Page 63 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I gritted my teeth.

Of course.

Of course he had to make this difficult.

This man possessed a singular, infuriating talent for finding the exact nerve to press until I wanted to scream.

“Cassian,” I said his name slowly, forcing every ounce of irritation beneath a voice so calm it bordered on dangerous. “Whatever redemption fantasy you’ve built in your head, bury it. You might want to believe you’re somehow better because you weren’t as cruel as your mother, but I don’t believe cruelty comes with rankings. I don’t care who hurt me more. I don’t care who deserves the title of worst person.” I leaned forward. “If someone is cruel to me, they are cruel. Period. It doesn’t become acceptable because someone else was worse.”

He absorbed every word without looking away.

“It doesn’t matter that I don’t remember it,” I continued. “It happened. You did it. And that alone is enough for me.”

“I know.” His answer came without hesitation, without an attempt to defend himself. “And I know I can’t change what happened.” He took a step closer, his expression fierce with a determination that refused to bend. “But I can change what happens next.”

“I will earn your forgiveness. I will earn the right to stand beside you again, no matter how long it takes or how many times you tell me to leave.” His expression hardened, refusing to yield an inch. “I’m not giving up on you, Alessia. I almost lost you once. I won’t make the mistake of letting you go again.”

I could feel a headache beginning behind my eyes. I set my phone down with more force than necessary and turned my attention to my computer, hoping the screen might offer me the one thing Cassian apparently had no intention of giving me: peace.

“You dropped me off at work, so your job here is done. Go home.”

“No.”

I paused.

I need to get this man a dictionary.

Preferably one large enough to hit him over the head with.

I slowly looked back at him. “What do you mean, no?”

He walked over and dropped into the chair opposite my desk, looking far too comfortable for a man who had just been ordered to leave.

“If I go home, you’re going to bury yourself in work and forget I exist.” He folded his arms, watching me with an infuriating calm. “You’ll spend the next six hours answering emails, staring at spreadsheets, and pretending you don’t have a husband.” His mouth curved faintly. “So I’m staying.”

I stared at him.

He gestured toward me, then the computer, as if presenting an entirely reasonable argument. “I’ll sit right here while you work. I won’t bother you. I won’t interrupt. I won’t ask you for anything. I’ll just be here.”

A vivid urge to commit murder surged through me.

Hell, give me five.

I could work with five.

My fingers curled against the edge of the desk before I forced myself to breathe. Then another thought emerged from beneath the fury, colder and far more useful.

He had told me I could do whatever I wanted to him.

Whatever I wanted.

My irritation began to evaporate.

A slow smile curved across my lips as I looked at the half-full coffee sitting innocently on my desk.

“Where’s the coffee you got for me, Cassian?” I asked sweetly.

He blinked, completely thrown by the question. Suspicion and concern crossed his face. “You gave it to Naija. Don’t you remember?”