CASSANDRA’S POV
I don’t throw the glass. I consider it, briefly, vividly, but I don’t. Rage is useless when it’s loud, real damage is done quietly. The door to my office has barely finished closing behind Alex before I turn back to the windows, my reflection staring at me like a stranger. My hands are steady. My breathing is even. Anyone watching would think I’ve lost nothing.
That illusion matters, but inside me, something ugly coils and tightens. Lavender Brooks, her name tastes like ash.
Pregnant, carrying his child. As if that makes her untouchable. Alex thinks threatening me changes the board. He thinks invoking his grandmother’s name is some kind of shield. He’s wrong. Margaret Robinson is old power, sentimental, predictable.
I am not, I walk back to my desk and press the interco
