Chapter 58 Chapter 58

Chapter 58 Chapter 58
CASSIAN'S POV

I woke up to the sound of whiskey bottles clinking.

The bedroom was dark. The curtains were drawn. The clock on the nightstand said 1:47am. I had been asleep for maybe two hours. Dominic was not in bed beside me.

I got up. Walked to the living room.

He was sitting on the couch. His back was to me. There were three empty bottles on the coffee table. He was holding a fourth. His shoulders were slumped. His head was bowed.

He was drunk.

I stood in the doorway. Watched him. He did not turn around. He did not know I was there.

"Dominic," I said.

He turned. His eyes were glassy. His face was flushed. His hair was a mess. He looked like a wreck. He looked like someone who had been drinking for hours.

"Cassian," he said. His voice was slurred. "Come here."

"No."

"Come here."

"I am going back to bed."

"Please."

I stopped. He never said please. He never begged. He demanded. He threatened. He manipulated. But he never begged.

I walked over to him. Stopped in front of the couch.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Drinking."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Because I cannot sleep."

"Why can you not sleep?"

"Because I keep thinking about you."

I stared at him. He stared back. His eyes were wet. He was not crying. But he was close.

"I am right here," I said.

"I know. That is the problem."

"What do you mean?"

He set down the bottle. Reached up. Grabbed my wrist. Pulled me down onto the couch. Onto his lap. His arms wrapped around my waist. His face pressed into my chest.

"I am sorry," he said.

"Sorry for what?"

"Everything. For what I did. For how I hurt you. For the wedding. For your brother. For all of it."

"You are drunk."

"Does not make it less true."

I did not know what to say. So I said nothing. I just sat there. On his lap. In his arms. While he held me like I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

"I missed you," he said. "Every day. Every night. Every second."

"Dominic."

"I could not breathe without you. I could not think. I could not function. I tried. God, I tried. But nothing worked."

"You should have thought about that before you destroyed me."

"I did think about it. I thought about it every day. And I still did it. Because I am broken. Because I am a monster. Because I do not know how to love someone without destroying them."

I reached up. Touched his face. His stubble was rough against my palm.

"You are not a monster," I said.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you are not."

He kissed me. His lips were wet. They tasted like whiskey. His tongue pushed into my mouth. His hands fisted in my shirt. He kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.

I kissed him back. Because I was tired of fighting. Because I was tired of pretending. Because I still loved him. Even after everything. Even after all the pain. I still loved him.

My hands slid under his shirt. Touched his back. His skin was warm. Smooth. Familiar.

Then I felt them.

Scars.

Raised. Thick. Deep. They ran across his back like roads on a map. They had not been there before. Seven years ago, his back had been smooth. Now it was covered in scars.

I pulled back. Looked at him.

"What are these?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Dominic. What are these?"

"Scars."

"I can see that. Where did they come from?"

He did not answer. He just kissed me again. Pushed me down onto the couch. Covered my body with his. His hands were on my hips. His lips were on my neck.

"Dominic," I said.

"Shut up."

"No. Tell me where these scars came from."

"It does not matter."

"It matters to me."

He pulled back. Looked at me. His eyes were glassy. His face was flushed.

"Fights," he said. "After you left. I got into a lot of fights."

"What kind of fights?"

"The kind you do not walk away from."

"Dominic."

"I am fine, Cassian. I am fine. I am here. I am alive. I am with you."

"These are not fine."

"They are. They are reminders. Reminders of what I did. Reminders of what I lost."

I reached up. Touched his face. His eyes were wet. He was crying now. Silent tears. They rolled down his cheeks and fell onto my skin.

"I am sorry," he said again.

"Stop apologizing."

"I cannot stop."

"Then stop drinking."

He laughed. A hollow sound. "That I cannot do."

He kissed me again. I let him. I did not have the strength to push him away. I did not have the strength to do anything except lie there and let him hold me.

But when he reached for the button of my pants, I stopped him.

"No," I said.

"Cassian."

"I said no."

He looked at me. His eyes were confused. Hurt.

"Why not?"

"Because you are drunk. Because I am not some toy you can use whenever you want. Because nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed."

"Nothing has changed. You are still the same person who destroyed me. You are still the same person who married someone else. You are still the same person who is holding my brother hostage."

He flinched. Like I had slapped him.

"I am trying," he said.

"Try harder."

I pushed him off me. Stood up. Walked toward the bedroom.

"Cassian."

I did not look back.

"Cassian, please."

I closed the door behind me.

\---

The next morning, I woke up alone.

Dominic was gone. The couch was empty. The bottles were gone. The room was clean. He had cleaned up. He had left.

I sat up. My head was pounding. My lips were swollen. My body was sore. I looked at the clock. 9:47am.

I got up. Walked to the bathroom. Showered. Dressed. I had work to do.

But first, I had questions.

I called my assistant. Her name was Clara. She was efficient. Discreet. She had helped me find the apartment in London. She had helped me sell my furniture. She had helped me disappear.

"Clara," I said.

"Mr. Vane. Good morning."

"I need you to find something for me."

"Of course. What is it?"

"Dominic Costello. I need to know everything he has done in the last seven years. Everything. The discreet things. The things no one knows about."

There was a pause. Then: "I will do my best."

"Thank you."

I hung up. Stared at the phone. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking.

What had he done? What had he been doing while I was in London? While I was trying to forget him? While I was trying to move on?

I needed to know.

\---

The texts started at noon.

Dominic: Good morning, sunshine.

I stared at the screen. My jaw tightened.

Cassian: Do not call me that.

Dominic: Why not? You are my sunshine.

Cassian: I am not yours.

Dominic: You are. You have always been mine.

Cassian: I am not yours. I will never be yours.

Dominic: Keep telling yourself that.

Cassian: I will.

Dominic: You are adorable when you are angry.

Cassian: I am not adorable.

Dominic: You are. Your ears turn red. It is cute.

Cassian: I hate you.

Dominic: I know. You keep saying that.

Cassian: Because it is true.

Dominic: If it were true, you would not have kissed me last night.

Cassian: You were drunk.

Dominic: I was not that drunk.

Cassian: You were.

Dominic: You kissed me anyway.

Cassian: Because you were pathetic.

Dominic: You think I am pathetic?

Cassian: Yes.

Dominic: You still kissed me.

Cassian: I was feeling charitable.

Dominic: You are a terrible liar.

Cassian: I am not lying.

Dominic: You are. Your ears are red right now.

I looked in the mirror. My ears were red. I hated him. I hated him so much.

Cassian: I am not talking to you anymore.

Dominic: Yes, you are.

Cassian: No, I am not.

Dominic: You just did.

Cassian: That was the last one.

Dominic: Liar.

Cassian: I am not lying.

Dominic: Your ears are red.

Cassian: I am going to block you.

Dominic: No, you are not.

Cassian: Watch me.

Dominic: I will just find another way to contact you. I am very resourceful.

Cassian: You are insufferable.

Dominic: You love it.

I threw my phone across the room. It hit the couch. Bounced off. Landed on the floor.

I stared at it. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking.

I hated him. I hated him so much. But I could not stop thinking about him. I could not stop wanting him. I could not stop loving him.

\---

The information arrived at 6pm.

Clara sent it to my personal email. A file. Large. Detailed. I opened it on my laptop. My hands were shaking.

The first page was a summary. Business deals. Acquisitions. Investments. Everything I already knew. Everything the public knew.

I scrolled down. To the discreet things. The things no one knew.

Clara had found everything. Medical records. Financial records. Travel records. Phone records. Everything.

I read through it all. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking.

He had been in and out of hospitals. Multiple times. For injuries. For surgeries. For stitches. For broken bones. The fights he had mentioned. The ones he had not walked away from. They had almost killed him.

He had bought my apartment in London. The one near the river. The one with the view of the Thames. He had paid cash. He had never stayed there. He had just. Kept it. As a reminder.

He had been to Italy. Every year. Same time. Same place. For the last seven years. Never missed a single year. Always in the fall. Always for two weeks.

I scrolled down. Looked at the address. The place he had been visiting.

My heart stopped.

I knew that address.

It was his apartment. The one in his grandmother's country, Italy. The one where I had stayed with him. The one with the thin curtains and the cold stone floors and the bed that was too soft.The one where I had kissed him goodbye. The one where I had told him I hated him. The one where I had walked away and never looked back.

He had gone back. Every year. For seven years. To the exact apartment where I had broken up with him.

I stared at the address. At the photo attached to the file.

The photo showed the building. Old stone. Iron gates. The balcony where I had stood. The balcony where I had left him.

He had gone back. Every year. For seven years. To the place where I had destroyed him.

I closed the laptop. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding.

He had gone back. To the apartment. To the balcony. To the place where I had broken his heart. Every year. For seven years.

I did not know what to feel. I did not know what to think. I did not know anything.

All I knew was that the man I had hated for seven years was not the man I thought he was.

But none of that mattered.

He had still destroyed me. He had still married someone else. He was still holding my brother hostage. He was still forcing me to stay.

I could not forgive him. I would not forgive him.

Not yet.