I had once believed that after all these years by his side, he had finally let go of Sloane.

That he had moved forward, freed his heart from the past and was ready to accept me.

But standing here now, watching the two of them together, it felt as if someone had taken a whip to my heart, leaving it in tatters.

Maybe my silence stretched on for too long, because Cassian’s eyes darkened, wary of upsetting Sloane.

His sharp voice sliced through the air. “Liv, Sloane is speaking to you. Where are your manners? Did we teach you nothing about respect? Don’t embarrass me.”

A lump formed in my throat. Just as I was about to respond, Sloane let out a small, affected sigh and reached into her designer bag. She pulled out a hair tie and placed it in my palm with an easy smile.

“Cassian, don’t be too hard on her,” she interrupted sweetly before I could speak. “It was my fault. I asked when it wasn’t my turn to speak.”

Then, as if bestowing me with some grand gesture of kindness, she shrugged and added, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a gift. This is my first time here.”

She held up the hair tie with a faint smile. “It’s a freebie from the lingerie Cassian bought me. I figured it’d be enough for now. Oh, don’t worry—it’s from an expensive brand.”

Her words landed like a slap, but before I could react, she had already turned away, stretching her arms with a sleepy sigh.

She stifled a yawn, utterly indifferent to my presence. “Cassian, I’m tired. Take me upstairs, won’t you?”

Cassian immediately pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead with a tenderness that made my stomach churn.

“Of course, baby. Sorry for keeping you out in the cold. Let’s get inside.”

As they headed up the stairs, Cassian suddenly paused, turning his head back, his expression indifferent.

They climbed together, his arm still resting around her waist.

Just as they reached the landing, he glanced at me, as if I were an afterthought.

“Oh, Liv, Sloane likes her warm milk exactly at 108 degrees. Don’t mess it up.”

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

He was wearing the scarf I had bought him before he left for his trip. The same scarf he had used to blindfold me on the last night we spent together.

“Be good for me, Pixie. Just hold it a little longer. Once I close the deal with the Kensingtons, I’ll talk to my Mom and Dad about our engagement.”

My grandmother had worked as a housekeeper for the Montclair Family her entire life. After my parents died in a car accident, she had taken me in, raising me within the Montclair estate. She had always carried herself with quiet dignity, teaching me to be grateful for the roof over my head.

As a child, I had watched Mrs. Montclair educate Cassian with careful discipline, shaping him into the perfect heir. I had envied him. I had longed for even a fraction of that parental guidance.

Once, I had run away from the estate to visit my parents’ graves. It had been the dead of winter and the frozen lake near the cemetery was covered in a deceptive layer of ice. I hadn’t noticed—until I fell through. Cassian had jumped in after me without a second thought, pushing me to safety while he himself nearly drowned in the freezing water.

The jagged ice had cut into his thumb, leaving a scar that never completely faded.

Back then, I hadn’t understood the full weight of his actions. The Montclairs had a strict rule—no heir was allowed to engage in reckless or dangerous behavior. When Cassian returned home that night, he was beaten within an inch of his life for breaking that rule.

But he had never once apologized.

“Saving her wasn’t a mistake,” he had said, his young voice steady despite the welts on his back.

The punishments had only stopped when my grandmother knelt before the Montclairs and begged for their forgiveness.

Cassian had always been the golden child, the one who had everything. And yet, despite it all, he had chosen to protect me.

Even after my grandmother passed away, the Montclairs had continued to provide for me. But I never let myself forget the divide between us—the unspoken boundary that could never be crossed.

So when the boy I had admired for years—the boy who had once risked his life to save me—came to me that night, promising forever, how could I not believe him? How could I not hope? But that promise had barely lasted a week before it was shattered.

“Cassian.” Sloane’s airy voice pulled me back to the present. “I left my new lingerie in the car. Can you have Livia bring it up for me?”

She let out a dramatic sigh before quickly adding, “Oh, never mind! I’ll go get it myself. What was I thinking? She’s not a maid.”

Cassian smirked, giving me a knowing look before turning back to her.

Cassian smirked, giving me a knowing look before turning back to her. “No, it’s fine."It’s fine. Liv will get it for you,” Cassian said smoothly, his gaze flicking to me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He turned and descended the stairs, subtly motioning for me to follow. Confused, I hesitated before trailing after him. He led me into the dimly lit space beneath the grand staircase, where the shadows swallowed us whole.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until he reached out to touch my face. His fingertips lingered just beneath my eyes, catching the stray tears before they could fall further. He hesitated, then pressed his thumb gently to my cheek, wiping away the evidence of my heartbreak.

“Why?” My voice wavered as I forced myself to meet his gaze, desperate for an answer, a reason—anything to make sense of this.

His thumb ghosted over my skin, his voice low and smooth, almost hypnotic. “You know you’re the one I trust the most, Pixie.”

I flinched at the nickname, once a term of endearment, now feeling like a cruel mockery.

“Sloane helped me secure the Kensington deal,” he continued, his tone frustratingly patient. “I sent the staff home, so I need you here. If my parents show up, I need you to cover for me. Just for a few days. Can you do that?”

There it was. The role I was destined to play in his life—his most trusted, but never his most loved.

Above us, Sloane moved about freely in the master bedroom—the one place I had never been allowed to step foot in. And yet, Cassian and I had shared our first time right here, in the shadows beneath the staircase. Not in his bed, not in a place of love, but in secrecy, where no one could see.

Like the difference between a carefully chosen possession and a mere afterthought.

I had once been naive enough to believe that I was the former.

When I first came to the Montclair estate as a child, I was a mess—unpolished, grieving and completely out of place. The other children mocked me, calling me Cassian’s little charity case, his unwanted shadow. But he had fought for me, stood by me, forced them to acknowledge me as his equal, or at least sister.

Then Sloane had left for Europe and he had convinced his mother to mold me into something refined, something worthy. For him, I had learned, changed, adapted.

And yet, tonight, Sloane had so easily dismissed me as just another servant in this house—and he hadn’t corrected her. He had let me drown in humiliation, without a word.

Cassian had pulled me from the mud, only to shove me back into it when it was convenient.

The dream I had held onto for so long—it had been nothing but an illusion.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to speak. “Yeah. I get it.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but I didn’t wait for a response. I pulled away from his grasp and turned, leaving him standing in the darkness.

The next afternoon, Cassian called for me. “Come upstairs and clean the room.”

I hesitated at the threshold of the master bedroom. For years, I had wondered what lay beyond this door, longing to step inside. Now that I finally had permission, I found myself paralyzed, afraid of what I would see.

Summoning my courage, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

My stomach lurched.

The walls were adorned with massive portraits of Sloane, each one capturing her in different moments of her youth. She was everywhere—laughing, gazing wistfully into the distance, lips parted in an unspoken promise. It was a shrine to her, a museum dedicated to the only woman Cassian had ever truly loved.

“Excessive, isn’t it?” Sloane’s voice rang out behind me, laced with amusement. I turned to see her lounging against the doorframe, her satin robe slipping off one shoulder, revealing smooth, bare skin. She was the picture of effortless beauty, every inch of her exuding confidence.

She let out a soft laugh, her fingers toying with the edge of her robe. “I used to look so awful and yet he went ahead and blew up my face on these giant canvases. What a weirdo.”

Before I could respond, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Cassian pulled her close, his fingers brushing her skin with practiced ease.

“You looked perfect, Sloane,” he murmured, lips skimming the curve of her neck. “You always do. Especially last night, when you have nothing on you.”

“Cassian!” She giggled, swatting at his chest. “Not in front of Livia.”

He barely spared me a glance, but his lips curled at the edges as if he found the entire situation amusing. “She should get used to it.”

Then, without hesitation, he turned her in his arms and kissed her—slow, deep and possessive.

I stood there, numb, watching as the man who had once whispered promises in my ear tangled himself with another woman right in front of me.

When they finally pulled apart, Cassian’s gaze flicked to mine, his expression unreadable.

“She should start getting used to this. Once the project is secured and we’re married, she’ll be moving in with us.”

Cassian’s words cut into me like a blade, each syllable sharper than the last.

He had once promised he would only propose if he secured the project—pleading with Mrs. Montclair to approve our marriage. Now, that promise had become the bargaining chip for his engagement to Sloane.

Even if he no longer wanted me, he shouldn’t have placed me in such a humiliating position, expecting me to simply stand by and accept their intimacy as if it were normal.

My nails dug deep into my palms. Fighting against the sharp sting, I forced myself to clean up before I completely lost control.

Their discarded clothes were strewn across the floor.

Sloane’s lace lingerie dangled from the bedpost, a shameless reminder of what it had been used for last night. Handprints smeared the floor-to-ceiling windows. The bathroom vanity was a disaster. Used condoms were tossed around carelessly.

Filthy. They were filthy. And after being with Cassian, so was I.

I watched them kiss on the balcony as if I weren’t even there, suppressing the bile rising in my throat before fleeing the room.

I thought living like this would break me.

But as the days dragged on, my pain and disgust dulled into numbness. Eventually, I could even listen to their moans without flinching as I brought them their meals.

For seven days, I waited on Cassian.

Seven days later, he finally saw Sloane off, reluctant to let her go. Before she left, she cast me a knowing smile.

“Poor thing, you must be exhausted listening to all those sounds we were making,” she mused, her voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t worry, though—I’ve told Cassian to add a little bonus to your paycheck.”

By the time Cassian returned, night had already fallen.

I lay in bed, dazed and drained, as if I had barely survived some catastrophic ordeal. Somewhere between wakefulness and exhaustion, the mattress suddenly dipped beside me.Before I could react, strong arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me into a firm embrace. His hot breath fanned against the back of my neck.

“My sweet little Pixie, once I marry Sloane—I’ll make it up to you with a wedding of your own, okay?”

“You’ve been a good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “Makes me want to keep you hidden away… from the world. Where no one else can see you. I want to keep you just for myself.”

I jolted awake, my body stiffening. With all the strength I could muster, I shoved him away.

“Get out!”

Cassian leaned back against the headboard, watching me with an amused smirk. “Are you mad?”

His gaze was taunting, as if he were toying with a petulant child.

So different from the way he was with Sloane—gentle, careful, utterly devoted. It reminded me that even in bed, he treated her with infinite patience and indulgence.

But with me? He was rough, demanding, taking what he wanted without restraint.

He used to say I made him lose control. Now, I understood—he simply never cared enough to be gentle with me.

When I didn’t respond, his lips curled into something between amusement and mockery. His voice was deceptively soft.

“Come on, I’m doing this for us. You know me. The harder something is to get, the more I want it. And now that I finally get her… she doesn’t feel like matter anymore.”

His tone was almost nonchalant, as if Sloane had already served her purpose.

“You know our family has strict rules. Your background will always be a disadvantage—it will wear you down eventually. So why don’t we just keep things the way they are?”

“Sloane can be a little spoiled, but she has her own social circle. As long as you stay obedient and accommodating, she’ll tolerate your presence. And of course, I won’t let you miserable.”

His gaze darkened, something predatory lurking beneath the surface.

“I’ll make sure you’re compensated. Whenever you want…I’ll try my best to satisfy you.”

My whole body trembled. Each word sent a fresh wave of disgust and fury through me.

And then, without thinking, I slapped him—hard.

“You bastard!”