Page 12 of Vows of Deceit
Grayson tilted his head. “And yet you came anyway.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
His gaze lingered. “Because two years ago, you would’ve stayed home. Two years ago, you would’ve played the part perfectly.”
She didn’t reply.
He stepped closer, voice low. “You’re different, Cassie.”
“I had to be.”
His eyes searched hers. “Who hurt you?”
She gave him a smile, one of those soft, practiced ones she reserved for society events. But her eyes stayed cool.
“No one who matters anymore.”
Grayson reached for her champagne glass, taking it from her hand and setting it on the ledge behind her.
“Cassie,” he said, his voice softer now, “I knew the moment I saw you tonight. You’ve built a fire under that skin of yours. I can feel it from across the room.”
She swallowed.
“You don’t want to burn anyone,” he murmured. “But you’re ready to.”
Cassie’s chest tightened. She didn’t know whether it was the truth in his words or the way he looked at her like she wasn’t just beautiful, but dangerous. Like he admired it.
“Grayson…”
He leaned in, not touching, just close enough that she felt the heat of him. “Just tell me if I’m wrong.”
Cassie held his gaze. “You’re not.”
They spent the rest of the evening in close orbit. Dancing. Talking. Avoiding questions neither of them were ready to answer and when the gala ended, he walked her to her car. He opened the door for her but didn’t step back.
“Can I see you again?” he asked.
Cassie paused. “This isn’t a good time.”
“For who?”
She looked up. “For either of us.”
He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, just before she stepped into the car, he said, “Then let me say this, whatever it is you’re planning, whatever storm you’re standing in, I hope I get to see what comes after. Because I think it’ll be something worth witnessing.”
Cassie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You might be right.”
And with that, she slipped into the backseat and let the door close behind her. As the car pulled away, she touched her wrist. The place where his fingers had barely brushed hers still tingled. She wasn’t ready for anything yet. But something had shifted. Something she hadn’t felt in years. Not safety. Not passion. Power.
Chapter Nine
Playing the Part
Cassie smiled as she poured Damien’s morning coffee. Light roast, splash of oat milk, two teaspoons of raw sugar. Just how he liked it. She slid it across the marble island toward him, her silk robe barely grazing her calves, the scent of lavender still clinging to her skin. Damien, bleary-eyed and distracted, murmured a thank-you as he scrolled through the news on his phone.
Cassie leaned against the counter, watching him.
“You’re quiet this morning,” she said.
