Cassie’s POV
"I don’t think that’s a good idea," I blurted out.
Dylan looked at me. "Why not? I think you should get to know my brother... you might end up part of this family soon."
I let out a small laugh. If Damien wants to expose me in front of everyone, why wait until next week? He could do it right now — I’m basically trapped in a car with them.
Or maybe he wanted to confirm his suspicions first, before doing anything.
"I really don’t have a good feeling about this."
Damien glanced at me and laughed. "I don’t bite."
No, you don’t, but you’re still an asshole. I wanted to say it loud enough for the whole world to hear.
Finally, I got home. Damien dropped CeCe off first, then went home, and Dylan drove me the rest of the way. I was exhausted, my whole body aching. All I wanted was a hot shower.
The second I got to my room, I took my clothes off and went straight for the bathroom. The water made my body feel lighter like I was washing off the entire evening.
I threw on my pajamas and headed to Kate’s room. It wasn’t like her to skip out on hearing about my day, especially with Dylan involved.
"You okay?" I asked, climbing into bed beside her.
"Yeah... just had a really crazy day," she mumbled. "I think something’s wrong with Alex."
"Did something happen?"
"Some men showed up at his place looking for him when he was out getting groceries. They told me to tell him — next time, they’re taking something with them."
"Cass, they looked dangerous. One of them had a teardrop tattoo on his face." She shivered. "They looked really dangerous."
"Wait — a teardrop tattoo?"
"Yeah. Why, is that a problem?" She was watching me now, like she could already see the fear creeping into my face.
"Oh my god, Kate. One of the men from that night — the one who attacked me — had a teardrop tattoo. I saw it when his mask almost slipped."
Oh my god. I stood up, pacing her room, my mind racing.
Was Alex behind it? I didn’t even like the guy, but we’d never had a real conflict. None of it made sense.
"Do you think he was behind it?" Kate asked, eyes locked on me.
"I don’t know, Kate. At this point, I don’t know what to believe."
"This doesn’t add up. None of it adds up."
"Calm down. I’ll check the area for cameras — there has to be something." Her voice softened a little.
"Okay. It’s fine."
"So how was your day? The family meeting?"
"It was a mess. Guess what?"
"You know I’m terrible at guessing. Just tell me."
"Dylan has a twin brother. This whole time, I thought he was my boss — but it’s actually his twin."
She stared at me, stunned. "You’re joking."
"I wish I were."
She burst out laughing. "That’s messy as hell. But wait — is that a good thing?"
"Kind of. At least I’m not lying to him about who I am. But now I think he has his suspicions about me."
"Did he actually say anything?"
"Not directly. But the way he looked at me — and he suggested a double date. Me and Dylan, him and CeCe."
"That’s weird. Why would he want to double-date with you guys?"
"He said he wanted to get to know his brother’s girlfriend better."
"Cassie." The way she said my name made my stomach drop. "I think he has an ulterior motive."
"I think so too. He doesn’t strike me as someone who cares about people — so why the sudden interest in me?"
"Okay, enough about the men in our lives. It’s been way too long since we had a girls’ night."
"Yeah, Kate."
She smiled a little. "So.. are we doing this?"
"Obviously. I’ll make popcorn and fresh juice."
The weekend flew by. Monday morning, I was already at Mr. Blackwood’s office, his coffee sitting on his desk, though he hadn’t come in yet.
Please Lord, don’t let him show up today. I prayed silently, wasn’t ready to deal with his attitude.
I caught his cologne before I saw him — grey suit, briefcase in hand, freshly shaven. And instead of being annoyed he’d actually shown up to work, I caught myself thinking about how good he smelled.
I was so lost in thought I didn’t even notice him walk into my office until he was already standing there.
"My office. Now." His voice was firm, cutting straight through my thoughts.
I followed him in, standing as he took his seat behind the desk.
"Cassie. How was your weekend?"
I studied him, trying to figure out why he was even asking. Does he know? Did he recognize me at the meeting?
"Fine, sir."
"And your friend?" His tone was pointed.
"Which friend?"
"The one who lost her mother."
Oh god. I’d nearly forgotten my own lie. "She’s still grieving. It’s hit her hard."
"Cassie. Did you lie to me about your friend?"
I froze. I’d really dug myself into a hole.
"No, sir. I wouldn’t lie to you — especially not about something like that."
He looked at me like the word liar was written across my forehead.
"I called you in here because I’ve noticed you get distracted easily." He paused. "So I want you to move your desk into my office — over there, by the wall." He pointed. "Where I can see everything you’re doing."
What the hell.
"Sir, wouldn’t that be an inconvenience for you?" I tried, going for reverse psychology.
"Not at all. I want to see your every move."
"Get moving. Start bringing your things in," he said.
"Yes, sir."
Cassie, you’re fine. You can do this. It’s only a matter of time before you find a better job and get out of here for good. I kept telling myself as I walked out of his office.
An hour later, my desk was set up in the corner of his office, and I felt completely exposed — like he could see everything I did, even without trying.
This wasn’t a job. This was torture. I couldn’t keep doing this, I’d lose my mind. I needed air.
"Sir, may I use the restroom?"
He looked up. "You can use mine."
Excuse me?
"Sir, I’d really rather use the one downstairs."
"Fine. Whatever." He waved me off.
The day dragged on, and it was nearly time to leave. I was sorting through emails when the intercom buzzed.
"This is Mr. Blackwood’s office. How may I help you?"
"There’s an emergency at the front desk. A man’s insisting on seeing Cassie — says he’s her father. He’s making a scene, won’t calm down."
My stomach dropped. A cold shiver crawled up my spine, and before I even realized it, my hand had clenched around the edge of the desk.
What the hell is he doing here?