His family did not leave until close to midnight.
By then, the Ashbourne estate had gone quiet. The fire in the front salon had burned down to embers, casting a dull red glow across the marble hearth. The chandeliers had been dimmed, and only the wall sconces remained lit, throwing thin gold light over the dark wood panels and the portraits of dead men who had built the family empire with blood and gunpowder. The dinner prepared for Cassian sat untouched in the dining room, the steak cold, the wine breathing for no one.
His mother and aunts stayed far longer than they should have, as if lingering in the house might somehow cover the disgrace he had left behind.
But some things could not be covered.
Not when the heir to the Ashbourne name had failed to come home.
Before she left, Cassian’s mother took both my hands in hers. Her fingers were warm, but I felt the slight tremor in them. Vivienne Ashbourne had always treated me well. From the first night Cassian brought me to a family dinner, she had looked at me as though my place beside him was already settled, as though I belonged in this house, in this family, in this world.
Now there was shame in her eyes.
And something worse than shame.
Helplessness.
“Don’t carry this in your heart, child,” she said softly. “I’ll speak to him.”
I lowered my gaze and gave her a faint nod.
What else was there to do?
After they were gone, the silence in the mansion deepened.
A little while later, my phone lit up again. Vivienne. When I answered, her voice sounded older than it had a few hours earlier. Tired. Frayed. She told me I was the only woman she had ever recognized as Cassian’s future wife. She said he would come to his senses. She said he would apologize.
I listened without saying much.
Then I ended the call and set the phone aside.
I had no use for apologies that had not yet been given.
I sat alone in the front room after that, listening to the wind scrape softly against the tall windows. The estate felt strangely hollow. For years, I had built my life around Cassian’s presence. I used to know the exact rhythm of his footsteps in the corridor, the sound of him loosening his cuff links, the careless way he would drop into a chair and ask what I had saved for him to eat.
That night, I waited for none of it.
When dawn came, I was already awake.
I washed, dressed in silence, and pinned my hair back with steady hands. Then I went downstairs, told the kitchen staff not to fuss, and poured myself coffee I barely touched. My body moved on habit alone. My heart was no longer in any of it.
By the time the eastern sky began to lighten, I was already on my way to the family offices downtown.
The city was only just waking. Black sedans rolled through wet streets. Men from our night crews were changing shifts outside the clubs and warehouses. Delivery trucks backed into secured docks. Street vendors were setting up beneath the gray morning sky, unaware that half the city’s underworld had spent the night whispering about the humiliation of the Ashbourne fiancée.
Everything looked the same.
Only I had changed.
I buried myself in work as soon as I arrived. Security reports from the southern route. Inventory numbers from the port. Accounts waiting for approval. Signatures, ledgers, shipments, coded messages. I kept my hands busy so my thoughts would stay quiet.
For the most part, they did.
Then, just before noon, word came that the consigliere wanted to see me.
I knew why before I even stepped into his office.
The post in Drelantia had already been offered to me twice.
It was no punishment, no exile. It was one of the family’s most difficult assignments—overseeing business and negotiations at the eastern border, where several syndicates crossed paths and every deal came wrapped in risk. Anyone who handled Drelantia well came back with influence, respect, and a seat much closer to power.
I had turned it down before.
Both times for the same reason.
My life was here.
And once, that had been true.
Cassian had already announced our engagement before the families. Once we were married, there would be joint responsibilities, formal appearances, a household of our own, maybe even children. I had imagined that future so many times that I never noticed how much of myself I was giving away to protect it.
The consigliere looked up when I entered.
“Have you truly decided against Drelantia?” he asked. “This is the last time I’ll put your name forward.”
I said nothing at first.
Sunlight fell in long slants across his desk, over stacks of files, sealed envelopes, and one folder set apart from the rest.
Mine.
Inside were the transfer papers, already prepared.
Two years.
That was all.
Not long in the grand scheme of things.
But long enough to become someone else.
Cassian had never wanted me to leave the city. He said people in our world should stay close to the ones they loved. He said distance created weakness. Back then, I had mistaken those words for devotion.
Now I understood them for what they were.
He wanted me close only when it was convenient.
In that quiet office, I saw it all at once.
I had refused postings for him.
Turned down advancement for him.
Rearranged my schedule for him.
Gone home early to have dinner waiting for him, to be available when he wanted me, to make my life fit neatly around his.
I had bent everything around Cassian Ashbourne.
And in the end, none of it had been enough to make him choose me.
The thought brought no tears.
Only a deep, terrifying stillness.
“I’ll go,” I said.
The consigliere studied me for a moment, then pushed the papers toward me.
“Everything’s ready,” he said. “You only need to sign.”
I picked up the pen and wrote my name without hesitation.
“You leave on the ninth of next month.”
I counted the days in silence.
Less than twenty.
That was enough.
Enough time to put my affairs in order. Enough time to untangle the last threads tying me to Cassian Ashbourne. Enough time to walk away cleanly and never look back.
I would leave on the appointed day.
And on that same day, I would end everything between us.
