Chapter 124 At The Ice Cream
Rebecca’s POV
Cassian just asked me the question that sent me back to my past. The question rang a bell. I didn’t know why it did, but it did anyway.
Could it be because the question was asked by someone whom I rejected because of this very Gabriel?
It shot me to the day we had our wedding—how we read our vows and promised each other never to be separated until death did us part.
This same question shot me to our wedding night—how we had made love and kissed each other until morning.
The memories clung to me, but I forced myself back to the present. I blinked, shaking off the thoughts.
“I don’t want to talk about it, please,” I said to him, and I saw the way he nodded his head gently.
He looked as if he understood where my pain was coming from, as if he could relate so well—so well that it meant he had also gone through the same fate.
I felt somehow that I rejected him an explanation for his harmless question, especially because he understood it just as much as I wanted to avoid it.
So, while we got to the ice cream vendor and cheerfully ordered different flavors of ice cream, I saw the way he was putting effort into making me feel better.
He cracked some jokes, and almost immediately, I didn’t know when I started laughing at them.
He bought more and more ice creams, as if we were children fascinated by the idea of licking ice creams. And to be honest, I had not laughed so hard since Gabriel and I.
Still, it didn’t mean I forgot about his question and how I felt when I didn’t answer him.
As we sat down at the ice cream van—where a couple of seats were placed for customers who wanted to sit and enjoy their ice cream—I let out a deep sigh.
Cassian sat across from me. We faced each other, and I met his gaze.
“You asked me a question earlier,” I said, my voice low.
He hesitated, then shook his head gently. “No, it’s okay. If you are not willing to share it now, you can share it with me any other day, right? I mean, we will keep seeing each other, right?” he said, interrupting me like he didn’t want me to feel pressured.
“No, it’s okay!” I reassured him, looking right into his warm eyes.
A moment of silence stretched between us—loud and quiet at the same time. He didn’t rush me. He simply paid attention, as if he truly wanted to hear my story. And so, I began to talk.
I told him everything that happened between me and Gabriel—how I caught him fking his secretary in his office and how he was not remorseful when I caught him. How he tried to kill me afterward, which led to my beloved mother’s death, and everything else.
Cassian’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening. “Where is he now?” he asked, his voice low but tense. The story got to him, hit him to the bone marrow, like he just wished to see Gabriel and teach him a great lesson.
“He’s dead,” I answered coldly, my gaze shifting sideways.
He looked shocked at the realization. “How?” he asked.
“When he got caught hiring a man to kill me, he was sent to prison. Right there in the prison, he was sentenced to die by electrocution,” I explained.
A sigh left my lips. “I feel sorry for him, though. It’s some shitty things that happened.”
Cassian didn’t respond immediately. He just kept looking dazed, absorbing the weight of my words.
“I didn’t hear any of this because I was not in the country. I was in Australia for two years, doing research and all,” he finally said.
His eyes softened as he continued, “If not, I would have looked for you—to comfort you, to be by your side, and maybe help you get past those hurting days.”
His words caught me off guard, but when his hand reached for mine, I didn’t move away. I allowed him to hold it, and I held his too.
We stared at our hands, and the truth settled within me. If I had not been with Gabriel back in college, I would have accepted to be with Cassian. And maybe, just maybe, we would still be happily married up until now.
“I can relate so well with your story because I went through a similar story with just slight differences,” he said out of the blue.
His voice was lower now, deep and distant. His expression shifted—there was pain hidden in his eyes.
“Her name is Bianca,” he said.
“Bianca Morrison,” he repeated her full name, swallowing hard, like he was about to force down a bitter pill.
He cleared his throat, regaining composure. His voice rose slightly, but the weight of sorrow remained.
“Six years after our wedding, I found out that she was still seeing her ex,” he said. My eyes widened as I tried to imagine the pain he must have felt.
“It turned out she and her ex never stopped seeing each other. In fact, on our wedding night, she fked her ex before she did the same to me.”
“What?!” I exclaimed so loud that people around us shot their gaze at us before turning away.
I couldn’t comprehend how people could be so cruel. If they never got over their exes, why get into a new relationship? Why go to the extent of marriage? Did they derive joy in seeing someone else suffer from their waywardness?
“We had three children together, and none was mine,” he continued after a few seconds’ pause. My heart clenched. The betrayal he had gone through was beyond words.
“How did you know all of this? How did you find out?” I asked, trying to grasp the depth of his story.
“Well, I noticed something odd in all of our children’s behavior. They weren’t like me in any way at all. At first, I thought they took after their mom, so I didn’t care. But one day, I saw one of them liking things neither of us liked. It made me curious. So, I went to the doctor. He advised me to conduct DNA tests.”
I swallowed hard as he continued.
“After the DNA test on one of our children, I found out the child was not mine. I was forced to do DNA tests on the other two. None of them were mine. This made me leave the country because I didn’t know what to do. Staying in the same house with her could have made me do the unimaginable.”
“I was in another country when I hired a private investigator. He did his job and found out everything. I just had to file for divorce and made sure she got nothing from the marriage.”
His voice wavered. His eyes were already reddish, and I could tell the pain still cut deep.
I squeezed his hands gently. “We will both be fine,” I said.
“Yes…” he whispered. Our eyes locked, and before we knew it, our heads moved closer until our lips brushed gently.
Immediately, I leaned back.
“I am sorry,” he said quickly.
I cleared my throat, knowing it wasn’t just him—it was me too. We both wanted it.
And what if we gave each other a second chance? Would it be so wrong? Would people judge us?
If you were in my shoes, what would you have done?