Page 170 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

And then he proceeded to tell me everything.

The firing of Cassandra. Her breakdown. Michael Hartley’s arrival. The absurd marriage proposal.

The merger.

By the end, the playfulness had drained from his face. He turned to me, serious now, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that pinned me in place.

“Alessia.”

His voice was low, intense.

“I need you to know that nothing—nothing—ever happened between me and Cassandra. The very thought repulses me. I never gave her a reason to think otherwise. I never hinted at anything. I never led her on. That night I brought her home… I just wanted to get home. She was drunk. My phone was dead. I couldn’t find hers anywhere. I didn’t know where she lived, and I couldn’t leave her there.”

He leaned forward slightly, willing me to understand.

“Trust me. I wasn’t lying when I said I never thought of her like that. Never even looked at her like that.”

His eyes searched mine.

“I only ever thought about you like that. Even when I was making mistakes. Even when I was being an idiot. It’s always been just you.”

His gaze held mine, desperate for belief.

“Please believe me.”

When I’d woken up in that hospital room, I’d constructed a version of Cassian in my mind. Selfish. Neglectful. A man who didn’t give two shits about me.

Every word he’d said afterward—every protest, every plea—had bounced off that construction like rain against stone.

I hadn’t believed him.

His words had meant nothing.

But that was then.

The last few months had rewritten everything. Every observation, every interaction, every quiet moment like this one had layered over the old narrative, softening its edges.

This man wasn’t lying.

I believed him.

I took the last bite of my hot dog, chewed slowly, and swallowed.

Then I met his anxious, waiting gaze.

“Okay.”

Cassian froze.

“Okay?”

I stood, nodding as I tossed the wrappers into a nearby bin.

“Yeah. Okay. I believe you.”

I started walking toward my car, and after a beat, I heard his footsteps fall into pace behind me.

He caught up, slightly breathless. “You do?”