The Weight Of Control
1080 Words
CHAPTER FIVE
CASSIAN WOLFE
She couldn’t look up after she’d signed. Her shoulders were shaking. Lips pressed together so tight they’d gone white.
My eyes flicked to the paper. Her name was there.
Ink on contract.
Done.
She shoved it toward me with numb fingers and sat back like she might throw up.
The old gray UCLA sweatshirt she had on was drowning her frame.
Coincidentally, it was the same one she wore freshman year, the last time I saw her before I dropped out and finished at Wharton.
And in all honesty, Sadie Sinclair hadn’t changed much from the stable girl I remembered.
Smaller, maybe. Sadder. Her leggings clung to her legs like a second skin. Her eyes were glassed over. Nose red. Hair a tangled knot falling over one cheek as she stared past me.
I reached for the paper.
“The clauses kick in now,” I said. She didn’t flinch.
“You move in tonight.”
Still nothing.
“There’s a party in three days. You’ll be there. But before that, we’ve got stable inspections in the morning. You know those horses better than anyone, which means you’ll be glued to my side the entire time.”
I stood, stepped closer, reached out and touched her wrist. Her pulse was wild.
She jerked away like my touch burned.
“Rot in hell,” she snapped.
I smiled. “Pack your bags. The driver'll be outside yours at six. If you’re not there, I’ll come get you myself. I’ll carry you if I have to.”
Nose flared, she shoved out of the booth and stormed off without looking back.
I didn’t stop her.
She wouldn’t go far.
There were only two places she had left. Her best friend. Or her lawyer. And I already had both on a watchlist.
As she walked away, I let my eyes wander. The curve of her hips. The way her hair bounced with every step, and even in that faded sweatshirt, she was still so damn attractive it made my c**k ache.
It had been the very second I laid eyes on her again.
Isaac, my head of security, stepped in just as she disappeared. “She signed?”
I handed him the contract. “Get it secured.”
He took it, tucked it into a leather case, locked it, and stood straight again. “Do we leave now?”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I looked down the hallway Sadie had vanished through. My fingers
tapped against the edge of the table.
“No,” I said. “I need to check in with Helm first.”
Isaac gave a small nod. “Understood.”
My legs carried me on autopilot down the west wing. Dr. Helm was already outside the room when I rounded the corner.
He straightened when he saw me. “Mr. Wolfe.”
I slowed, eyes flicking to the half-open door beside him. “She’s in there?” He nodded. “Yes. She hasn’t said a word.”
I stepped closer, just enough to glance through the narrow gap. Sadie sat at the edge of the hospital bed, her head bowed, shoulders trembling. Her hand was wrapped around the old man’s, knuckles white from how tight she held on.
Her hair shielded half her face, but I could tell she was crying quietly. Like she’d taught herself how to over the years.
I’d watched her cry before. More times than I could count. After school, behind lockers, alone in stairwells, when she thought no one was listening.
But I was.
Even then.
Even now.
I pulled back.
“You haven’t told her anything,” I said flatly. Dr. Helm shook his head. “Not yet.”
“How is he?” I asked, trying to sound clinical.
He hesitated. Then, “The chemo stopped being effective weeks ago. We’re managing symptoms now, but... there’s nothing curative left.”
I clenched my jaw. “Be straight with me. How long?”
“If we do everything,” he said carefully, “and I mean everything... fluid balance, transfusions, pain management... maybe a month. Without all that? Less than two weeks.”
A second passed.
“And the cancer type again?”
“Stage IV pancreatic. Metastasized to the liver. He’s exhausted. His organs are failing.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Helm.”
“I’m not,” he said, a little softer now. “The man’s dying. You know that.” I looked toward the door again.
Sadie hadn’t moved.
“Should I just let her be?” I muttered.
“That’s not my call.”
My fingers flexed. The hallway felt smaller than it had a minute ago. I felt restricted.
Again.
Just like that day at UCLA, the last time I saw her. She was sitting alone on the lawn, back against that stupid jacaranda tree near the art building, knees pulled to her chest, her face buried in her arms.
I don’t know why she was crying.
I wanted to ask.
God, I wanted to.
But I didn’t have the right. I’d spent too many years making her hate me to pretend like I was allowed to care.
I stood there for a full minute with my duffel bag strapped to my shoulder, heart hammering, ready to tell her I was leaving.
That my father had pulled me out, that I was heading to New York to start my real life.
But she never looked up.
And I didn’t say a word.
I just walked away like a coward.
That was our wordless goodbye.
“Has he said anything?” I asked.
“Not since you brought him back in,” Helm said. “He’s mostly sleeping.”
I let the breath out slow. “If anything changes, page me.”
Helm nodded, then glanced at the door. “Should she know how close it is?”
I didn’t look at him. Just stared at her. Her forehead was pressed to her dad’s hand like she was willing him to wake up. Her shoulders were still shaking.
“When he dies,” I said, “she doesn’t find out. Not until I say.” Helm blinked. “That won’t be easy. She visits constantly—” “I’ll make it work.”
He hesitated. “And if she asks?”
“She signed a contract,” I said, turning away. “She has a job to finish.”
- Writer
