Chapter 425
Chapter 418
Reyna’s POV
I’m waiting by the phone, perched on the edge of my settee, the anticipation a sweet, fizzy feeling in my chest. Any moment now, it will ring.
Cassian will call me, telling me to come back. That Blackwell Industries needs me… that he needs me.
The phone buzzes. I snatch it up, a practiced, demure smile already on my lips.
But the voice that crackles through isn’t his. It’s Greer’s. And it’s laced with panic, not triumph.
“Reyna, it’s over. We’re calling it off.”
My smile freezes, then melts into something ugly. “What? You can’t. We had an agreement!”
The plan was flawless. Apply pressure on the weak points, the loyalties he feels to his old partners. Force his hand until he has no choice.
“We did warn you,” Greer snaps, his fear making him blunt. “He almost blacklisted us! If we hadn’t backed down, our companies Would be finished. He was ready to burn down his own busines
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to make the point!”
The words stab at me. I feel the air leave my lungs. Burn down his own business? For what? To keep me out?
“What did you do?” I spit, scrambling for reason. “You must have overplayed it! Asked for something extra! He wouldn’t just refuse me. Not after everything.”
There’s history there… obligation! He owes me a chance.
“We asked for nothing but what you stipulated,” Greer retorts, his voice tight with resentment. “He simply does not want back. That’s the beginning and end of it. Consider our arrangement terminated. Do not contact us again.”
you
The line goes dead with a final, damning click.
A white–hot fury erupts in my chest. A raw, guttural scream tears from my throat. I don’t think, just hurl the phone across the room with all my strength. It smashes against the ornate wall with a terribly satisfying crunch.
Why? The question is a searing brand in my mind. Why?! All I wanted was to go back. To reclaim my place at his side, in the empire I helped him rule.
It’s a reasonable request… a deserved one.
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As I pace, my breath coming in sharp gasps, I see the disgusting, irritating face of Gemma in front of my eyes.
Of course.
It has to be her, it’s the only explanation.
She’s poisoned his mind against me… she has lent the whispers in his ear, turning my legitimate claim into something ugly and twisted.
If it weren’t for her, he would have decided logically.
The bitterness floods my mouth. I walk over to where my phone lies, the screen a spiderweb of cracks. I pick it up, checking if it still works.
It does, even though the broken glass bites into my thumb.
I don’t hesitate. I scroll through my contacts, my fingers trembling with a focused, icy rage. I find the number I’ve been holding in reserve, my final card to play.
I press call. It connects after two rings.
“It’s time. Activate the plan. Everything we discussed. The moment it’s done, the full amount will be in your account, just
as we agreed.”
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Gemma’s POV
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Since my plans have solidified, the practicalities begin.
The studio space I’d been considering with Zina and Jace, a potential headquarters for our freelance collective, is now a redundant expense.
I arrange to meet Meredith for brunch to deliver the news.
“Ms. Bernard,” I begin, stirring my tea, “I truly appreciate you setting the space aside for us. But my circumstances have changed, I won’t be needing it anymore.
Meredith looks up from her salad, surprise etched on her elegant features. “Oh? Was there an issue with the location?”
“No, not at all,” I assure her with a shake of my head. “It’s me. I’m going abroad. I’ll be away for… a significant while. So, it’s best to put the studio idea on hold.”
The truth is, with me gone, the discipline of a shared office would crumble. Zina and Jace are brilliant, but their natural
habitat is a home office with flexible hours.
“Abroad?” Meredith’s eyes widen further.
I offer a light, placating smile. “Yes. Work calls.”
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“Will you be coming back?” The question is familiar now. I give my standard, non–committal answer. “I’m not sure yet.”
I see the curiosity war with her natural restraint in her eyes. She swallows it down and manages a kind, if slightly strained, smile. “Well… a change of scenery can be refreshing. If you need anything over there, please don’t hesitate. I have quite a few contacts in Florisdale.”
The offer is generous, but I can’t find a reason behind it. Our relationship is fundamentally transactional: client and contractor. The bespoke security suite she commissioned is installed, tested, and running.
Her obligations to me are fulfilled, but she keeps extending her kindness to me.
“When do you leave?” she asks.
“Next Monday.” The words make it real. It’s only a few days
away.
A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her, a faint deflation, as if a hope she hadn’t fully acknowledged has quietly popped.
I remember what she told me once, that I remind her of a sister she lost. The sadness must be tied to that. Seeking to comfort her, I say, “Ms. Bernard, I’m sure you’ll find your sister one day”
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Her smile returns, touched with sorrow. “Yes. I believe I will.”
Just as I’m pondering the mystery of her past, she speaks again. “Gemma… are you free tomorrow? I’d like you to accompany me somewhere.”
“Where to?”
“Kingbridge Church.”
The request throws me. Kingbridge Church is an old, picturesque chapel on a hill. Is the person she used to be with, for connected to it? Her lost love?
“If you’re busy, please don’t feel obliged,” she adds quickly, seeing my hesitation.
I check
my
mental calendar. Packing, visa finalization… but nothing concrete. A strange pull, a desire to understand this
woman who looks at me with such complicated fondness, makes me nod. “I’m free. After lunch?”
We arrange a time. The meeting leaves me thoughtful.
***
Back at Urban Lane, the reality of leaving sets in. I drag my suitcases from the closet. Even with days to go, the task of
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condensing a life into a few bags feels like a Herculean task.
I start with the bookshelf, pulling out my favourites and the ones I’ll unfortunately have to leave behind. As I’m clearing a shelf, my hand brushes against something solid and flat, tucked far back against the wall behind a stack of encyclopaedia.
I bend down, my fingers closing around a worn, cloth–bound sketchbook.
I blow the dust off my old sketchbook, brought along with the books from Oakhaven.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I open it. The first page is a rush of nostalgia, sharp and slightly painful. It’s filled with sketches
of Cassian.
I had a fondness for watercolors back then, but these are pencil sketches; quick, sometimes clumsy, born of long, empty hours in that beautiful house.
I had little to do but observe the man who was my husband in name only, and imagine the rest.
Page after page reveals him: Cassian at his desk, brow furrowed, a pose I’d seen and memorized. Cassian on a beach, smiling at me, purely fictional, of course. They were exercises in longing, attempts to will a more intimate reality into existence using only graphite and guesswork.
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Looking at them now, a sad smile touches my lips. How painfully naive I was… how desperately lonely.
I flip through to the last drawn page, a half–finished profile, and prepare to close the book, ready to toss it into the discard‘ pile. But as I go to shut it, I notice the back of the final sheet isn’t blank.
There’s writing, and it’s not mine.
I flatten the page against the bedspread. The handwriting is bold and familiar.
[Maybe I could bring the things in this sketchbook to life.]
The sentence is simple… like a secret whispered directly into my
ears.
But a sharp jolt shoots up my arm like I have just touched a live wire. My heart hammers against my ribs. It feels like a piece of his inner self I was never meant to see… left hidden in the pages of my own youthful dreaming.
In a reflex of pure, startled shock, my fingers spring open. The sketchbook flies from my hands, hitting the wooden floor with a soft thud.
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Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.