Chapter 17
Life didn’t pause just because your heart ached. And I refused to be the girl who broke every time a man did something selfish. So I moved. Forward. I focused on my designs, my team, my future. I had meetings to attend, fabrics to choose, gowns to approve. The boutique was gaining traction. The brand was becoming known. Cassandra Ruiz Designs–that name meant something now. I wasn’t going to let anything ruin that.
And then there was Scott.
He had this way of being… present. Gentle. Unshakable. The kind of man who didn’t need to say much to make me feel seen. I tried to guard my heart, keep it wrapped in logic and caution, but there were cracks. Soft, tiny cracks where he’d unknowingly slipped in.
Like the day he showed up with my favorite coffee–extra foam, two pumps vanilla–just because I said once in passing that I needed a pick–me–up during launch week. Or the time he sat with me until 2 a.m., helping organize portfolios while I panicked over a showcase deadline.
One evening, I was curled up on the couch in his penthouse. He walked in holding a bowl of soup and a warm smile.
“Your eyes are red,” he said, sitting beside me. “You cried again, didn’t you?”
I blinked. “Just… stress.”
“Then let me help carry it,” he whispered, brushing hair from my face. No man had ever said something so simple that made me want to cry harder.
Another time, we were walking through a local art gallery, our shoulders bumping every so often, and he turned to me with a grin.
“You know, if I weren’t so into board meetings and numbers, I’d probably beg you to hire me as a mannequin. At least then I’d get to wear one of your designs.”
I laughed. “You’d be the stiffest mannequin in history.”
“Only if you’re not looking at me,” he teased, winking.
Sometimes it was small things–like the way he’d place his hand on the small of my back in a crowd, protective but never possessive. Or how he’d text me silly jokes at midnight, just to make me smile before bed. He’d bring me lunch when I forgot to eat, or show up to my fittings pretending to be a fashion critic, declaring dramatically, “This is haute couture meets heartbreak recovery.”
One afternoon, I had a rough client meeting. The moment I stepped into the lobby, there he was- standing with a giant pretzel bouquet.
“For the queen of salty comebacks,” he said, bowing like some modern–day idiot prince. I couldn’t stop laughing.
He made life lighter. Made me lighter. And I hated how much I started to look forward to hearing his voice.
Because deep down, I knew what was happening. I was beginning to fall. And that terrified me more than anything.
It wasn’t love, I told myself. Not yet. But I stopped trying to fight it.
3/3 66.7%
4:00 pm M MMG
So I decided to surprise him.
A new silk necktie in hand–navy with gold accents, just like the design of his upcoming store logo–I headed to his office. The receptionist wasn’t there, so I quietly walked down the corridor. His door was slightly ajar.
And then I heard it.
A woman’s laugh. Sharp. Confident.
“Come on, Scott,” she said. “Are you really marrying her? What about me? We have history. You can’t tell me you’ve just forgotten that. I know you want me more than her!”
Silence. Pain welled in my chest, fast and familiar. It felt like Johansen all over again. That pause. That hesitation.
I didn’t wait for his reply. I dropped the gift bag quietly and turned. Walked out.
Back in my car, I stared at the wheel, trying to breathe. No one had betrayed me, technically.
We had an agreement. This was all for business. So why did it feel like my heart had shattered anyway?
Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away. Don’t be weak again, Cassie. You’ve survived
worse.
Instead of going home, I drove to the boutique. I needed air. Or silence. Or distraction.
The team had already left for the day. I walked through the quiet showroom, rearranging hangers just to keep my hands busy. In my office, I made a few design edits and checked tomorrow’s
schedule.
It was almost 9 p.m. when I decided to finally leave.
I opened the door and stopped. Smoke. My heart jumped. A thick scent was filling the hallway. I rushed toward the front- But the doors were locked.
From the outside.
“Hello?” I banged on the glass. “Is anyone there?!”
No answer.
Panic built in my throat. “HELP!”
Flames were starting to crawl along the far wall. Heat flooded the room.
grabbed my phone, trembling, and dialed Scott.
No answer.
‘Pick up, pick up-”
I called again. Still nothing.
My chest heaved. I could barely see through the smoke. I tried my mother next.
“M–Mom-” I choked out, “I–I—”
And then everything spun. My knees buckled.
The phone slipped from my hand. Darkness crept in, slow and consuming. And I fainted to the sound of crackling fire and unanswered calls.
Chapter 17
