Page 138 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“When someone doesn’t need or want help and you force it on them anyway,” I said, my voice low, “it’s called abuse.” I turned my head slightly toward Liam, my gaze still locked on Hartley. “Or does it stop being abuse if you disguise it as ‘help’?”

Liam kept his eyes locked on Hartley, his expression cold. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s still abuse.”

Mr. Hartley threw his head back and laughed, a rich, patronizing sound that filled the office.

“You two. You really do make me laugh. They call anything abuse these days.” He shook his head at us as though we were foolish children who had wandered into a conversation far beyond our understanding. “Call it whatever pretty, modern word you like. We all know the truth. You’ve stabilized the patient, Cassian, but it’s still in recovery. You need something big. A massive infusion of credibility, capital, security—something to make sure you never end up back in that ICU.”

He tapped a finger against his chest.

“And I,” he said, smiling, “am offering you the cure. On a silver platter.”

My gaze didn’t waver.

When I’d pulled out of his deal, I’d expected retaliation—undercutting, poaching clients, the usual corporate warfare. I hadn’t anticipated this: a bald-faced attempt at a hostile takeover, dressed up as a favor and wrapped in a bow.

My eyes narrowed. “Cut the act. You didn’t travel across the city out of paternal concern to ‘save’ us. What’s the real move?” I took a step closer to the desk. “What do you actually want?”

He shook his head, a slow, approving smile spreading across his face. “This is why I’ve always liked you, Cassian. You don’t waste time on sentiment. Straight to the heart of the matter.” He leaned back in my chair, steepling his fingers. “But you’re right. I do want something. And it benefits you, as well.”

His eyes locked onto mine, the friendly facade dissolving into pure, chilling calculation.

“I want you to marry Cassandra.”

The room wasn’t silent this time.

Liam erupted from his chair so fast it scraped backward with a shriek. “What the fuck?!” He stared between me and Hartley, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. “What the actual fuck?!”

My eyes never left Hartley’s. A cold, seething disgust settled in my gut, heavy as lead. I let him see all of it—the revulsion, the contempt, the absolute rejection—in the flat, unwavering stare I gave him.

Then I said the only word that mattered.

“No.”

He sighed, a theatrically weary sound.

“I’m trying to help you, Cassian. Your company is on shaky ground. The very public, very messy divorce on top of it? Your professional image is in tatters. Your board must be anxious. If you were to marry, to settle down with a respectable woman from a good family, it would stabilize everything. They’d see you as a man of substance, of legacy—”

“Why would I get married,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his polished monologue like glass, “when I already have a wife?”

He halted, then shook his head with a patronizing, almost pitying motion. “Oh, Cassian. This is exactly why we need to get you settled quickly. Cassandra would look after you. Because clearly, you’re losing touch with reality.” He looked at me with fabricated sorrow. “You’re divorced, son.”

“Stop calling me son,” I gritted out, the words carrying all the venom I could barely keep out of my voice. “I know I’m divorced. But that doesn’t make me available. Alessia became my wife long before any judge made it legal, and no piece of paper can undo that. So, yes, Mr. Hartley. I have a wife. I’m not marrying anyone else.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. The facade of concern hardened into impatience.

“You need to move on, Cassian. Alessia. Left. You.” He spaced the words out, as if speaking to a child.

“So?” I countered, my voice flat.

He blinked, momentarily thrown by the simplicity of the rebuttal. Then his jaw clenched. “So, you need to stop wasting your life dwelling on the past and look to the future. To Cassandra.”

Every time he uttered her name in the same breath as my future, a fresh wave of disgust rolled through me. I didn’t bother hiding it.

Liam muttered a harsh curse under his breath. “Dad, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Just stop.”

“I’m only trying to help him see reason—”

“Dad—”