third try.“Anais Vale?” a deep voice asked.“Yes?”“This is Detective Moore, NYPD.”She froze.“There’s been a development in the Fallpoint investigation. We’d like you to come in.”Anais blinked slowly. “That was a sealed case.”“There’s new evidence.”She gripped the desk. “What kind of evidence?”The voice didn’t answer directly. “We’ll explain when you arrive.”Click.By the time Anais reached the station, Cassian was already there, pacing.He looked up when she entered—something dark and tight around his eyes.“You didn’t tell m
Twice His Wife THE WOMAN WITH THE BRIEF CASE.
Juliet Hale looked like a ghost no one had invited back.Her silver hair was tied in a smooth twist at the base of her neck, her long dark coat tailored so sharply it looked like it could slice through glass. She stood in the Vale Holdings lobby like it belonged to her—and maybe, at some point, it almost had.Anais watched from the security feed, frozen in the hallway.Julien and Dahlia flanked her like two lieutenants. Too smug. Too confident.Juliet lifted her chin and handed something to the front desk.A folder.Irene whispered beside Anais, “She’s requesting a board room. Immediate access.”“Under what grounds?”Irene looked at the screen again. “A clause from the original merger agreement—your father’s company and Vale Holdings.”Anais’s breath caught.That clause had been buried years ago. Sealed. Forgotten.But not erased.Juliet hadn’t come for a meeting.She’d come to take the floor.Cassian entered the hallway a moment later, tension carved into his shoulders.“She invoked
Twice His Wife THE QUIET BEFORE THE COLLAPSE.
Anais didn’t cry.She didn’t scream, or tear up the papers, or demand that Cassian leave the apartment.She just… walked.Out of the vault, past the main hallway, through the quiet marble silence of a penthouse that had always felt too clean. Like a museum built to preserve something dead.She left the door open behind her.Cassian didn’t follow.Maybe he understood that for the first time, she wasn’t trying to hurt him.She just needed distance to survive him.She took the elevator to the street and started walking. No driver. No guard. No plan.Just her.The city had never looked so bright and aimless.At first, she didn’t know where she was going. But her feet remembered something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.When she finally stopped, she was standing outside a bookstore tucked between two worn cafés on the Lower East Side. The glass was fogged, the sign crooked. She hadn’t been here since college.Inside, it smelled like old paper and nostalgia.She walked the aisles, running
Twice His Wife TERMS OF RESURRECTION..
It was after midnight when Anais called Irene.She hadn’t moved from the sofa in hours, the image of Julien and Dahlia stepping into that building with Harlan Quinn frozen on her phone screen. The soft blue glow of it had become the only light in the room.“I need to know where they went,” she said without preamble.Irene didn’t ask what had changed. “Already tracing.”Anais stared ahead, throat tight. “Do it quietly.”She hung up before Irene could respond.Cassian entered the room a minute later, his sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed. He looked at her the way people look at old war zones—half memory, half dread.“What happened?” he asked.She didn’t hand him the phone.Just said, “Julien and Dahlia are back. And they’re working with Harlan Quinn.”Cassian’s expression didn’t change. But she saw his hands stiffen by his sides.He walked to the fireplace and stood there silently for a long moment.“I should’ve buried them deeper,” he murmured.Anais stood slowly. “This isn’t jus
Twice His Wife 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 onc
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