CASS
I'm staring at financial spreadsheets when it happens.
One moment I'm reading about offshore accounts and shell corporations. The next, the numbers blur and I'm somewhere else entirely.
A garden. Night. I'm sixteen, crying on a stone bench.
He doesn't even see me. My voice is young, broken. I could disappear tomorrow and my father wouldn't notice.
I'd notice. A boy sits beside me. His voice is warm, familiar. I'd tear the whole city apart looking for you.
I look up at him through tears. Dark eyes. Gentle smile. Promise?
Promise. He takes my hand. You're not invisible, Cass. Not to me. You never could be.
The memory hits me like a physical blow. I gasp, gripping the edge of the desk.
Cass? Damien's voice cuts through the fog. What's wrong?
I blink. I'm back in his office, spreadsheets still on the screen, my heart racing.
I remembered something, I whisper. A garden. I was crying. You were there.
Damien goes very still. What else?
You told me I wasn't invisible. That you'd tear the city apart looking for me if I disappeared. I look at him. That was real, wasn't it? That actually happened.
Yes. You were sixteen. Your father had just chosen your sister to represent the company at some charity event. You'd worked on the proposal for months, but he gave Vanessa the credit. His voice is soft. You ran out of the gala. I found you in the garden.
The Riverside Hotel garden, I say, the detail suddenly crystal clear. There were white roses everywhere. And string lights in the trees.
You remember. His eyes search my face.
Just pieces. Fragments. I close the laptop, my hands shaking. But it felt so real. Like I was there again, feeling everything I felt then.
That's good. It means the memories are still there, trying to surface.
I stand up, pacing the office. You told me about our past. About how we were in love, how we planned a future together. But you didn't tell me everything, did you?
Damien's expression becomes guarded. What do you mean?
That night in the garden. What else happened? After you found me crying?
He's quiet for a long moment.
Tell me, I insist.
You asked me to run away with you. His voice is barely audible. You said we should leave our families behind, start over somewhere they couldn't control us. You had it all planned out—we'd finish high school, go to college on the other coast, never come back.
My chest tightens. What did you say?
I said yes. He looks away. I told you that after graduation, we'd leave together. We made plans. Real plans. Where we'd go, what we'd study, how we'd build a life that was ours, not theirs.
But we never did it.
No. Because six months later, my parents died. And I— His voice breaks slightly. I destroyed everything. I pushed you away when you tried to help. I said terrible things. I told you I never wanted to see you again, that you were a Whitmore and that made you my enemy.
I move closer to him. Why?
Because I was seventeen and angry and broken. Because I saw your father celebrating my parents' death as a business opportunity. Because I needed someone to blame, and your whole family was right there. He meets my eyes. And because I was scared that if you got too close, you'd end up dead too.
The pain in his voice makes my heart ache.
I should have protected you better, he continues. I should have known your father would use my rejection to manipulate you, to make you forget me. Instead, I watched from a distance as you became exactly what he wanted. Cold. Obedient. Perfect.
I'm not that person anymore, I say quietly.
No. You're not. A ghost of a smile crosses his face. Three days ago, you proved that. You became the girl I fell in love with again. Brave. Smart. Willing to risk everything for what's right.
I want to remember that girl. Want to remember what it felt like to be so certain, so sure of myself.
Tell me more, I say. Tell me things you haven't told me yet. Help me remember.
Damien thinks for a moment. You used to call me Danny. You were the only person who ever did. You said Damien sounded too formal, too cold. Danny was—
Softer, I finish. The word comes from somewhere deep. More real.
His eyes widen. Yes.
And you called me... I search for the memory. It's right there, just out of reach.
Cassie. Not Cass. Not Cassandra. Cassie.
The name settles over me like a familiar coat. Cassie, I repeat.
You hated when anyone else called you that. But you let me. He steps closer. You said it reminded you that you were more than just Richard Whitmore's daughter. That you were your own person.
More memories flicker at the edges of my mind. A dock. Skipping stones. Laughter. His hand in mine.
The marina, I say suddenly. We used to meet there every Saturday morning in summer. Early, before anyone else was awake. We'd sit on the dock and watch the sunrise.
You do remember.
Not everything. Just... feelings. Impressions. Like looking through frosted glass. I press my fingers to my temples. It's frustrating. I can feel the memories there, but I can't quite grab them.
They'll come. Give it time.
But I don't want to wait. I want to remember now. Want to know who I was before my father destroyed that girl.
I need to rest, I say. My head is pounding.
You've been staring at financial documents for six hours. You need sleep.
He's right. The sun is setting outside the windows, painting the sky orange and pink.
Will you— I stop, suddenly uncertain.
Will I what?
Stay nearby? While I sleep? The request sounds childish, but I don't care. I don't want to be alone.
Something softens in his expression. I'll be right outside your door. Marcus is doing a perimeter check, but I'll be there.
Thank you.
I head to the guest room—my room now, I suppose. Everything I need is here. Clothes Damien had delivered. Toiletries. A comfortable bed.
But it doesn't feel like mine. It feels like a safe house. A temporary stop before real life resumes.
Except my real life is gone. Destroyed by the people who were supposed to love me.
I change into pajamas and climb into bed. My mind is racing, full of fragments and flashes. Gardens and docks and a boy's smile. A father's cold voice. A sister's betrayal.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under.
And I dream.
I'm seventeen. Standing at a funeral. Black dress. Black sky. Rain pouring down.
I see him across the cemetery. Damien—no, Danny. He looks destroyed. His face is pale, his eyes red from crying.
I walk toward him. Danny, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
He looks at me, and his expression turns cold. Hateful.
Get away from me.
Please, I just want to help
Help? He laughs, bitter and broken. Your family did this. Your father killed them.
No. No, he wouldn't
He did! Danny's shouting now. People are staring. He wanted their properties and they wouldn't sell, so he burned them alive. And your family is celebrating. I saw them. Your father and his partners, laughing about their 'lucky break.'
Tears stream down my face. I didn't know. I swear I didn't know.
It doesn't matter. His voice goes quiet. Deadly quiet. You're a Whitmore. That makes you my enemy. We're done, Cassandra. We were never real. Just a stupid teenage fantasy.
That's not true. You love me. You said
I said a lot of things. I was wrong. He turns away. Don't come near me again. Don't call. Don't write. If I see you, I'll pretend I don't know you. Because as of right now, I don't. You're just another Whitmore. And I hate every single one of you.
He walks away.
I stand in the rain, my heart breaking, watching him disappear.
Danny, I whisper. Danny, please.
But he doesn't turn back.
I wake up gasping, tears on my face.
The dream felt so real. So vivid. Like a memory playing out in perfect detail.
My door opens. Damien appears, concern on his face.
I heard you crying. Are you—
Danny. The name comes out broken. You told me to leave. At the funeral. You said I was just another Whitmore and you hated me.
He freezes. You remember that?
I remember your face. The way you looked at me like I was nothing. Like all those summers, all those promises, meant nothing. More tears fall. You destroyed me that day.
I know. He moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. I destroyed us both. And I've regretted it every single day since.
I look at him—this man I loved and lost and forgot.
I need to know, I whisper. When I showed up three nights ago, when I asked you to marry me—was it revenge? Was it your chance to finally use a Whitmore the way my family used yours?
No. His answer is immediate, fierce. It was my chance to fix the worst mistake I ever made. To protect you the way I should have eleven years ago. To choose you, the way I failed to choose you at that funeral.
How do I know you're telling the truth?
Because if I wanted revenge, I could have taken the USB drive and left you to your family. I could have used the evidence to destroy them and let you burn with them. His eyes hold mine. Instead, I married you. I put a target on my own back. I made you legally mine so they couldn't touch you.
Why?
Because I love you. The words hang in the air between us. I loved you then. I love you now. Memory or no memory, you're still the girl I wanted to spend my life with. And I'll be damned if I let your father take you from me again.
My breath catches.
He stands. Get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning.
Danny, I say softly.
He stops at the door, his back to me.
I think I'm starting to remember why I loved you.
He doesn't turn around. But I see his shoulders relax slightly.
Good, he says quietly. Because I never forgot why I loved you.
The door closes.
I lie back down, my heart pounding.
Danny.
The name feels right on my lips.
Like coming home.