CASS
I'm calling my father.
I don't wait for Damien's response. I hit my father's number before I can change my mind.
He answers on the first ring.
Cassandra. His voice is sharp, controlled. Not the worried father from the news articles. Where are you?
Dad, I— My voice cracks. I don't know what's happening. I woke up and I can't remember the last few days, and there are all these news articles saying I'm—
Mentally ill. Yes. He cuts me off. Because you are, sweetheart. You've been having episodes for months. Dr. Cross warned us this might happen.
What? No. I've never
Cassandra, stop. His voice turns cold. Ice cold. This fantasy you're living in needs to end. Now. Tell me where you are. I'm sending a car.
Something in his tone makes my stomach twist. This isn't concern. This is a command.
I'm safe, I say carefully. I just need time to
You're with him, aren't you? My father's voice drops to something dangerous. With Thornwood. I saw the marriage certificate. Did you really think that would work?
My breath catches. How did you
I have resources, Cassandra. Much better resources than you realize. He pauses. Come home. Now. Before this gets worse.
Worse how?
Come home, and we can handle this quietly. Stay with him, and I'll have no choice but to involve the authorities. Dr. Cross has already prepared the psychiatric hold paperwork. You'll be committed within the hour.
The words hit like a slap. You're threatening to have me locked up?
I'm trying to help you. But his voice says otherwise. You're clearly not thinking straight. You married our biggest enemy, for God's sake. You abandoned Marcus three days before your wedding. You stole confidential company documents
I didn't steal anything!
The USB drive, Cassandra. I know you took it. I know you gave it to Thornwood. His voice turns deadly quiet. That's corporate espionage. A felony. Unless you come home right now and let us help you, I'll have to press charges.
My hand shakes so badly I almost drop the phone. This is my father. The man who raised me. The man who's supposed to love me.
And he's threatening to destroy me.
I need to think, I whisper.
You have one hour. The line goes dead.
I stand there, staring at my phone, trying to process what just happened.
He threatened you. Damien's voice is quiet behind me.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
What did he say?
That I stole company files. That I'm mentally ill. That he'll have me committed if I don't come home. I turn to face him. He wasn't worried about me. Not even a little bit. He was just... angry. Cold.
That's because you became a problem the moment you discovered the truth.
My phone buzzes. A text from Marcus.
Marcus: Cass, please. Let me help you. I've arranged for Dr. Cross to meet us at your father's house. We'll get you the treatment you need. You're sick, baby. You don't know what you're doing.
Another buzz. Vanessa this time.
Vanessa: Dad's really upset. Please just come home. We love you. We want to help. Dr. Cross says you need immediate care. Please, Cass. For me?
The words look caring. But something about them feels wrong. Rehearsed. Like she's reading from a script.
They keep mentioning Dr. Cross, I say. Why?
Damien picks up a remote and turns on the large TV mounted on the wall. Because he's the key to their plan. This aired two hours ago.
The screen shows Dr. Cross at a press conference. He's distinguished-looking, grey hair perfectly styled, expensive suit. He looks trustworthy. Compassionate.
Miss Whitmore has been my patient for six months, he says to the cameras. She's been experiencing increasing paranoia, delusions, and emotional instability. Her recent actions—abandoning her fiancé, making wild accusations against her family, marrying a stranger—are all consistent with her diagnosis.
What diagnosis? I demand, even though he can't hear me.
Acute psychotic disorder with paranoid features, Dr. Cross continues smoothly. I've recommended immediate hospitalization for her own safety. Her family agrees. We're all very concerned.
The video ends.
I've never been his patient, I say. My voice sounds hollow. I've never even talked to him except at family dinners. Maybe twice in my entire life.
I know.
So he's lying. They're all lying. But why?
Because it's the perfect trap. Damien turns off the TV. If you accuse your father of crimes, he says you're delusional. If you fight back, he says you're dangerous. If you run, he says you're mentally unstable. And Dr. Cross—a respected psychiatrist—confirms everything. Who do you think people will believe? A decorated doctor or a 'mentally ill' woman?
I sink into the couch. This can't be happening.
It's happening. And if you go back to them, they'll have you committed to a psychiatric facility before sunset. Damien sits across from me, his eyes serious. Once you're locked up, drugged, declared incompetent—you'll never get out. You'll never be able to tell anyone what you discovered. You'll be trapped.
What did I discover? I look up at him. What's on that USB drive that's worth all this?
I'll show you everything. But first, you need to decide. He leans forward. Stay or go. Trust me or trust them. Choose, Cass. Because once you walk out that door, I can't protect you anymore.
My phone rings again. My father.
I stare at it, my thumb hovering over the answer button.
If I go home, I'll be locked up. Drugged. Silenced. My own father just made that clear.
If I stay here, I'm trusting a man I don't remember. A man who might have his own agenda.
Both choices feel like traps.
But one trap is with people who are supposed to love me—and are threatening to destroy me.
The other is with a stranger who's shown me more honesty in three hours than my family has in three days.
I decline the call.
Damien watches me carefully. You're staying.
For now. I set my phone down. But I have conditions.
Name them.
First, I want to see everything on that USB drive. Every file. Every piece of evidence. No secrets.
Agreed.
Second, I want my own investigation into what happened. I want to know who drugged me and why. I want those missing days back.
I want that too.
Third I meet his eyes. You stop looking at me like I'm going to break. I'm not fragile. I'm scared and confused, but I'm not weak. I survived whatever happened three days ago. I'll survive this.
Something shifts in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or admiration. Fair enough.
And fourth I stand up, forcing him to stand too. You tell me the real reason you agreed to marry me. No more 'I have my reasons' nonsense. If we're doing this, if I'm trusting you with my life, I need the truth. All of it.
Damien is quiet for a long moment. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a photo. Old, worn at the edges, like it's been carried for years.
He hands it to me.
It shows two teenagers. A boy and a girl, maybe sixteen years old, sitting on a dock somewhere. The girl is laughing, her head thrown back. The boy is looking at her like she's the only person in the world.
I study the girl's face.
It's me.
And the boy is Damien.
We knew each other, I whisper. Before. We
We were in love, Damien says quietly. We spent every summer together from the time we were kids. We were planning a future. We talked about getting married someday, about running our families' companies together, about changing the rivalry into a partnership.
I can't take my eyes off the photo. That girl looks so happy. So free.
Then my parents died in the fire, he continues. And your family celebrated. Your father bought our properties for almost nothing. At the funeral, I saw your father laughing with his business partners about his 'lucky break.' I was seventeen, grieving, and furious. When you tried to comfort me, I pushed you away. I said terrible things. I told you I never wanted to see you again, that you were a Whitmore and that meant you were my enemy.
His voice cracks slightly.
You tried to reach me for months. Letters, calls, showing up at my school. But I refused to see you. Eventually, you stopped trying. And when I finally came to my senses, you'd changed. You'd become exactly what your father wanted—cold, obedient, perfect. You got engaged to Marcus. You looked right through me at social events like we'd never met.
I forgot you, I say, staring at the happy girl in the photo. I forgot all of this.
I thought you chose to forget. That you'd moved on, become one of them. He takes the photo back carefully. Then three nights ago, you showed up at my door. Terrified, desperate, but you. The real you. The girl I fell in love with. And you told me you'd finally remembered—remembered us, remembered what your father did to my family. You came to me because deep down, you knew I was the only one you could trust.
And you said yes. You married me.
I married you because when I opened that door and saw you standing there, I realized I'd never stopped loving you. Even when I thought you'd forgotten me completely. Even when I thought you'd chosen them over me. His eyes meet mine. I married you because you asked. And because I've been waiting eleven years for a second chance.
My throat is tight. I wish I remembered.
So do I. He puts the photo away. But we'll figure it out. Together.
I look down at the ring on my finger. It catches the light, beautiful and strange and somehow right.
Then I look at Damien—this man who loved me once, who's protecting me now, who might be my only ally in a world that's turned hostile.
Fine, I say. My voice is steady. Determined. I'll stay. I'll work with you. I'll help you expose whatever's on that drive.
And in return?
You keep me safe. You help me remember. And you tell me the truth. Always. Even when it hurts.
Deal. He holds out his hand.
I shake it. His grip is warm, strong, and somehow familiar.
So what now? I ask.
Now, Damien says, I show you exactly what you discovered three nights ago. Everything your family has been hiding. Everything they tried to make you forget.
He starts walking toward his office.
Are you ready to see who your family really is? he asks over his shoulder.
I think about my father's cold voice. Marcus's threats. Vanessa's fake concern. Dr. Cross's lies on TV.
I think about that girl in the photo—happy, free, in love.
And I think about who I became after I forgot her.
Yes, I say. Show me everything.