THE CUT THAT DIDN’T BLEED.

Anais didn’t leave her room that night.

She sat at her desk long after the city had gone still, the black folder from Cassian still open beside her laptop. She hadn’t touched it again. Just stared at the contract until the words blurred.

Her tea had gone cold.

Her phone buzzed twice with messages she didn’t open.

A part of her thought: This should be the moment I walk away.

But she didn’t. Not yet.

There was still something she needed.

Not closure. Not clarity.

Power.

And that had never come easy for her. It wasn’t in how she was raised, or how she learned to survive. For too long, silence had been her only defense. But silence wasn’t armor—it was a slow death.

She picked up the folder and slipped it back into the drawer.

Tonight wasn’t about endings.

It was about strategy.

By morning, Anais looked… settled.

Not calm, not numb. Just anchored.

She passed Cassian in the hallway without stopping. He called her name once, but she didn’t turn. He didn’t follow.

She had things to do.

People to confront.

“Irene, find out who’s inside.”

That was the first thing Anais said when she called. No preamble. No softness.

“Inside where?” Irene had asked.

“Here. This house. This company. My life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, “You think it’s someone personal?”

“I know it is.”

Irene didn’t argue. She simply said, “Give me three hours.”

Cassian didn’t approach her until late afternoon. He found her in the old reading room downstairs—the one she hadn’t used in years. She sat on the window bench, phone in hand, but her eyes were on the street below.

“Anais.”

She didn’t respond.

He walked in, slowly, keeping his distance.

“I meant what I said,” he started.

She didn’t look at him. “So did I.”

“I’m trying.”

“No, you’re calculating.”

That made him stop.

“Everything with you is a move,” she continued. “Everything has a price. Even your love.”

His brow pulled tight. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth.”

Cassian ran a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he was fighting the urge to snap back.

“I’m not perfect—”

“No,” she cut in. “You’re careful. And cold. And brilliant. And exhausting.”

She finally turned to face him. Her voice softened, but it didn’t waver.

“And the worst part is, you think keeping me in the dark protects me.”

“I did it to keep you out of it.”

“And I was already in it.”

She let the silence settle for a moment before standing and brushing past him in what seemed like fury.

Later that day, Irene called back.

Anais answered on the first ring.

“You were right,” Irene said. “It’s Dahlia.”

Anais closed her eyes.

“She’s been feeding information to Julien. Possibly others. We traced an encrypted account back to her old cloud storage. She’s been logging everything.”

“For how long?”

“Since before the wedding.”

Anais sat down slowly on the edge of her bed, shaken by the information she had just heard.

“She played the long game.”

“She played the smart game,” Irene corrected. “You trusted her. She used that.”

Anais bit her lower lip, thinking.

“Do I expose her?”

“That depends,” Irene replied. “Do you want a clean break or a warning shot?”

Anais let the question hang in the air.

Then said, “I want them both to feel it.”

She summoned Julien to the office that night. Dahlia came with him, uninvited.

Cassian was already seated behind the desk, letting Anais lead. His presence was quiet but deliberate.

Julien strolled in with that practiced smile, but it didn’t last long.

Anais stood across from him, arms loosely crossed, eyes fixed.

Dahlia shifted uncomfortably by the door.

“I trusted you,” Anais said simply.

Julien tilted his head. “We’ve all made mistakes.”

“No,” she said. “You made a choice. So did she.”

She nodded toward Dahlia, whose face was quickly draining of color.

“I don’t understand what this is about,” Dahlia said softly.

Anais stepped forward.

“You made backups. You encrypted them. You passed them to someone. You kept logging even after I signed the renewal.”

Julien went still.

“I don’t know what she told you—” he began.

“She didn’t have to tell me,” Anais interrupted. “I had Irene trace the accounts. I’ve seen everything.”

Dahlia took a step back. “Anais, please—”

“You betrayed me,” Anais said. “Quietly. Repeatedly. And for what? A raise? A promise? Or just because it made you feel like you mattered more?”

No one spoke.

Julien’s voice turned cold. “You’re making a mistake.”

“No,” Cassian said, standing now. “You did.”

Julien looked between them, stunned. “You’re siding with her?”

Cassian’s jaw clenched. “I’m standing with my wife.”

It was the first time he’d said that with weight.

With certainty.

Anais didn’t look at him.

She stared at Dahlia.

“You’re fired,” she said. “Effective immediately.”

“Wait—”

“I suggest you don’t push it,” Cassian added, stepping beside her. “Security will walk you out.”

Julien turned to leave, rage simmering under his skin. But he didn’t say a word.

Dahlia followed, shoulders hunched, eyes wide.

It was over.

That night, Anais found herself back on the balcony. The city buzzed far below, lights blinking like signals she couldn’t decode.

Cassian stepped out beside her but didn’t speak right away.

She felt his presence before she heard his voice.

“I never thought I’d lose control of my own life.”

She looked at him.

He didn’t meet her gaze.

“I always thought being two steps ahead was enough. That if I knew what was coming, I could protect what mattered.”

He exhaled. Long. Measured.

“I didn’t realize that in doing that, I’d shut you out of everything.”

Anais stayed quiet.

Cassian finally turned toward her.

His voice was barely audible. “You scare me.”

She blinked.

“Why?”

“Because you see me clearly,” he said. “You see what I am. And what I’m not. And you’re not afraid of either.”

Anais studied him.

There was no mask this time. No polished tone. Just a man standing in front of her, stripped down to something real.

And she realized… that was the difference now.

He was starting to show up.

Finally.

“I’m not asking you to fix it,” he said. “I just don’t want to keep breaking it.”

She didn’t reach for him.

But she didn’t walk away either.

“Then stop trying to hold everything in your fist,” she said. “Let it breathe. Let me breathe.”

He gave the faintest nod.

Not a promise. Not yet.

But something had shifted.

Inside, Anais stood alone in the living room and stared at the painting that used to hide the letter.

She didn’t need it anymore.

She already knew what it said.

And now, finally, she knew what she’d say back.