Twice His Wife

to the quiet. Cassian wasn't home yet. He hadn't texted. Hadn't called. He rarely did unless it served a purpose. Still, part of her had thought maybe-just maybe-after the

agreed to the contract." "So this is about the contract again." "It never stopped being about the contract." Her throat tightened. "I found the drawer." His eyes darkened, just slightly. "And?" "It's locked." Cassian walked past her and sat on the edge of the desk. "Some things are better left that way." "Why?" she whispered. "What are you hiding from me?" He looked up at her, then stood slowly and closed the distance between them. "Nothing you don't already feel," he said. It wasn't an answer. It wasn't a denial. It was a weight, dropped softly at her feet. And it hurt more than shouting ever could. The next morning, Anais sat at the breakfast table while Cassian read the paper. Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't new-but this time, it didn't feel cold. It felt like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. "I want to work," she said finally. Cassian looked up, his brow slightly arched. "What?" "I want to do something. While I'm here. Contribute." "To what?" he asked. "The illusion?" "To my own sanity." He folded the paper and leaned back. "And where exactly do you see yourself working?" "PR," she said. "Brand direction. Something forward-facing. I know how this company presents itself. I lived in your shadow long enough." He studied her. "No." She blinked. "Excuse me?" "It's not safe." That surprised her. "For me?" "For the company." Her chest burned. "You don't trust me?" "I don't trust them." "They already hate me. You said it yourself-this is about control. Let me control something." He didn't answer. "Cassian," she said more softly, "if I'm going to be paraded in front of the press, the least you can do is let me be part of what I'm pretending to support." A long silence passed. Then he said, "You'll shadow Irene." "What?" "She's head of strategy now. She'll assign you something minor. No board exposure. No direct press. Internal projects only." It wasn't what she wanted. But it was a start. "Fine," she said. "Thank you." Cassian looked at her, unreadable. "Don't thank me. This is still a cage. I just changed the color of the bars." Later that week, Anais stepped into the conference room where Irene was waiting. She looked every inch the executive now-sleek ponytail, slate suit, eyes like storm clouds. "So," Irene said without looking up, "you're shadowing me." "Apparently," Anais replied. "You understand wha