Page 3 of Tangled IN LIES (IN YOU 3)

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I almost lose it as it zaps through my already strung-uptight body. Laisa’s name appears on the screen, and I answer, a little breathless.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Cassandra, I just wanted to say good luck before your interview.”

“Thank you. I’ll probably need it.”

Laisa is my old therapist. She’s the specialist Logan, my ex-husband, got for me about six years ago after he noticed I was suffering from severe anxiety and panic attacks. It was a consequence of previous trauma—a car accident—then I lost my precious boys. Nate and Ethan.

We formed quite a close relationship over the years of therapy. Laisa earned my trust and respect since she helped me to deal with PTSD and other issues. From time to time, we talk.

“Did you tell your in-laws about it?”

“No. They’ll try to stop me.” I exhale a breath. “I’m done asking for permission and walking on eggshells around them. I need to think about the future of my children and my own. I can’t let them toy with me like this.”

That’s why I left the States—to get away from Logan’s controlling parents. And since the media hounds stopped stalking me, they didn’t have any good excuse to stop me from leaving. So I packed our things and went back to England. It was time.

“You made the right decision. Just remember to breathe and stop thinking about the past. Concentrate on the present.”

I nod, kno

wing that my past is a deep hole. If I look at it too long, it might drag me in and drown me.

“Thank you, I will.” I disconnect the call and stare at the approaching building I’m about to visit. Its impressive structure peeks through the park trees, standing like sentinels, protecting the castle of glass and concrete.

Will they regard me with contempt like so many do?

How can I blame them? At some point, it was easy to believe in those colorful lies, since media painted such a sinister tapestry of me. It got so bad, I had to move to America, hoping this scandal would blow over, but the situation got even worse back there. Paparazzi were following me everywhere. It didn’t help I inherited part of the empire Logan built with his father, and I lived through a car crash, but the magnate’s son didn’t.

Instead of being a victim of the unfortunate accident, they managed to brand me as the evil bitch who married Logan Cade for money and got him killed.

Perhaps because it wasn’t the only car accident in my life. Or loss. Before meeting Aleksander Investment Bank’s CEO, I even changed my name, subconsciously trying to hide the truth I couldn’t face. All that tragic history made me more attractive to the media hounds. My life story became a product of creative storytelling. I can’t believe my luck that Fading Ink’s CEOs didn’t care to grill me about it.

I bind my painful past where it belongs, even if a hundred voices like demons are screaming at me as if those headlines are part of my identity. I take calming breaths and step out of the car. I walk through the park full of blooming flowers toward the entrance of a tower of glass and steel, allowing spring to fill me with purpose and determination. When the sliding door opens, an oomph of energy spreads through me.

This is it.

“Good morning, miss.” The security guy politely guides me to the ground floor receptionist as I keep reminding myself to breathe.

She lifts her dark blue eyes and a smile splits her face as soon as she sees me.

“Good morning, miss, welcome to Fading Ink. How can I help you?” Her soft voice sounds melodious and pleasant.

I force my shoulders to relax and break a smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Lawson and Mr. Greer for a job interview.”

She nods, casting her gaze on the screen to check. “One moment.” She quickly types something on her keyboard and dials the phone, and I have a chance to observe my surroundings.

Everything looks sleek and modern, with clever design touches to give a person the impression of comfort and prestige. Bestsellers adorn the polished stone walls like an artwork, and the company’s history is displayed on the canvases throughout the spacious, one-floor reception.

It was disappointing to receive a call from Aisha’s firm, telling me they can’t hire me at this time. Apparently, someone else with more experience snatched up the position. Thankfully, Aisha’s marketing firm redirected me to another similar opening.

After I received the agency’s recommendation, I threw myself into research. I needed to understand Fading Ink’s business goals to see if this company could be my starting point. I won’t deny, I was impressed with what I found.

A few video chats with Mr. Greer later, I received the invitation to meet them in person for the final interview. It was such a relief they weren’t worried about my lack of experience. I genuinely want to try my hand at publishing.

“They’re waiting for you. Floor nine. Mr. Greer’s assistant is going to meet you there.” She quickly prints me a pass, and I’m escorted into the elevator.

As the doors shut, I turn to the mirror to adjust my bright hair hanging loosely around my shoulders. I dyed it a vivid red after an accident when I woke up with the face of a stranger. My family thought I was crazy, but in truth, I was trying to figure out who this woman staring back at me was.

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