Chapter Two: A Confused Moment

Cassienne stepped away from the pillar, feeling smaller than ever. Her mood was exactly what it always seemed to be—sadness, sorrow, regret, and a stubborn hope that refused to die no matter how much it hurt her.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and pressed the down button for the next elevator. When the doors opened, she walked in and leaned against the glass wall. The cool surface supported her weight as memories washed over her.

She remembered high school so clearly. How Dreston had forgotten her. How they used to play together and eat lunch side by side. And how everything shattered the moment Tina appeared, stealing his attention and pulling his friends away from her.

She remembered the first time she saw them kiss. Even as a teenager, she had known that kiss was too intimate—nothing childish about it. Yet her love for him never changed. Tina had known that Dreston and Cassienne were together back then, but she still stepped between them and claimed him for herself.

A soft ding snapped Cassienne back to the present. She stepped out of the elevator and headed straight for the car.

When she reached home, Dreston’s car was already parked outside, and his bodyguards stood around it. That meant he was inside.

Hope tugged weakly at her heart—desperate, foolish hope. Perhaps what she saw earlier had been her imagination. Maybe things could still be okay between them.

When his parents made her sign the contract five years ago, they had meant well. They believed their son would eventually love her. They believed that five years would be enough time for her to win his heart, to have a child, to create a bond he could not ignore.

But none of that had happened.

In those five years, Dreston had never touched her. Not once. They lived like strangers under the same roof. And she couldn’t even tell her friends the truth—that at twenty-seven years old, she was still a virgin. They would mock and laugh at her

But this was her reality now. Married… and untouched.

She walked into the sitting room, and there he was.

Dreston stood beside the floor-to-ceiling glass window, holding a glass of whiskey. One hand rested in his pocket, making him look powerful and heartbreakingly calm. His black curly hair was messy in a handsome, effortless way. His grey eyes met hers, and her heart immediately began to race.

Her heart had always belonged to him. Nothing had ever changed that.

“I didn’t know you went out,” he said casually. “I thought you would be home.”

His voice was smooth, soft—wrapping around her the way it always did.

“I was at the hospital,” Cassienne said quietly. There was no point in lying.

He frowned. “Are you sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

For a moment—just a tiny, fragile moment—she almost mistook his words for care. But she knew better. This was how he spoke to everyone. To staff and to strangers. To anyone but Tina.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little fever. The doctor gave me some meds.”

He nodded, set the glass on the coffee table, and walked closer to her. But he was too close. Then he reached out and pressed his palm gently against her forehead, checking her temperature.

The familiar tingling sensation rushed through her, and she stepped back quickly, needing space before hope rose again.

“You should rest,” he said softly, almost lovingly—as if he truly cared. But he does, that was the irony of it.

But to her, she knew it wasn’t real care. It was just a pity. He pitied her condition, he pitied the way she was slowly wasting her life beside him.

And honestly, she couldn’t blame him. None of it was his fault. It was hers to begin with. She had been the foolish young woman who believed that love and patience alone could win the heart of a man who never truly looked her way.

For five years, he had been kind to her. He had never mistreated her in any way. He always provided for her needs. Even though she had her own salary, he still deposited a large sum of money into her account every month. He never allowed anyone to disrespect her.

He gave her everything—except his heart. Because his heart already belonged to another woman.

“Cassienne?”

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts. For a moment, she had forgotten he was still standing in front of her, watching her drift into her memories.

“Yes,” she answered quietly. She stepped aside and walked toward the kitchen, assuming he might be hungry, assuming he needed something. At least that was something she could still offer him—care he never asked for but she always tried to give.

“Tell me what you need, and i’ll make it for you,” she said, avoiding his eyes. She wasn’t sure she could handle the way he looked at her.

She heard his footsteps slowly approaching. Her heart tightened, because she didn’t even know what she was doing anymore. She always became like this around him—confused and nervous, painfully aware of her own feelings. His presence made her heart react in ways she could never hide.

Sometimes she wondered if he knew.

If he could feel it. If he noticed how she broke a little more every day, or if he simply pretended not to see it.

When he reached the marble counter, he stopped.

“I don’t need anything, Cassienne,” he said.

She glanced at him briefly. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and his grey eyes were fixed directly on her.

Even now, the way he said her name stirred something deep and dangerous inside her. Something she had learned to hide. Over the past five years, burying her reactions had become second nature—swallowing her emotions, pretending she didn’t love him the way she did.

“Although I wanted us to talk,” he continued, “but since you’re not feeling well, it can wait.”

Talk?

Her chest tightened.

“Is it about the baby?” she asked before she could stop herself.