Chapter 4 Older Men Taste Better

Darius turned slightly, his hand already reaching for the edge of the hallway as though this entire conversation had already exhausted his patience. His voice, cool and precise, cut the air like a blade.

"I am assuming the money I gave you back there isn't enough," he said, not even looking at her. "And this is your way of asking me for more. Fine. I will have my maids hand you another bundle on your way out."

The coldness in his tone, the sheer indifference, struck Cassandra like a slap across the face. Before she could even form a proper response, Darius turned fully away from her and continued down the corridor with his usual unfaltering gait, straight-backed, purposeful, like a man who never once questioned the ground beneath his feet.

"You didn't even ask my name, dickhead!" Cassandra yelled after him, her voice ringing through the hall like a thrown stone. "It's Cassandra!"

But Darius didn't stop. He didn't pause. He didn't even flinch. He rounded a corner and vanished from view, leaving only the soft echo of his footsteps behind.

Cassandra stood frozen for a moment, blinking back the sudden, frustrated sting in her eyes. Her breath came in sharp pulls, each one laced with fury.

"What a bloody bastard," she muttered under her breath. "Just like Evan. Exactly like him."

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated how much they were alike. The same arrogance, the same dismissiveness, the same assumption that she wanted their damn money. As if she was nothing more than a stray dog looking for scraps.

CASSANDRA'S FLAT, LATER THAT EVENING

The lighting in Cassandra's flat was warm, the soft glow of fairy lights twinkling against the windows, offering a faint illusion of comfort against the cold, stormy world outside.

Rain tapped rhythmically on the glass, a steady whisper that matched the turbulence inside Cassandra's chest. A cup of chamomile tea sat untouched on the chipped wooden coffee table before her, its steam rising like ghosts of things unspoken.

She was curled into herself on the couch, wrapped in a faded grey hoodie and cotton leggings, a blanket cocooning her knees. Her face was bare, scrubbed free of makeup, but her eyes held the glint of restless thoughts.

Across from her, in the mismatched green armchair sat Nia, Cassandra's best friend, housemate, and self-proclaimed truth-teller. Nia was petite and fierce, her rich brown skin glowing against her pale pink hoodie, and her curls danced rebelliously around her face, held in place only by a loose scrunchie.

"You're joking," Nia said, her voice high with disbelief and tinged with suppressed laughter. "He rescued you, brought you to his big-ass gothic mansion, and then just what? Threw money at you and told you to get lost like some random stranger?"

Cassandra groaned, burying her face in the pillow she clutched. "That's exactly what happened."

"Damn," Nia said, a low whistle following. "That family... You sure they don't all have some inherited personality disorder? Like being a Grade A prick runs in their DNA?"

Cassandra peeked over the top of the pillow. "I'm not even surprised anymore. At least his uncle was upfront about being a dickhead. Evan... Evan played me. For almost a year. Pretending to be all sweet and devoted while he was just using me."

Nia sighed, her laughter fading into something more serious. "Cass, I hate to say this, but I did warn you."

Cassandra raised a brow. "Oh, we're doing this now?"

"I'm not trying to downgrade you," Nia said quickly, holding up her hands in surrender. "I mean it. You know I love you. You're brilliant, funny, loyal, any guy would be lucky to have you. But Evan?" She shook her head. "He comes from that...world. All silver spoons and private jets and old money. I always found it suspicious that he picked you over all the heiresses and Insta-models in his orbit."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Nia? That because I'm broke and normal, I don't deserve love? That I'm not worthy of a wealthy man?"

"No!" Nia leaned forward, her voice softening. "That's not what I mean. I just....Cass, he didn't care to meet your family. He never brought you to any real family events. He barely even posted you on social media. He was always 'busy,' always a bit distant even when he was right next to you. It was like... like you were part of a fantasy for him. An escape, not a future."

Cassandra didn't respond right away. She just stared at the tea, her jaw tightening. She knew Nia was right, there was no point denying it now, she had seen the signs but she had thought, maybe just maybe, Evan was different. But turns out he wasn't different good, but different bad.

"I should have listened to you," Cassandra said finally, her voice quiet. "I kept defending him. I kept saying he just wasn't comfortable with PDA or that his family was controlling. Gosh, I sound pathetic."

"No, you sound like someone who loved too hard. That's not pathetic. It's just... dangerous."

Cassandra's grip on the pillow tightened. The heat in her chest had nothing to do with the tea or the blanket. It was something darker. Hotter.

"I'm not letting him get away with it," she said suddenly, her voice low and resolute. "He thinks he can humiliate me, cheat on me, lie to me, and just walk away like I'm nothing? No. No, he doesn't get that peace."

Nia blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Cassandra sat upright now, the throw pillow discarded as her eyes lit with a cold, sharp fire. "He thinks he's clever. But I've seen his weakness. Darius."

Nia frowned. "You mean the uncle who insulted you and threw cash at you?"

"Oh, I mean him," Cassandra said, her lips curling into something that was not quite a smile. "Because for all the attitude, for all the rudeness, there's something there. He looked at me like I was a problem. A complication. Which means I matter. And if I can make him care, even for a second, that will destroy Evan."

"I hope it's not what I am thinking Cass?" Nia asked, voice cautious.

"I will make his uncle fall in love with me. I will seduce him."