Chapter 1 He Was Mine Before You

The rain poured harder, drumming relentlessly against the sidewalk and soaking the edges of Cassandra's jeans as she hurried through the narrow alley beside the luxurious Silver claw Hotel. Her umbrella wobbled in the gusting wind, barely keeping her dry. But she didn't slow down. She couldn't. Not with the way her heart was pounding loud and frantic, like it was trying to warn her.

Not from the cold.

But from the gnawing sense of dread that had wrapped itself around her chest since morning and refused to let go. Something was wrong. She had texted Evan four times today.

No reply.

She had called him twice. Straight to voicemail. He had never ignored her before. Not like this.

Evan was the type to text back even during meetings, to send her little voice notes just to say he missed her voice. He would leave sleepy emojis in the middle of the night, and once, he'd surprised her with coffee at work just because she said she was tired.

That was Evan.

Sweet. Attentive. Predictable in the kind of way that made her feel safe. But the past week had been different.

It started with him cancelling their dinner date, no explanation, just a "Sorry, something came up."

Then, he stopped calling every night. And when they did speak, it was always rushed. Distracted. Like he had somewhere else to be. Somewhere more important than her.

She had tried to brush it off. Told herself he was busy, that stress could make anyone act distant. But even his voice had changed, cold, clipped, like the warmth she once cherished had frozen behind a wall she couldn't reach.

Now, standing in front of the Silver claw Hotel, drenched and aching, she could no longer pretend.

His car was parked right out front. The sleek black sedan he loved more than he loved sushi and Sunday naps. He was here. He just didn't want her to know.

A receptionist tried to intercept her the moment she entered the gleaming marble lobby. "Ma'am, you can't go up without-"

"I won't be long," Cassandra said, gripping her umbrella tighter, her voice low but firm. She didn't wait for permission. She didn't need it.

She pressed the elevator button with a trembling finger and stepped inside, alone.

The ride up to the penthouse was eerily quiet. No other guests. No distractions. Just the soft hum of the elevator and the storm inside her head.

Maybe he's sick.

Maybe he just needs space.

Maybe there's an explanation. Something, anything, that makes sense.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to silence the screaming thoughts.

But when the doors slid open with a soft ding, that hope cracked. The hallway leading to the penthouse suite was dimly lit and lined with soft grey carpet that muffled her footsteps. Cassandra didn't need directions. She knew where to go.

Suite 501.

The room Evan always bragged about. The one he booked whenever he needed to "escape" the noise of the city. He'd once brought her here for their one-year anniversary. Rose petals. Candles. Chocolate-covered strawberries. They had made love until sunrise.

Back then, she had thought: This is what forever looks like.

Now, her hands trembled as she raised one and pressed it gently against the door.

She told herself she'd knock. She told herself she'd wait. But just as her knuckles hovered over the wood, a sound stopped her cold. A soft moan.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Another moan. Louder. Drawn out. Followed by a familiar voice-low, breathless, almost broken with pleasure.

Evan.

Her heart twisted.

No.

No. No. No.

Not him. Not like this.

Her fingers moved on their own, twisting the door handle slowly. She half-hoped it would be locked.

It wasn't. The door creaked open. They hadn't even locked it.

What she saw next shattered something inside her that would never be whole again.

There he was.

Evan.

Her Evan.

Shirtless. His body curved over another's.

In bed. Their bed, the same room where he once whispered he loved her more than life itself.

Cassandra didn't breathe. Her feet were glued to the floor. Her heart wasn't racing anymore.

It was falling. Shattering. Imploding in slow motion.

She blinked, hoping it was a trick of the light. A nightmare. Something she could wake up from.

But the woman beneath him turned and it wasn't a dream.

Pale. Beautiful in a cold, sharp way. Long silvery hair spilled across the pillow. Her eyes gleamed like golden fire. She looked like a goddess. And she looked smug. Evan's eyes widened the moment he saw her.

His breath caught in his throat as Cassandra stood there, soaked from the rain, her dark curls clinging to her cheeks, and her eyes wide with disbelief and pain. The umbrella slipped from her hand and collapsed soundlessly to the floor.

He barely managed to yank the duvet up over his naked body, stumbling out of bed with the panic of a man who'd just been caught mid-crime.

"Cass-Cassandra-" he stammered, but the words choked in his throat.

The silver-haired woman in the bed didn't even bother to cover herself. She smirked, propping herself up on her elbows like she was watching a particularly entertaining movie. Her eyes, gold and glinting with cruel amusement, locked onto Cassandra's.

Evan rushed forward and grabbed Cassandra's arm. "Come with me. You shouldn't be here."

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, trying to wrench her arm free, but his grip tightened. Panic laced his expression as he all but dragged her out of the suite and into the hallway, the door slamming behind them with a dull thud.

The air outside was cold and sterile, but Cassandra's skin burned.

She tore her arm away from him, her chest heaving with pain and betrayal.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Evan snapped, dragging a hand down his face, the duvet clutched awkwardly around his hips. "You shouldn't be here."

Cassandra stared at him. Her ears rang, her mind a blur. You shouldn't be here? That's what he had to say? After everything?

She didn't think. Didn't hesitate.

Her hand moved on instinct.

SLAP.

The sound cracked through the quiet hallway like thunder. Evan reeled slightly, a red mark blooming across his cheek.

Tears streamed down Cassandra's face now, the full weight of what she'd seen, what he'd done, crashing over her in suffocating waves.

"You bastard," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How could you do this to me? How could you Evan?"