Page 98 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

My fingers curled into a fist against my arm.

A fact?

She had no concept of the word.

The fact was that she was a liar. The fact was that Alessia had left me. The fact was that I was a fool who had let the most important person in his life walk away.

What she called a fact was a delusion. A pathetic fantasy she had dressed up in reality’s clothes.

“And what, precisely, is this ‘connection’ we share? Enlighten me. Because my memory seems to be failing, and I can’t recall a single instance of it.”

She took a step forward, a desperate, bold move. “Cassian, you’ve known me since we were children. Alessia can’t possibly compete with—”

“Wrong,” I cut her off, my voice like a shard of ice. “I’ve known Liam since we were kids. I knew of you. There’s a difference.”

Her expression twisted with hurt and fury. “Don’t you dare downplay what we have.”

“Am I?” I tilted my head. “Then tell me, Cassandra. Give me one single, significant conversation we’ve had that wasn’t about work. Have I ever confided in you? Asked about your personal life? I don’t even know where you live, or if you have a single friend.” I spread my hands. “So, please, tell me what I’m missing. What specific interaction led you to believe we share an ‘unbreakable connection’ that eclipses my marriage?”

The room plunged into a dead, ringing silence.

Cassandra’s face flushed a deeper, angrier red. “You helped me with my homework once, when we were kids. That was the moment I—”

“I helped Liam with his homework every other week. Next.”

She blinked, thrown off. “After your father left, you were always at our house—”

“Because I wanted to spend time with Liam.”

Because my mother was in one of her moods—where my existence offended her—and Liam had overheard it once. After that, he used every excuse to drag me to his house.

I never stopped him.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something. Then a smug, triumphant look crossed her face. “When I was going to prom, you took a picture of me. I saw you—”

“Because Liam begged me to take the picture while he stood behind you making faces that you couldn’t see.” My jaw ticked. “That photo was for him, not you.”

A throbbing pain began to pulse behind my eyes.

Was this it? Was this the flimsy, pathetic evidence for that ‘unbreakable connection’?

Was this fucking it?

“Damn,” Liam muttered from my side. “Maybe Alessia should be threatened by our connection.”

I turned a withering glare on him.

His smile vanished. “Not that I’m interested in you like that.”

I turned back to her, the tension coiling in my jaw like a spring. “Every example you’ve given is pathetic. Give me one. One genuine interaction that proves this delusion of a connection.”

Her composure was fracturing. Her eyes darted around the room in a panic before landing back on me. “The night of the party! You could have left me there. You could have called Liam, but you didn’t. You took me home. You took care of me.” She lifted her chin, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. “And when we got to your door, you laughed with me. That moment was just us.”

My hands came down on the desk, gripping the edge so hard the wood dug into my palms.

“Are you,” I said, my voice low enough to vibrate the air, “fucking serious right now?”

She faltered under the weight of my glare. “Cassian—”