His Sacred Promise, My Stolen Dreams

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rtment. He didn't even glance at me, curled on the sofa, my face a mask of exhaustion. He was already

d. He' s booked solid for the new date Kiera found. So," he turned, finally looking a

small, surprising lurch. Not of pain, but of immense, overwhelming

my voice flat, a

furrowed in corporate concern, lifted slightly. "Okay?" he r

he old Cassie, the one who obsessed over every detail, who had spent countless hours curating inspiration boards, choosin

hollow shell of calm. My stillness unner

soft thud. "I thought you'd be upset.

voice cutting through the quiet.

ted me to be hysterical, to give him a reason to play the benevolent rescuer, the patien

rful idea. She thinks it would be a beautiful gesture, a real sign of solidarity, if you designed her new house. For free, of course. As

ran cold, then hot with a silent, simmering rage. Design her house? With the money he stole from us? For free?

ice devoid of any warmth. "Of

huge project for your portfolio, Cassie. A real statement piece. You could even

s. "A memorial to a broken engagement. A testament to misplaced

with a hint of genuine relief. "Exactly! See? I knew

enough to realize that he was completely de

ed, his eyes gleaming with t

said, my voice flat.

see the silent scream behind my eyes, the cold, calculated fury simmering beneath my calm. He thought he

ed. He talked about "our" plans-his plans for Kiera' s house-with an enthusiasm he hadn' t shown for

s on a mental checklist. The fellowship application, the apartment lease, the bank accounts. Every word he uttered, every casual

ere this afternoon, getting the lay of the land. We can discuss your designs later this week." He picked up his mug, humming

amed, or pleaded, was silent. She was a distant echo, a fading memory. I looked at the engagement ring on my finger, a relic of

was now a tool, a weapon. I had a lot