The candles on the homemade chocolate cake flickered in the dim light of our Brooklyn apartment. I'd spent three hours baking it, using the last of our groceries and a recipe I'd memorized from the library's cookbook section. Twenty-eight candles—one for each year of Cassian's life.

"Happy birthday to you," I whispered to myself, adjusting the vintage watch I'd saved for months to buy. It wasn't expensive, but it was elegant—something Cassian could wear to his new office downtown.

The door clicked open at 11:47 PM.

"Selena?" Cassian's voice was slurred, his tie loosened around his neck. The scent of expensive perfume—something floral and heady—clung to his suit jacket.

"You're home." I stood from the couch, wiping flour from my apron. "I made cake."

His eyes, usually so warm when they looked at me, were unfocused. "You didn't have to wait up."

"I wanted to." I stepped closer, reaching for his hand. "Happy birthday, Cass."

Something changed in his expression—a flicker of recognition, maybe even longing. He pulled me against him, his lips finding mine with an urgency that surprised me. His hands gripped my waist, then slid lower.

"Cassian?" I whispered against his mouth.

"Shh," he murmured, walking me backward toward our bed. "I need this."

His movements were aggressive, almost desperate. I'd never seen him like this—not with me. This wasn't the careful, loving Cassian who'd held me through countless nights in our tiny apartment.

"Kennedy," he whispered against my ear, his breath hot and wine-scented.

The name hit me like ice water. I froze, but he didn't notice—his eyes were closed, lost in whatever fantasy had consumed him. He collapsed onto me, heavy and suddenly asleep.

I lay beneath him, my heart hammering against my ribs. Kennedy? Who was Kennedy?

---

Morning light filtered through our curtains as I stared at the ceiling. Cassian's arm was draped across my waist, his breathing steady and untroubled.

"Cassian," I said softly, pushing his arm away. "We need to talk."

He groaned, rolling onto his back. "Can't it wait? I have that meeting with Howard Industries at nine."

"Who's Kennedy?"

His eyes snapped open. For a moment—just a moment—I saw panic flash across his face before he composed himself.

"What are you talking about?" He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"You said her name last night." My voice sounded small, even to myself. "When we were..."

"Selena." He sighed, his tone shifting to something patronizing. "I was exhausted. The investors took us out for drinks after the dinner. I was probably mumbling about work."

"Investors?" I repeated. "I thought you were at a business dinner."

"It was both." He stood abruptly, heading toward the bathroom. "I'm going to be late if we keep this up."

"Cassian!" I followed him, standing in the doorway as he splashed water on his face. "You came home smelling like perfume."

He looked at me in the mirror, his expression hardening. "Are you seriously doing this right now? On my birthday?"

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "No, I just—"

"Because it sounds like you're jealous." He turned to face me, towel in hand. "Kennedy is a colleague. A male colleague. And if you must know, his wife was at the dinner too. She probably hugged me goodbye."

"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out automatically. "I shouldn't have assumed."

He softened, pulling me into an embrace. "It's okay. But next time, maybe trust me?"

---

The shower hissed in the background as I sat on our bed, staring at Cassian's phone on the nightstand. It lit up with a notification.

Kennedy Ryan: Good morning! Can't stop thinking about last night 😘

My finger hovered over the screen. Don't do it, Selena. Trust him.

But I couldn't shake the way he'd said that name, the way he'd looked at me like I was someone else.

Before I could stop myself, I picked up the phone. The screen unlocked—he'd never changed his passcode from my birthday.

Instagram notifications showed Kennedy Ryan had tagged him in a post.

With trembling fingers, I opened the app.

There they were—Cassian and Kennedy Ryan. She was stunning, with glossy dark hair and perfect makeup. The caption read: "Amazing night at the Hamptons estate! #BusinessAndPleasure #NewConnections"

The photo showed them at a private party, champagne flutes in hand. But what froze my blood was Cassian's arm—identifiable by the braided leather bracelet I'd made him last Christmas—wrapped around her waist.

The timestamp: 10:42 PM. Last night.

I scrolled through her profile. Kennedy Ryan, Manhattan socialite, PR executive, Harvard graduate.

Not a male colleague.

Not his wife.

The shower shut off. I heard Cassian humming—actually humming—as he towel-dried his hair.

My hands shook as I carefully replaced the phone and walked to the window, staring out at the Brooklyn skyline as my world tilted sideways.

I was folding laundry when Cassian burst through the door, his face lit with an excitement I hadn't seen in weeks.

"Selena! I have incredible news!" He swept me into his arms, lifting me off my feet.

"Cassian! What are you doing?" I laughed, though my heart ached at how rare these moments had become.

"Howard Corp is expanding globally," he announced, setting me down but keeping his hands on my shoulders. "London, Selena. They want me to head the London office."

"London?" The word felt foreign on my tongue. "But your position here—"

"Is temporary." His eyes sparkled with ambition. "This is it, babe. Everything we've worked for. Remember our dreams? The life we wanted?"

I nodded slowly. We'd spent countless nights in this tiny apartment, planning our future. A future where we'd never have to choose between rent and groceries again.

"The position starts in three months," he continued, pacing now. "Executive role, corner office overlooking the Thames. The salary alone..."

He named a figure that made my breath catch.

"We could finally have everything," he said, kneeling before me. "The penthouse, the lifestyle we deserve. No more bistro shifts for you."

I touched his face, studying the features I'd memorized over our decade together. "London is... far."

"Not if we're together." He took my hands. "I need you there, Selena. By my side. We can start fresh, away from everything here."

Away from the apartment where we'd barely made ends meet. Away from the memories of our struggle.

"I don't know, Cassian. My job here, my—"

"Your job?" He squeezed my hands. "Selena, you'd be giving up minimum wage for a life where you never have to work again if you don't want to."

I thought of the bistro, of Marcus and the regular customers who tipped me enough to cover our groceries. It wasn't much, but it was mine.

"Just think about it," he pressed. "This is our chance."

I nodded, unable to resist the hope in his eyes. "Okay."

"Yes?" His smile was radiant. "Yes, you'll think about it?"

"Yes, I'll go with you."

---

Three nights later, I woke to find Cassian's side of the bed empty. The clock read 2:17 AM.

I found him in the living room, laptop open, papers scattered across our coffee table.

"Cassian? What are you doing?"

He jumped, quickly closing his laptop. "Just reviewing some proposals."

"At two in the morning?"

"I'm excited, okay?" He ran his hand through his hair. "I want everything to be perfect."

I noticed his phone on the table, screen lit with a notification.

"Go back to bed," he said gently. "You have an early shift tomorrow."

As I turned to leave, another notification appeared on his phone screen.

Kennedy Ryan: Can't wait to lead the PR team in London with you. We're going to rule this city. 💕

My heart stopped.

"Cassian," I said quietly. "Who's leading the PR team in London?"

His face drained of color. "What?"

"Kennedy. She's going to London too?"

"It's... it's a big project," he stammered. "She's the best in PR. Howard Sr. specifically requested—"

"You didn't tell me she'd be there."

"It's not a big deal."

"It is if you're working closely together."

"Don't be ridiculous." He stood, taking my shoulders. "This is about our future, Selena."

But as he guided me back to bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just agreed to step into a trap.

---

The bistro was unusually busy for a Tuesday evening. I'd been assigned to the VIP section—a fact that made my stomach twist when I saw Cassian walk in with a group of impeccably dressed people.

"I brought some friends," he announced, kissing my cheek. "They're dying to try this place."

I recognized Kennedy immediately. She wore a designer dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"Selena works here?" a blonde woman asked, her voice dripping with surprise.

"Just temporarily," Cassian replied, not meeting my eyes.

"Quaint," Kennedy remarked, looking me up and down. "The service is... authentic."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks as the group laughed.

"Selena makes the best of it," Cassian added with an awkward chuckle.

I stood frozen, my professional composure cracking. These were his new friends—people who looked at me like I was some curiosity, a relic of his past.

"Can we sit?" Kennedy asked, her smile not reaching her eyes.

I led them to a table, aware of their whispers behind me.

"Is that the girl he told us about?"

"Poor thing has no idea."

As I placed their menus, Kennedy's hand brushed mine. "We'll need better wine than what she's suggesting," she murmured to Cassian.

I looked to him, waiting for him to defend me—to say anything.

Instead, he laughed nervously and agreed.

In that moment, something inside me shattered.

I couldn't breathe in that bistro anymore. Not with Kennedy's laughter ringing in my ears, not with Cassian's betrayal burning in my chest. I grabbed my purse and fled, leaving Marcus to cover my tables.

"Selena, wait!" he called, but I was already gone.

The rain had started by the time I reached the subway, gentle at first, then heavier. I didn't care. Let it wash away the humiliation.

Two transfers and forty minutes later, I stood before the redbrick building that had once been my entire world—Sunshine House, the foster home where Cassian and I had found each other.

The door opened before I could knock.

"Selena Stone," Diana Foster said, her face lighting up. "My God, child, what are you doing here?"

Diana had been the director when we were kids, a constant presence through the chaos of foster care. Now in her sixties, she'd aged gracefully, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun.

"I needed to see you," I admitted, my voice breaking.

She pulled me inside, into the warmth of the common room where Cassian and I had spent countless evenings. Nothing had changed—the same mismatched furniture, the same faded rugs, the same sense of safety.

"Sit," she ordered, guiding me to the old velvet couch. "Tell me everything."

And I did. The words poured out of me—Cassian's transformation, Kennedy's cruelty, the London offer that felt more like a trap than a dream.

"He's changing, Diana," I whispered. "Or maybe he's just becoming who he was always meant to be."

"Oh, honey." She squeezed my hand.

A movement near the office door caught my eye. A tall man in an impeccably tailored suit stood watching us, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry," Diana said, noticing my gaze. "Mr. Howard was just leaving."

Howard? My heart stuttered.

He stepped forward, and I recognized him instantly from photos—Jasper Howard, Cassian's estranged half-brother. The family black sheep.

"Actually," he said, his voice deep and measured, "I'd like to meet Ms. Stone properly."

Diana hesitated, then nodded. "Selena, this is Jasper Howard. He's generously donated art supplies for our programs."

"Ms. Stone." He extended his hand. "I've heard about you."

I took his hand warily. "I doubt that's possible."

"Believe me, it is." Something flickered in his eyes—respect, maybe even sympathy. "You're the only person who's ever mattered to my brother."

"Was," I corrected, pulling my hand away. "Past tense."

Jasper's lips curved slightly. "Be careful, Ms. Stone. London isn't what it seems."

Before I could ask what he meant, he nodded to Diana and left.

---

The Howard estate on the Upper East Side loomed like a fortress—all stone and glass and cold perfection. A butler led me through marble hallways to Mr. Howard Sr.'s office.

"Miss Stone." He didn't stand when I entered. "Sit."

I perched on the edge of a leather chair, feeling like a child in a principal's office.

"You're causing problems for my son," he stated bluntly.

"Your son is causing problems for himself," I replied, surprised by my own boldness.

He studied me for a long moment, then slid a check across the mahogany desk.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

"Take this," he said. "Disappear."

My fingers trembled as I touched the paper. "You think I'm for sale?"

"I think you're an anchor," he replied coldly. "One that will drag Cassian down to your level."

I stood slowly, picking up the check. For one wild moment, I considered taking it—what couldn't I do with half a million dollars?

But then I remembered Diana's kind face, Jasper's warning, and most of all, my own worth.

I tore the check into pieces, letting them flutter onto his desk.

"Selena Stone doesn't come with a price tag," I said, turning to leave.

"London leaves in two weeks," he called after me. "With or without you."

---

Rain pounded the pavement as I emerged from the subway. My head throbbed with Howard Sr.'s threats, my heart heavy with uncertainty.

A small sound caught my attention—a pitiful meow from beneath a parked car.

I knelt in the rain, peering under the vehicle. A tiny orange kitten huddled against the tire, its paw bent at an unnatural angle.

"Hey, little one," I whispered, reaching carefully beneath the car.

The kitten hissed, backing away.

"Please," I murmured. "Let me help you."

A large hand appeared beside mine, and I startled.

"Don't move," a familiar voice said. "You'll scare him more."

Jasper Howard knelt beside me in the rain, his bespoke suit pooling around him on the wet pavement.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Following a hunch." He smiled slightly. "Hold this."

He handed me his phone—open to a photo of an orange cat with unusual markings.

"Whiskers," I breathed. "From NYU?"

He nodded. "I found her senior year. Adopted her kitten after she passed."

My heart swelled as he carefully reached under the car, murmuring softly to the injured kitten.

"She trusts you," he observed as the kitten allowed him to pick it up.

"Animals always have," I said softly.

Jasper stood, cradling the kitten gently. "My car's just there. I'll take you both somewhere safe."

As we walked through the rain, the kitten nestled between us, I realized something had shifted. In Jasper's eyes, I wasn't just Cassian's girlfriend or a charity case—I was someone worth knowing.

Someone worth saving.