Chapter 3

Cassie stood in the living room, staring at Garrison's rigid back.

She took a slow breath, letting the air fill her lungs to calm her racing heart. She could not let this first attempt at breaking the ice fail. If she let him ignore her now, the pattern would be set forever.

She slipped off her designer jacket and tossed it casually over the back of a cream-colored sofa.

She walked forward. She made sure her footsteps were audible, not trying to sneak up on him. She stopped just two feet behind him-close enough to smell the sharp, clean scent of his cedarwood cologne, but far enough to respect his physical boundaries.

In the reflection of the massive glass window, Cassie saw Garrison's jaw tighten.

His fingers tightened around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned white. His body was physically rejecting her proximity.

Cassie cleared her throat.

"Are you exhausted from the flight?" Cassie asked, keeping her tone light and breezy. "Do you want to have dinner together tonight?"

The words dropped into the silent room like a live grenade.

Over in the open-concept kitchen, Marta, the head housekeeper, dropped a silver spoon. It clattered loudly against the granite countertop.

Marta gasped and stared at Cassie with wide, terrified eyes.

In this house, the husband and wife eating together was strictly forbidden. They ate at separate times, in separate rooms. That was the rule.

Garrison slowly turned his head.

He looked over his shoulder at Cassie. His blue eyes were wide with genuine shock. He scanned her face, his gaze piercing, trying to find the hidden agenda behind her invitation.

Cassie didn't flinch. She met his intense stare head-on.

She tilted her head slightly to the side and gave him a soft, innocent smile. She looked completely relaxed, as if asking her estranged husband to dinner was the most normal thing in the world.

Garrison stared at her for five full seconds. The silence was so heavy it made Cassie's ears ring.

Finally, Garrison gave a single, microscopic dip of his chin.

He agreed.

Cassie's stomach did a little flip of victory. Order secured.

She kept her smile perfectly composed. She turned away from him and looked toward the kitchen.

"Marta," Cassie called out smoothly. "Please set the table for two tonight."

Marta looked like she was going to faint. She blinked rapidly, then nodded her head so fast it looked painful. She immediately started rushing around the kitchen, pulling out extra plates.

Half an hour later, Cassie and Garrison sat at the massive mahogany dining table.

Seeing the two place settings at opposite ends of the vast table, Cassie paused. Then, without a word, she picked up her plate and cutlery, walked the length of the table, and placed her setting directly to the right of Garrison's chair. She sat down, completely ignoring Marta's horrified gasp from the kitchen.

The dining room was dead silent. The only sound was the faint, metallic scrape of Garrison's knife cutting into his steak.

The air in the room felt thick and oppressive. It was hard to breathe.

Garrison kept his eyes glued to his plate. His movements were precise, elegant, and completely mechanical. He had zero intention of interacting with her.

Cassie chewed on a piece of lettuce from her salad. It tasted like cardboard.

Eating like this felt like attending a funeral. She couldn't stand it. She had to break the silence.

Cassie put her fork down. She picked up her crystal wine glass and swirled the red liquid gently.

"The steak looks perfect today," Cassie said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Marta really outdid herself with the sear."

Garrison stopped chewing.

He slowly lifted his head and looked down the length of the table at her. His eyes were dark and full of warning. The look clearly said: Do not speak while eating.

Cassie pretended she didn't understand the threat.

"The weather in Manhattan was actually decent today," Cassie continued, taking a small sip of her wine. "Though the traffic on Lexington was an absolute nightmare. I ended up taking a Citi Bike home."

In the corner of the dining room, Marta stood frozen. She was gripping her white apron so tightly her knuckles were pale. She looked terrified, waiting for Garrison to explode and walk out.

Garrison put his knife and fork down on his plate.

He picked up his crisp white linen napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth. His movements were slow and deliberate.

He rested his forearms on the table and stared directly at Cassie.

Cassie felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck under his intense gaze. But she forced herself to keep going.

"How was the weather in Frankfurt?" Cassie asked, offering him a polite smile.

Garrison didn't reach into his jacket pocket. He didn't pull out the digital writing tablet he usually used to communicate with the staff.

He just sat there, staring at her like she was an alien species that had just landed on his dining table.

Cassie realized she was pushing too hard. He wasn't going to use his tablet. He was shutting down.

She quickly pivoted.

"You know what, you don't have to answer," Cassie said softly, her tone dropping into something much more gentle. "I know you're exhausted from the trip. Just eat. I'll do the talking."

Garrison's eyes flickered.

The hard, defensive line of his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He looked surprised that she was backing off, that she recognized his boundary and respected it.

He picked up his water glass and took a slow sip. He didn't look away from her.

Cassie noticed the subtle relaxation in his jaw. The boiling frog strategy was working.

For the rest of the dinner, Cassie didn't ask him any more direct questions.

Instead, she provided a steady stream of light, meaningless chatter. She talked about a funny dog she saw in Central Park. She talked about a new coffee shop opening downstairs.

She created a comfortable blanket of white noise.

To her absolute shock, Garrison didn't leave.

Usually, the second he finished his last bite of food, he would stand up and vanish into his study.

Tonight, he finished his steak. He finished his water. And he stayed in his chair.

He sat there in silence, watching her as she slowly finished her dessert.

When Cassie finally put her spoon down, Garrison stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket with one smooth motion, preparing to head to his study.

Cassie sat in her chair and watched him walk away.

A triumphant smile spread across her face. Phase one of desensitization therapy was a massive success.