Chapter 3

I walked until my lungs burned and my legs ached, until the familiar landmarks of my old life were just distant blurs. I knew Cassius wouldn't follow. Not really. He was a man who craved control and public perception. A dramatic chase scene in the middle of the street wouldn't fit his carefully curated image. Besides, I knew where his true loyalties lay. He only showed that kind of 'low' desperation for one person: Kori.

It was almost laughable, the memory. I still remembered the first time Kori joined our lives. I was just a teenager, full of awkward angles and burgeoning dreams. She was a little girl, wide-eyed and seemingly vulnerable, thrust into our family's care when her own mother, my aunt, claimed she couldn't cope.

"She's my cousin," I'd announced proudly to my friends, pulling her into our circle. "And she's living with us now." I had always been protective, a natural instinct to shield the weak. I worried Cassius, with his sometimes-brash charisma, might intimidate her.

But Kori, despite her waif-like appearance, was never truly intimidated. I remembered the way Cassius would look at her, a different kind of softness in his eyes. He' d bring her chocolates when she cried over a scraped knee, patiently explaining algebra when she struggled. I'd watch, a knot forming in my stomach, as he'd gently brush a stray hair from her face. It was the kind of tenderness he rarely displayed, even to me.

My classmates sometimes mistook her for my little sister. "Is that your sister, Alana?" they'd ask, seeing her shadow my every move. I' d correct them, "No, she's my cousin. She needs me." I had given her my shelter, my name, a place to belong. A place where she was safe.

But safety, I learned, was a fleeting illusion. Especially in a house built on sand. While my mother battled her illness, Kori and her mother, my aunt, became increasingly inseparable from my father. Their whispered conversations, their shared glances, painted a picture of betrayal long before the masterpiece was complete. My mother's tragic death, a suicide brought on by the unbearable weight of her husband's infidelity, ripped the first gaping hole in my universe.

After that, the distance between Kori and me grew. I saw the calculating glint in her innocent eyes, the way she mirrored my father's sorrow with a little too much fervor. Cassius, ever the protector, stepped in. He became Kori' s champion, defending her against whispers, against my growing coldness.

I remembered a petty argument in the school cafeteria. Some girls had teased Kori about her worn-out backpack. Cassius, usually so composed, had erupted. He' d slammed his hand on the table, silencing everyone. He' d later gone out and bought her a designer bag, ignoring my own threadbare one. He' d spent hours consoling her, wiping her tears, telling her she was beautiful and strong.

I watched him then, from a distance, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. He never fought for me like that. He never chased away my tears with such fervor. I became quiet, retreating into myself, a ghost in my own home.

My eighteenth birthday arrived, cold and unnoticed. My father was distant, lost in his own grief and, I now realize, guilt. Kori and her mother were barely present, their attention already elsewhere. I sat alone in the vast, empty house, the silence deafening.

Then, Cassius appeared, a small, lopsided cake in his hands, a single candle flickering precariously. "Happy birthday, Alana," he'd sung, his baritone voice a little off-key but filled with a warmth I desperately craved. I felt a surge of emotion, a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he still saw me. Tears welled in my eyes.

Before I could blow out the candle, Kori was there. She materialized as if from thin air, her eyes sparkling, a wide, innocent smile on her face. "Oh, Cassius! You remembered! I was just about to find her!" She beamed, then linked her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Happy birthday, Alana!"

The warmth in my chest turned to ash. The betrayal was swift, brutal. It wasn't just the interruption. It was the easy familiarity, the way Cassius didn't pull away, the way he just smiled at her, a possessive glint in his eyes.

Anger, sharp and hot, consumed me. I grabbed the cake. Before I knew what I was doing, I flung it. It hit Kori squarely in the chest, splattering frosting and candles across her innocent white dress.

She shrieked, a high-pitched, theatrical sound. Cassius reacted instantly, pulling her behind him, his face contorted with fury. "Alana! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. "What's wrong with both of you? Make a choice, Cassius! Right now!"

He looked from me to Kori, his eyes filled with a conflict I barely understood then. He hesitated for a long moment, then slowly, reluctantly, he took his hand off Kori's arm. My heart leaped, a foolish, fleeting hope.

His eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought I saw regret. Or maybe, something else. Something calculating. I didn't know then that his hesitation wasn't about choosing me. It was about choosing the most advantageous path.

I went to bed that night, my pillow soaked with tears, clinging to that fragile hope. The hope that he would choose me.

The next morning, his car was parked outside my house again. I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. He was waiting. For me.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said, rolling down the window. His voice was laced with a familiar teasing tone. "Still living in this dump?"

My heart sank. My "dump" was the only place I had left. A small, rented apartment on the outskirts of the city, chosen for its anonymity. A sanctuary after I'd fled the wreckage of my old life. I knew, even then, that it was a strategic choice. A place he wouldn't easily find or penetrate.

"It's home," I said, my voice flat. I was already running late for my early shift. The hospital called, and I had no time to argue.

"Get in," he urged. "I'll drive you."

I hesitated, but the clock was ticking. "Where's Kori?" I asked, my voice tinged with suspicion.

"She's fine," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just getting some rest. I needed to grab her some breakfast. She's been craving those pastries from that little bakery downtown."

I eyed the empty passenger seat, then the empty back seats. He hadn't stopped at the bakery. He hadn't even gone in that direction. The lie was so smooth, so effortless.

My heart hardened. He was playing a game. And I was done being a pawn.