Chapter 104 Ghost in my house
Cassie
The taxi ride to my house in Cape Town passed in a blur of city lights and silent tears. I gave the driver the address through numb lips, then retreated into myself, trying to process the magnitude of what I’d just learned. Married.
Grey was still married to Vivian O'Malley the woman whose ghost had haunted our relationship since its birth, whose "death" had been yet another trauma we'd never properly grieved together.
The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd spent the morning forgiving him for running away when things got difficult, only to find myself doing exactly the same thing. What else could I do? How do you fight for a man who legally belongs to someone else? He chose me, yes, but the law had a louder voice.
My house sat in darkness as the taxi pulled up, its modern lines stark against the moonlit sky. I'd bought it after my divorce to Dante as a symbol of my independence, a place that belonged only to me. Now, as I fumbled with my keys at the front door, it felt more like a fortress—a place to hide from the wreckage of my life.
The interior was exactly as I'd left it before my impromptu trip to flee from Grey; it was clean, minimalist, emotionally sterile. I'd been so eager to escape the emptiness of it that I hadn't even bothered to forward my mail. Now, standing in the pristine living room, I was grateful for its coldness. It matched how I felt inside.
I poured myself a glass of wine with shaking hands, then sank into the leather sofa that faced the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The lights of Cape Town sparkled below me like fallen stars, beautiful and distant and indifferent to my pain.
My phone buzzed with a text message, and my heart lurched, thinking it might be Grey. It was from my father instead.
Cassandra, I need to speak with you urgently. There are developments with the O'Malley situation that require your immediate attention. Please call me.
I stared at the message for a long moment, then turned my phone face down on the coffee table. I couldn't deal with my father's business machinations right now. Couldn't face the possibility that I'd been used as a pawn in some corporate chess game I didn't even know I was playing.
The wine tasted like sour grapes in my mouth, but I kept drinking anyway, hoping it might numb the ache in my chest. How had I been so stupid? How had I let myself believe that love could conquer the web of lies and manipulation that seemed to define both our families?
I thought about Grey's face when Georgia had dropped her bombshell, the way all the color had drained from his features. He'd been as shocked as I was. I was sure of that much. Whatever else was true, he hadn't known about Vivian. The devastation in his eyes had been too raw to fake.
But Grey was still legally bound to another woman, still caught in a marriage he'd thought was ended by death but was actually just suspended by deception. Even if he could find Vivian, even if he could convince her to give him a divorce, how long would that take? Months? Years?
What was I supposed to do in the meantime? Wait around like some mistress, hoping for scraps of a relationship that might never be legally legitimate?
My phone buzzed again, and this time it was Grey.
Cass, please. Let me explain. This changes nothing between us.
I laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty room. Nothing? It changed everything. It made our entire relationship a lie, a fantasy built on false premises.
Another text: I'm coming to find you.
I typed back quickly: Don't. I need time to think.
We can figure this out together. Please don't shut me out.
I turned my phone off entirely and went to pour myself another glass of wine. Outside, Cape Town glittered in the darkness, a city full of people living their lives, making their choices, building their futures on foundations that weren't crumbling beneath their feet.
The wine was making me maudlin, I realized, but I didn't care. For the first time in months, I had nowhere to be, no one to pretend for. I could sit in my expensive house and drink expensive wine and feel sorry for myself without judgment.
I thought about my marriage to Dante, about the laughter I'd heard when I'd caught him with my sister. The humiliation had been crushing, but at least it had been clean. He'd betrayed me, yes, but our marriage had been real. The divorce had been final. There had been closure.
This was messier, more complicated. Grey hadn't betrayed me intentionally, but the result was the same—I was in love with a man I couldn't have. Again.
The wine bottle was nearly empty when I finally made my way upstairs to my bedroom. I took a bath, changed into my PJs, and collapsed onto the king-sized bed that suddenly felt far too large and empty.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the windows and there was a sound coming from downstairs. For a moment, I lay still, wondering if I was imagining it. Then I heard it again—the soft whistle of a kettle, the clink of dishes.
Someone was in my house.
I crept out of bed, my head pounding from the wine and too little sleep. The digital clock on my nightstand read 8:47 AM. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept beside my bed... a precaution my father had insisted on when I'd moved in alone... and made my way carefully down the stairs.
The sounds were coming from the kitchen. I could smell coffee brewing, hear someone moving around with casual familiarity. A burglar wouldn't be making breakfast, would they?
I peered around the corner, bat raised, and froze.
Greyson O'Malley was standing at my kitchen counter, still wearing his dress shirt from the night before, though he'd rolled up the sleeves and loosened his tie. He was making coffee with the kind of easy competence that suggested he'd done this before, in this kitchen.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" I demanded, stepping into the kitchen with the bat still raised.
He turned, and I saw that he looked as rough as I felt—stubble covering his jaw, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his blue eyes. "Good morning to you too," he said mildly. "Coffee?"
"I'm serious, Grey. How did you get in here?"
He held up a familiar set of keys—my keys, the ones I'd forgotten were still in my purse. "You dropped these getting into the taxi last night. I may have borrowed them."
"That's breaking and entering."
"Is it? I have a key." He poured coffee into two mugs, adding cream to one the way I liked it. "Besides, I slept on your couch. Hardly the behavior of a criminal mastermind."
I lowered the bat, more confused than angry now. "You slept on my couch? All night?"
"I got here around midnight. You'd already gone to bed, and I didn't want to wake you. Figured we could talk in the morning when we'd both had time to process everything."
He handed me the coffee, and I took it automatically, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The touch sent a familiar jolt through me, and I stepped back quickly.
"There's nothing to process," I said. "You're married, Grey. End of story."
"To a woman who faked her own death and abandoned me," he pointed out. "I think that changes the moral maths a bit."
"Not the legal one." I took a sip of the coffee, grateful for the caffeine. "Morally, ethically, emotionally—you're free. I get that. But legally? You're still bound to her."