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"Oh," she said, her voice syrupy sweet, dripping with fake curiosity and a hint of mockery. "You must be Cassie."

Gennady whipped his head toward me, his green eyes wide with shock, guilt, and something else I couldn't read. The three of us froze, locked in a twisted triangle.

My heart hammered, blood roaring in my ears, drowning out everything else. I wanted to speak, but my throat felt stuffed with cotton. I wanted to move, but my legs were lead.

The blonde—Ginnie—glanced between us, like she was savoring a scene she'd scripted. She shifted, leaning even closer to Gennady, her red silk brushing his suit. "Hi, Cassie. I'm Ginnie, Gennady's friend." Her voice was laced with fake concern. "You look pale. Trouble sleeping?"

I hated her smug tone, the way she sat there like she owned the place, like she belonged on that couch next to Gennady. Most of all, I hated myself—standing there like some idiot who'd stumbled into someone else's territory, torn apart by shock, humiliation, and a rage that felt like it could rip me in half.

Gennady stood slowly, Ginnie's hand sliding off his arm. He took a step toward me, his face cautious, like he was approaching a spooked animal. "Cassie," he said, his voice soft, laced with an uncertainty I'd never heard before.

"Don't," I snapped, finding my voice, holding up a hand to stop him. "Don't talk to me like that right now."

He froze, his hands dropping to his sides, his jaw tightening like it was carved from stone. "This isn't what you think," he said.

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you two are having a cozy little morning coffee date." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "Did I interrupt something?"

Ginnie stood, gliding to his side, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Cassie, I know this might look bad, but I was just worried about Gennady."

"Enough," Gennady growled, his green eyes cutting to her like a blade. "Ginnie, we're done here."

I kept my face blank, but my heart sank into a pit of ice. "So, what was she doing here?" I asked, my voice flat.

Gennady took a deep breath, raking his fingers through his dark hair—a move I'd seen a thousand times when he was frustrated or pissed. "Some business needed handling," he said, dodging the question, his tone heavy.

"Yeah," Ginnie chimed in, a sly glint in her eyes quickly masked by innocence. "Some very important business." Her gaze flicked to me, loaded with meaning. "Between the two of us."

She leaned hard on those last words, twisting the knife.

I crossed my arms, forcing myself to stay calm. "Wow, aren't you just the perfect little helper, always ready to swoop in and fix Gennady's problems."

"I do what I can," she said, flashing a saccharine smile.

"Enough," Gennady roared, his voice like a lion's, shaking the room. He stepped between us, blocking Ginnie from my view. "Cassie, go to your room. I'll deal with this."

I stared at him, my anger boiling over. "You'll deal with it?" I repeated, each word cold and sharp, like ice falling from my lips.

His jaw clenched tighter. "Yes."

I held his gaze, searching his green eyes. They were hard, determined, but beneath it, I saw a flicker—not anger, not annoyance, but something protective. Like he wasn't mad at me but fighting the whole damn world to shield me from this mess.

Too late. The damage was done.

I gave a curt nod and turned, heading upstairs. "Cassie…" he called after me.

I didn't stop. Didn't look back.

Each step felt like walking on knives. When I reached my room and slammed the door, leaning against its cold surface, the tight coil inside me snapped. My hands balled into fists, my chest so tight I thought it'd explode.

Stupid! So fucking stupid!

Just minutes ago, I was sitting by the window, dreaming of honesty, of change, of a future together. I actually believed Mom's words—that a baby might shake his iron grip of control. I was ready to tell him about the secret that could tie me to him forever.

And reality? Reality slapped me across the face. The second I showed a hint of defiance, of not playing his perfect little doll, he had a replacement waiting in the wings.

Humiliation and betrayal burned through me. I shoved off the door, storming to the closet, my hands shaking with rage and hurt. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't care. I had to get out—now. Out of this cage, away from the man who treated me like a possession.

I yanked clothes off hangers, tossing them into a suitcase in a crumpled heap, each move fueled by raw, destructive anger.