Chapter 4 Tangled Sheets and Unspoken Promises

The day after her run-in with Cassian at the bar had passed in a strange, suspended haze. Ariella had tried to shake the encounter from her mind the mysterious charm in his voice, the quiet way he'd listened without judgment, the flash of something familiar in his eyes but it lingered, stubborn and unexpected.

Now, home alone in Leila's townhouse while her best friend and Marcus were out for the day, Ariella stood by the window watching raindrops crawl down the glass like tear tracks. The silence in the house amplified every thought, every doubt, every ache in her chest.

Catherine had forged the will.

Vanessa had stolen her inheritance.

And the man who'd spent years building a legacy had been reduced to a legal footnote, erased by those who should've honored him.

Her father had trusted them. Loved them.

And they had repaid that love with greed and deception.

Ariella pressed her hand to the cold glass, trying to slow the racing in her chest, but the storm inside her only swelled. It was too much. The grief, the betrayal, the weight of everything she'd lost.

She needed to escape.

Without a second thought, she grabbed her coat and purse, slipped on her boots, and stepped into the drizzling twilight. The air outside was cold and sharp, biting at her cheeks as she flagged down a cab.

The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Where to, miss?"

She didn't answer. Her thoughts were too loud, echoes of her father's voice, the cruel glint in Vanessa's eyes, the night Liam had shattered her heart.

"Miss?" the cabbie asked again.

Ariella blinked, realizing she hadn't spoken. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her throat was tight, strangled by emotion.

They'd taken everything.

And yet... not quite everything. Not her memories. Not her will.

As the cab rolled slowly through the quiet streets, music spilled faintly from a nearby bar, a low jazzy tune that seemed to pierce through her fog like a lifeline.

"Stop here," she said suddenly.

The driver pulled up to the curb, looking unsure. "Here?"

"Yes." She dug into her purse for some bills and handed them over. "Thanks."

She stepped out, the music guiding her toward the dim neon glow above the bar's entrance. As she pushed open the door, the warmth, and sound wrapped around her like an old coat.

And that's when it hit her.

This was the same bar.

The same dim lights. The same scent of whiskey and sandalwood. The same subtle rhythm of jazz seemed to play in her bones.

She slipped onto a stool at the bar and exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Her fingers drummed lightly on the counter as she placed her order, just one drink, she told herself. Enough to dull the edges.

As she waited, a strange prickle crawled up her spine. She turned her head slightly, scanning the space.

And froze.

There he was.

Cassian.

At first, she couldn't quite place him, something about the dim lighting and his crisp white shirt beneath a sleek charcoal blazer threw her off. But as he turned and caught her gaze, recognition flared between them like static.

He rose slowly and approached, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"I was starting to think I'd imagined you," he said, voice like velvet and gravel.

Ariella tilted her head. "You look familiar. But I can't quite place you."

He chuckled. "You were a little tipsy the last time we met. I'm Cassian. We shared a drink. Or three."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Right. You're the mysterious stranger with impeccable timing."

"I prefer the term 'fateful coincidence,' but I'll take it."

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. "What are the odds?"

"With you? I'd say not high, but strangely welcome."

The bartender returned with her drink, but she barely noticed it as Cassian slid onto the stool beside her.

"So," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Back for round two?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I live not too far from here. Sometimes I come to think. Other times to forget."

Ariella sipped her drink, watching him over the rim. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Right now? Sharing a drink with a woman who looks like she's carrying the weight of the world."

She smiled, soft and tired. "That obvious?"

"Only if someone's paying attention."

They talked, their words meandering through safe topics, music, architecture, and travel. He mentioned being in the tech and development industry but didn't elaborate. She spoke of interior design and the dream she once chased across continents. Neither of them touched the raw wounds they carried, but they didn't need to. The silence between sentences spoke enough.

Time blurred.

By the time he leaned in slightly and asked, "Want to get out of here?" her heart was already answering before her head could.

"Yes," she said, surprising herself.

He paid the tab, took her hand, and led her out into the cool night. A sleek black SUV was waiting at the curb. She didn't ask questions. He didn't offer explanations.

The ride was quiet.

His presidential lodge was a towering marvel near the riverfront, with sleek glass, clean lines, and a view that seemed to stretch forever. Inside, it was all soft lighting, understated luxury, and silence that didn't feel empty.

"Bathroom's down the hall if you want to freshen up," Cassian offered.

She nodded, grateful. The mirror reflected a tired but stunning woman, cheeks flushed from the whiskey, eyes shadowed with fatigue and something deeper. She washed her face, patted it dry, and returned to find Cassian had changed into a black Henley and set out dinner, simple, warm food with a bottle of red wine.

They ate. Talked a little more. Then came the wine. Then came the stillness.

And then came the kiss.

It was unspoken, inevitable.

Ariella didn't know who moved first, maybe both of them at once but suddenly his lips were on hers, tasting of wine and longing, and her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt like she'd done it a thousand times before.

They moved through the lodge like a whispered storm, discarding layers of clothing and restraint until all that remained was heat and need and the echo of something neither of them dared name.

When Ariella woke the next morning, soft light bled through the sheer curtains. For a moment, she didn't know where she was.

Then she turned.

Cassian was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed in nothing but black joggers, sipping coffee and staring out at the skyline.

He turned when she stirred.

"Morning," he said, voice low and gravelly from sleep.

"Morning," she echoed, wrapping the sheet around herself.

He stood and walked over, holding out a hand to help her up. "Toothbrush's on the counter. I brought you a fresh one."

"Thanks." She took his hand and let him steady her as she got up.

In the bathroom, she freshened up again, brushing away the remnants of the night before but not its memory. Not its warmth.

When she returned to the room, Cassian was buttoning up a shirt and laying out clean clothes on the chair for her, soft joggers and a cozy cream sweater that looked brand new.

"These should fit," he said casually.

"Thank you!" Ariella replied.

Ariella changed, grateful for the comfort. They had breakfast together, coffee, croissants, and soft fruit. There was a quiet peace between them like they both knew the moment wouldn't last but wanted to hold it just a little longer.

Then her phone buzzed.

She grabbed it and blinked at the screen.

Eight missed calls from Leila.

Her heart skipped. "I have to go."

Cassian nodded and walked her to the door. Just before she stepped out, he handed her a small bouquet of rare, blush-pink peonies wrapped in delicate paper.

"These are..." she trailed off, stunned.

"Hard to find. But worth it," he said simply.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. "Thank you."

"For last night?"

"For not asking me to explain."

He touched her hand briefly. "You don't owe me anything, Ariella. But if you ever want to talk or not talk I'm around."

She nodded, then stepped into the elevator and descended to the waiting car Cassian had arranged.

The flowers sat in her lap the whole ride home, their scent as unfamiliar as the feelings curling inside her chest.

At Leila's townhouse, she pushed open the door quietly.

Leila was in the kitchen, arms crossed, a mix of relief and annoyance on her face.

"Where have you been, you silly woman? I've been trying to reach you all night!"

"I'm sorry," Ariella said. "I just needed space. I didn't mean to worry you."

Leila's eyes flicked to the flowers in her hand.

Her brows shot up. "Where did you get those?"

Ariella looked down at the bouquet.

And for once, she didn't rush to answer.

She just smiled softly and whispered, "From someone who doesn't ask for explanations."