Page 11 of Vows of Deceit
It was held at Elaine’s favorite garden bistro in Tribeca. White tablecloths, rose trellises, linen napkins pressed and perfumed. Elaine arrived late, dressed in ivory silk and gold chains, her smile cool.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” Elaine said as she sat. “Is everything well with Damien?”
Cassie stirred her tea slowly. “Of course. Just busy. The hotel expansion is moving faster than expected.”
Elaine sipped her cucumber water. “I do hope you remember your priorities. Sterling Ventures is your future, Cassie. As is your husband.”
Cassie smiled politely. “Of course.”
But in that moment, she knew Elaine knew. Or at the very least, suspected. Elaine had always preferred Kelly. Cassie’s loyalty had always felt too threatening. She was too calm. Too composed. Too calculating. Elaine didn’t trust women like her. And soon, she’d have a reason not to.
That evening, as Damien returned home, Cassie greeted him at the door with a kiss. Her lips brushed his cheek like a promise.
“I thought we could stay in tonight,” she said. “Watch something old. Order in. Just… be.”
He looked relieved. “That sounds perfect.”
As he showered, she returned to his office and slipped the old phone back into the drawer. She didn’t need to look at it again. The images were seared into her mind. What she needed now was control.
Chapter Eight
The Fire in Her Veins
The ballroom shimmered beneath a thousand lights. Crystal chandeliers hung like crowns above the sea of couture and whispers, and the annual Hope For Tomorrow charity gala was in full swing. A string quartet played a hauntingly slow version of an old jazz standard while servers glided between guests with trays of champagne.
Cassie stood near the center of it all, dressed in midnight blue satin that skimmed over her figure like melted moonlight. Her hair was swept up in a loose, elegant twist, dark strands framing her face. The diamond studs in her ears weren’t borrowed. She had purchased them herself earlier that day.
She didn’t need Damien’s gifts anymore. Tonight wasn’t about pretending. Tonight, she wanted to be seen and he saw her.
Grayson Collin.
He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, all tailored charcoal and long-limbed confidence. It had been almost three years since she’d seen him last, at a mutual friend's wedding in Capri. Even then, there had been something about him that stayed with her. The quiet intensity, the eyes that missed nothing, the slight scar just beneath his jaw. She felt his presence before he said a word.
“Cassiopeia King.”
Her heart jolted.
No one called her that.
She turned slowly, her glass of champagne hovering just below her lips. “Grayson Collin. You’re far from Milan.”
He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Not far enough, it seems.”
Cassie arched a brow. “And what brings the elusive Mr. Collin back to New York?”
“Charity. Legacy. Old ghosts.” His gaze dropped for a heartbeat, sweeping over her with open admiration. “And possibly fate.”
Cassie sipped her champagne, unflinching. “That sounds suspiciously romantic for someone who once claimed love was an illusion dressed in flowers and lies.”
Grayson’s grin deepened. “Even illusions can be beautiful.”
For a moment, the noise around them blurred. She hadn’t expected this. This flicker of awareness, the low thrum beneath her skin like something waking up. She hadn’t planned on feeling anything that wasn’t cold or calculated but here he was and here she was. Standing in the same room, history folding in around them.
They moved toward the quieter edge of the ballroom, near a marble statue of Athena, half-hidden by draping ivy. No cameras. No eager socialites. Just shadows and unspoken truths.
“Damien isn’t here?” Grayson asked.
“No,” she said. “Business.”
