Page 136 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I ran a hand through my hair, mentally scrolling through the bullet points. “I’ll have to cut some parts, then.”

I frowned, staring into the middle distance. That was tricky. The flow was deliberate. The data on market penetration was crucial, but was it more crucial than the case study on brand synergy? Maybe I could merge the introductory anecdote with the…

She took a deep, measured breath, the kind meant to center herself, and offered me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Cassian.”

My eyes, which had been fixed on the perplexing problem of the speech, found hers.

“Yes?”

“Leave.”

I moved without thought. I was on my feet in an instant, the chair scraping softly behind me. I crossed the room, my hand finding the cool metal of the door handle.

Then I stopped. My fingers tightened on the brass. I turned back.

She was still watching me, her expression unreadable.

I looked at her, and said the last line of my prepared speech. The only line that truly mattered. The words came out quiet, stripped of any pitch, utterly sincere.

“Thank you for letting me see you, Alessia.”

A real, unguarded smile touched my lips then, born of pure, relieved gratitude. My eyes held hers for one last, fleeting second.

“You look beautiful.”

I love you.

The three words didn’t leave my mouth. They stayed where they lived now, in the space behind my ribs, a constant, beating fact. But I let them shine in my eyes.

Then I turned and left.

At Velaré, outside my office, Liam was waiting. He wasn’t leaning against the wall in his usual, casual slouch. He stood rigid, his expression grim, his jaw clenched tight enough to grind stone.

He looked at me, his eyes dark with a familiar, weary tension. “Dad’s here.”

That explained the storm cloud hovering around him.

“Where is he?”

He jerked his chin toward my office door. “Inside. Waiting. Said he wants to talk to both of us.”

I’d expected this. Ever since I’d pulled out of Hartley’s deal and severed all ties, I knew he’d come. He wasn’t a man who accepted rejection, especially not from someone he’d considered a puppet.

Before we went in, Liam asked, his voice low, “How did it go with Alessia?”

The memory of her face, her simple “I’m in,” flashed before me. My face broke into a grin I couldn’t contain, a stark contrast to his anxiety. “She said yes.”

Liam shook his head, a flicker of a smile breaking through his own tension. “No wonder you look like you just won the lottery.” He glanced back at the door, his expression sobering. “Too bad the mood’s about to get murdered.”

He was wrong.

The feeling in my chest—the solid, warm certainty of Alessia’s yes—wasn’t so fragile. Mr. Hartley could unleash hell in that office, but he couldn’t touch this.

I straightened my shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

I pushed the door open and entered.