Page 41 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“I built something here,” I whisper, more to myself than Laura. “Something real. Something that matters.”

“Yes, you did.” Laura’s voice is gentle. “And it’s not just the program, Diana. You’ve built relationships, trust, community. The kids need you. The horses need you.” She pauses. “We need you.”

My vision blurs again. “I don’t know if I can stay. Seeing him every day, watching him pull away, become someone I barely recognize… it hurts too much.”

“And now that he’s gone?”

I open my mouth to talk, but don’t know what to say. My thoughts are whirling in circles so fast I can’t think.

“Maybe him giving you some space is a good thing,” Laura says carefully. “Not his leaving. Not that I have a say in it, but I don’tthink he’s ready to strike out on his own. But I don’t think it would be a bad idea for both of you to have some space, some time to figure out what you really want, what you really need…” She lets the thought hang.

I stare into my coffee, watching the light play on its surface. Second Chance was my dream before my attraction to Cassius. The work we do here, the lives we change—that’s bigger than any romance, any heartbreak.

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally. It’s all I can offer right now.

Laura seems to understand that’s all I can handle. She squeezes my hand and walks me to the door, her silence more comforting than any words could be.

The walk back to my cabin passes in a blur. Once inside, I kick off my shoes and collapse on my bed, finally letting the tears flow freely. I miss him already—his smile, his voice, the way he made me feel safe and cherished. But that Cassius is gone, replaced by someone I barely recognize. So why does my heart still ache for him?

I curl up on my bed, hugging a pillow that still smells faintly of him. I know I should be angry that he made this decision without me, that he took away my choice in the matter. Instead, I feel hollow, empty, like someone scooped out my insides and left nothing but an aching void.

Maybe Laura’s right. Maybe I should stay, give us both time to figure out who we are without each other. But right now, all I cando is cry for what we’ve lost, for what might have been, and for the man I thought I knew.

Tomorrow I’ll be strong. Tomorrow I’ll face the kids, the horses, the endless tasks that keep Second Chance running. Tomorrow I’ll start rebuilding my life here—not because Cassius chose to leave, but because this place, these people, this work… it’s still mine. Still matters.

But today, just for now, I let myself mourn.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cassius

The sheen of polished marble beneath my feet reminds me of home—my father’s villa in Rome. Although the hoards of people are dressed differently here, the hustle and urgency remind me vaguely of the forum.

When the glass doors slide apart magically as we approach, my mind rips me back to our helicopter ride only an hour ago. Although I flew in the air in a plane from the hospital in Switzerland to America, the helicopter was a different experience altogether.

“This way.” Dara pulls me back to the present. The translator in my ear makes her words clear, but I’m still adjusting to the casual way she touches my arm, guiding me.

A cluster of attendants swarms around us the moment we enter. Their heads bow in deference, not to me, but to Dara. She commands the room without effort. Her presence alone is enough to send them scurrying to do her bidding.

“Mr. Cassius needs everything,” she announces. “A complete outfit suitable for tonight’s gala, with all necessary alterations completed within three hours.”

One of the attendants—servants?—pales. “Three hours? But Madam, that’s—”

“Is there a problem?” Dara’s voice remains pleasant, but there’s steel beneath the silk.

“No, no problem at all,” the man hastily assures her. “We’ll make it happen.”

The world blurs, and suddenly I’m standing in my father’s study, watching him press a heavy purse into a merchant’s hands.

“But Senator, the silk won’t arrive from China for at least two months,” the merchant protests.

“Enoughdenariican buy anything,” my father says, his voice firm. “I expect the silk here within the week.”

The memory fades as quickly as it came. I blink, finding myself surrounded by mirrors as attendants measure every inch of me. When I question how they can complete such extensive work so quickly, Dara’s response echoes my father’s words exactly: “Enough money can buy anything.”

The similarity sends a shock through me.

They drape me in something called a “tuxedo”—black fabric finer than anything I’ve worn since waking in this century. As they work, Dara circles me like a predator assessing its prey. Her gaze is appreciative, and not at all subtle.

---