Borrowed Hearts

CHAPTER 4: FRACTURED GLASS

The ride home from the brunch was silent, except for the faint hum of the car engine. Naya had fallen asleep in the backseat, her tiny head bobbing with every turn of the road. Cassian kept his eyes forward, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel, while Kiera sat stiff beside him, arms crossed, replaying the entire disaster in her head.

It wasn’t the fake smiles or the endless chatter of strangers that gnawed at her—it was the way Cassian had looked at her during it all, as if she were a tool to be wielded, not a woman with her own breaking point. The worst part was that she had played along. She had smiled, nodded, and held his daughter’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. And in some terrifying way, it had felt natural.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Kiera unbuckled her seatbelt with a sharp click and stepped out before Cassian even killed the engine. She didn’t wait for him to open her door like he had so effortlessly done earlier at the brunch. That charade was over.

Inside, she carried Naya gently to her room, laid her down, and pulled a blanket over her small frame. The child stirred, murmuring something soft—“Mommy”—before rolling onto her side. Kiera froze, her chest tightening, then brushed a hand across Naya’s hair before leaving the room.

By the time she returned to the living room, Cassian was already there, loosening his tie and pouring himself a glass of water. The posture was casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“You didn’t have to throw me into the fire like that,” she snapped, breaking the silence first.

Cassian looked up, his brow furrowed. “What fire?”

“Pretending we’re some perfect little family in front of everyone. Do you know how many questions I dodged today? How many times I had to smile like it didn’t burn?” Her voice trembled, though she hated that it did.

Cassian set the glass down with a thud. “It was one brunch, Kiera. One. You knew what you were signing up for.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t reduce this to a contract clause, Cassian. You could’ve at least prepared me. Instead, I walked in blind, like a lamb to slaughter.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically disheveled for the polished doctor. “Do you think this is easy for me? Parading someone in front of people who knew me before? People who still whisper behind my back about how I couldn’t keep my family together?”

The words hung heavy between them. Kiera blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his tone. For a brief second, the man in front of her wasn’t the composed surgeon with his sharp edges—it was someone wounded, someone still bleeding beneath a starched shirt and practiced silence.

She softened, but only slightly. “Then why drag me into it at all?”

His jaw clenched. “Because Naya needed it. She needs this image—this illusion—that her world isn’t broken. And for better or worse, you’ve become part of it.”

The mention of Naya tugged at Kiera’s defenses. She remembered the way the little girl had clung to her earlier, proudly introducing her as “Mommy Kiera.” The title had pierced her in ways she wasn’t ready to unpack.

Kiera exhaled slowly, pacing the room. “You can’t keep using me as a bandage for wounds you won’t even show me. If I’m going to play this role, I deserve honesty, Cassian.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, his eyes stormy with things unsaid. For a heartbeat, it felt like he might confess something—about his past, his fears, his regrets. But the moment slipped. He straightened his shoulders, sliding the armor back into place.

“You want honesty?” His voice was cold again. “Honesty is that this arrangement is temporary. Don’t mistake it for more than what it is.”

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to nod, even as the sting settled deep. “Fine. But don’t expect me to keep pretending this doesn’t cost me something too.”

The room fell into silence, thick and unyielding. She turned away, retreating toward the guest room, her footsteps sharp against the polished floor.

Behind her, Cassian stood motionless, staring at the half-empty glass of water as if it held answers he couldn’t voice. His reflection glinted faintly in the darkened window, a man who saved lives by day but couldn’t keep his own from unraveling.

And in the quiet, the house felt divided—fractured, like glass that looked whole but had already splintered beneath the surface. Neither of them knew how long before the cracks gave way completely.