CHAPTER FOUR — THE AFTERMATH
1256 Words
(Cassandra's POV)
I didn’t cry when I left his office.
Not a single tear.
The marble floors of Hale Industries reflected the harsh fluorescent lights as I walked out, heels clicking like small accusations, chin high, eyes dry. I told myself I was fine — that I’d expected this, that I should’ve known better.
But as soon as I stepped outside, the sky opened up. Rain. Again. Like the universe was mocking me, like irony had decided to make a career out of my life.
By the time I reached the bus stop, my dress was plastered to my skin, hair dripping, and every ounce of that fake strength I had clung to inside his office had shattered into shards.
I sank onto the wet wooden bench and finally let myself break.
The tears came hot, messy, unstoppable — the kind that burn more than they comfort. My hands shook as I wiped at them, smearing streaks across my cheeks that felt like proof I was still human.
I hated him. Hated the ease with which he dismissed me, like I’d walked into the wrong life entirely. But I hated myself more — hated that I still cared.
He’d looked at me as though I were a stranger. Like the night we shared was meaningless. Like I… was meaningless.
And maybe I really was.
When I finally trudged home, the apartment was a hollow, quiet place. Pamela was out, probably with her new boyfriend, and my mom was at work. Good. I didn’t want anyone to witness this — the messy, shivering, broken version of myself.
I changed into dry clothes and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling until the room blurred into a haze of white and gray.
He said I was lying. That I wanted something. Money. Attention.
If only he knew how much courage it had taken for me to walk into that building. How many nights I had argued with myself, tossing and turning, wondering if I was imagining the whole thing.
I hadn’t wanted anything from him. Not money. Not help. Not his name. I just wanted him to know. The child I was carrying deserved at least that. But apparently, that was too much to ask.
The next morning, my mom came home earlier than usual. Her shoulders sagged with the exhaustion of two jobs, yet she still carried herself with quiet grace.
“Cassandra,” she said softly, brushing her hair from her face, “you didn’t sleep.”
I shook my head.
She sat beside me, voice low, eyes carrying a weight that made me ache. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
I froze. “How did you—”
“Pamela told me.”
Of course she did.
My chest tightened. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t believe me.”
My mom sighed, the kind of sound that held years of knowing and disappointment. “Men like him… they don’t understand until they lose something they can’t replace.”
I swallowed hard. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You survive,” she said. “You focus on the baby. The rest… will fall into place.”
Her words were meant to comfort, but they landed hollow. Nothing about this felt survivable.
By noon, Pamela stormed in, hair perfect, makeup flawless, holding her phone like a loaded weapon.
“Cassy,” she said, urgency slicing through her tone, “I heard what happened at Hale Industries.”
I groaned. “Oh God. Did you tell the whole city?”
“Relax. I only told Mom.”
“Pamela.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I mentioned it to Sofia too — but listen, that’s not the point. You can’t just give up.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You have proof, don’t you? He was there that night. You two were together. If he won’t accept it privately, make him accept it publicly.”
I stared at her, horrified. “You want me to expose him?”
“Not expose,” she said, smirking. “Leverage.”
“This isn’t a game, Pamela!”
“Neither is life, Cassy. You’re carrying his child. He’s a billionaire. Do you think you can raise that baby alone, on your salary, in this city?”
Her words landed like a punch I didn’t want to feel. She was right.
I was barely scraping by as it was. My unpaid internship, the rent that swallowed my paycheck, the bills stacking like warnings. The future loomed above me like a storm I couldn’t outrun.
“I just… I can’t,” I whispered. “I don’t want to blackmail him.”
“Then let me do it,” she said flatly. “You won’t have to lift a finger.”
“No.”
“Cassy—”
“I said no!”
Her jaw clenched, frustration flashing across her face. “Fine. But don’t come crying when he ruins your life and walks away smiling.”
And with that, she was gone, the door swinging half open like a reminder of all the ways I was powerless.
I sat there for hours, hand resting on my stomach, the silence thick enough to suffocate me. That night, I couldn’t stop replaying it all — the look on his face, Pamela’s harsh words, my mother’s quiet strength.
Maybe they were right. Maybe I was being naïve. Still hoping he’d do the right thing.
But another part of me — foolish, stubborn, hopeful — kept remembering the softness in his voice that night. The warmth in his eyes before reality intruded.
There had been something real there. Hadn’t there?
By the next morning, everything had changed.
Pamela burst in, face pale, phone clutched tight. “Cassy, you need to see this.”
She shoved the screen in front of me.
A gossip headline screamed back:
> “Mystery Woman Claims to Be Pregnant with Jordan Hale’s Child — Sources Deny Allegations.”
My heart stopped.
The photo was grainy, but it was unmistakably me — outside his building, rain soaking me through. Someone had taken the picture.
“How—who—”
Pamela looked both guilty and triumphant. “I might’ve mentioned it to someone I know at Elite Weekly. I didn’t think they’d post it so fast.”
I just stared, frozen, unable to form words.
“Oh, come on, Cassy,” she snapped, shaking me lightly. “Now he has to talk to you. You’re trending. He can’t ignore this.”
My knees went weak. “Pamela… what did you do?”
Before she could answer, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I didn’t need to check twice to know.
“Answer it,” Pamela whispered.
I lifted the phone, hand trembling.
“Cassandra.” His voice. Ice. Controlled. Dangerous.
“Jordan…”
“Pack your things,” he said quietly. “You’re coming to my house.”
“What? Why—”
“Because you wanted my attention. You have it now.”
The line went dead.
I stood frozen, phone still pressed to my ear, heart pounding like a drum.
Pamela grinned, victorious, like this was the payoff she’d been waiting for.
But all I felt was fear.
Because the man I was about to face wasn’t the one I met that night. He wasn’t the one who made me feel safe.
This was Jordan Hale. The Jordan Hale the world feared.
And now… I was stepping right into his world.
- Writer
