When She Strikes Back

Chapter 2: The New Cassandra

Fina’s wrist felt like a dry twig in my hand. Her skin, expensive and pampered, was cold with the sudden shock of my resistance. For three years, I had been the silent ghost haunting these halls, a girl who apologized for the air she breathed.

"Let go of me!" Fina shrieked, her voice hitting a frequency that made the crystal chandelier above us hum. "You filthy, ungrateful brat! Have you lost your mind? I’ll have Jonas throw you into the street for this!"

"The street?" I whispered, a dark, jagged laugh bubbling up in my throat. I leaned in, my grip tightening until her face turned a mottled purple. "I’ve already been to the street, Fina. It’s cold, it’s wet, and it’s where the trash goes. Which is exactly why I’m wondering why you haven't moved in there yet."

I shoved her arm back toward her chest. She stumbled, her designer heels skidding on the wine-stained marble. She gasped, clutching her chest as if she were having a heart attack—her favorite performance whenever she didn't get her way.

"Jonas!" she screamed toward the stairs. "Jonas, come here! Your wife has gone insane! She’s attacking me!"

Heavy footsteps thudded on the mahogany stairs. Jonas appeared, his tie loosened, his handsome face twisted in an arrogant scowl. He looked at his mother trembling on the floor, then at me, standing tall with my arms crossed.

"Cassandra, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jonas barked, stepping between us like a shield. "Apologize to my mother. Now."

I looked at him. This was the man I had died for. In the dim light of the foyer, I could see the smudge of foundation on his collar—Brooklyn’s shade. My heart didn't ache this time. It didn't even flutter. It felt like a cold, dead stone.

"Apologize?" I tilted my head, mocking his tone. "For what? For refusing to be her footstool? Or for realizing that your mother has the personality of a parasitic worm?"

Jonas froze. He blinked as if he didn't recognize the woman standing in front of him. "What did you just say? You’re a Kingsley. You were brought here to be a respectable wife, not a venomous b***h. Kneel down and tell her you’re sorry, or I swear to God—"

"Or what, Jonas?" I stepped closer, looking him dead in the eye. "You’ll divorce me? You’ll kick me out? Go ahead. Try it. But before you do, remember who managed the accounts that hid your 'business losses' from your father last quarter. If I leave, I’m taking those files with me."

Jonas turned pale. The anger in his eyes was replaced by a flickering shadow of fear. He didn't know how I knew—he didn't know I had spent my "last life" uncovering every secret he possessed.

"You..." he stammered.

"I’m going to my room," I said, brushing past him as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture. "Don't bother me. My ears have had enough of your mother’s screeching for one lifetime."

I walked up the stairs, leaving the two of them standing in the foyer in stunned silence. Behind me, I heard Fina start to wail about her "high blood pressure," but I didn't care.

I slammed my bedroom door and locked it.

I walked straight to the full-length mirror. I touched my face—it was young, unblemished by the asphalt, free of the blood that had once pooled in my eyes. I was twenty-five again. I was whole.

"I’m back," I whispered to the girl in the glass. "And I promise you, Cassandra... this time, we aren't the ones who will beg. We aren't the ones who will die in the rain."

I stripped off the drab, oversized housewife dress Jonas had always made me wear to look 'modest.' I threw it into the trash can. I went to the back of the closet, digging out a dress I had bought in secret years ago but never had the courage to wear.

It was a backless, midnight-blue silk slip dress that hugged every curve of my body like a second skin. It was scandalous. It was loud. It was power.

I sat at the vanity, painting my lips a blood-red that screamed for attention. I brushed my hair until it shone like raven wings. When I was done, I didn't look like a Sterling. I looked like a Kingsley—the daughter of a dynasty that should have never fallen.

I grabbed my clutch, unlocked the door, and walked out.

I was halfway down the hall when I saw Jonas. He wasn't alone. He was walking toward his study with a woman I didn't recognize—a petite, doe-eyed girl with a fake-innocent look. Another one of his special projects.

They stopped when they saw me. Jonas’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes traveled from my red lips down to the slit in my dress that showed off my long, pale legs.

"Who is she, Jonas?" the girl whispered, clinging to his arm. "Is she your sister?"

Jonas snapped out of his trance, his expression hardening into a sneer to hide his attraction. "Her? No. She’s just a maid who doesn't know her place."

The girl giggled, looking at me with disdain. "A maid? She’s dressed a bit... much for a maid, isn't she?"

I stopped in front of them, smelling the cheap floral perfume the girl was wearing. I smiled, a slow, predatory curve of my lips.

"A maid?" I laughed, the sound cold and melodic. "Well, if I’m the maid, Jonas, then you must be the trash I forgot to take out this morning."

“Are you tired of living, Cassandra? Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?” Jonas stepped forward, his face flushed with rage. “And where do you think you’re going dressed like that? The guests aren’t even finished eating. It’s your responsibility to clear the table and wash the dishes. Or have you forgotten your place?”

I checked my watch, then looked at him with an expression of bored indifference.

“Oh,” I gasped softly, lifting a hand to my chest as if I had just remembered something dreadful. “Did I for opget?”

The surprise melted from my face in an instant. My expression hardened, my eyes turning glacial as I looked straight at him.

“I’m going out, Jonas. I realized that sitting at home waiting for a cheating coward is a waste of a perfectly good dress.”

"You aren't going anywhere!" he hissed, reaching for my arm.

I stepped back, my eyes flashing with a warning that made him pause. "Don't touch me. As for where I’m going... I’m going to find a bar, find a man who actually knows how to be one, and let him f**k me until I forget you ever existed."

The silence that followed was deafening. Jonas looked like he had been slapped. The girl beside him gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

I didn't give him a chance to respond. I turned on my heels and walked out of the mansion, the click of my stilettos sounding like a countdown to his ruin.

Thirty minutes later, I was at No Name, a high-end lounge where the music was low and the gin was strong. For the first time in years, I felt the bass of the music in my bones. I felt alive. I felt dangerous.

I ordered a drink and stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching the bodies move. I wasn't looking for love; I was looking for a distraction. I wanted to feel something other than the ghost of the rain on my skin.

I turned to head toward the balcony for some air, my mind already plotting my next move against Fina and Jonas, when I slammed into a solid chest.

"Watch it," a deep, velvet voice rumbled above me.

I stumbled back, my hand flying to the man’s lapel to steady myself. The fabric was expensive—bespoke wool. I looked up, ready to snap a sharp retort, but the words died in my throat.

The man was tall, his presence so commanding it felt like the air around him had solidified. He was wearing a dark suit, and though the club was dim, his eyes caught the light like polished onyx. There was a dangerous edge to him, a coldness that rivaled my own.

He didn't move. He just looked down at me, his gaze traveling over my red lips and the curve of my neck, a slow, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You seem to be in a hurry, little bird," he murmured, his hand coming up to steady my waist, his touch burning through the silk of my dress. "Or are you just looking for trouble?"