I Don't Love You Like I Did Yesterday

I had once believed that after all these years by his side, he had finally let go of Sloane.

That he had moved forward, freed his heart from the past and was ready to accept me.

But standing here now, watching the two of them together, it felt as if someone had taken a whip to my heart, leaving it in tatters.

Maybe my silence stretched on for too long, because Cassian’s eyes darkened, wary of upsetting Sloane.

His sharp voice sliced through the air. “Liv, Sloane is speaking to you. Where are your manners? Did we teach you nothing about respect? Don’t embarrass me.”

A lump formed in my throat. Just as I was about to respond, Sloane let out a small, affected sigh and reached into her designer bag. She pulled out a hair tie and placed it in my palm with an easy smile.

“Cassian, don’t be too hard on her,” she interrupted sweetly before I could speak. “It was my fault. I asked when it wasn’t my turn to speak.”

Then, as if bestowing me with some grand gesture of kindness, she shrugged and added, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a gift. This is my first time here.”

She held up the hair tie with a faint smile. “It’s a freebie from the lingerie Cassian bought me. I figured it’d be enough for now. Oh, don’t worry—it’s from an expensive brand.”

Her words landed like a slap, but before I could react, she had already turned away, stretching her arms with a sleepy sigh.

She stifled a yawn, utterly indifferent to my presence. “Cassian, I’m tired. Take me upstairs, won’t you?”

Cassian immediately pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead with a tenderness that made my stomach churn.

“Of course, baby. Sorry for keeping you out in the cold. Let’s get inside.”

As they headed up the stairs, Cassian suddenly paused, turning his head back, his expression indifferent.

They climbed together, his arm still resting around her waist.

Just as they reached the landing, he glanced at me, as if I were an afterthought.

“Oh, Liv, Sloane likes her warm milk exactly at 108 degrees. Don’t mess it up.”

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

He was wearing the scarf I had bought him before he left for his trip. The same scarf he had used to blindfold me on the last night we spent together.

“Be good for me, Pixie. Just hold it a little longer. Once I close the deal with the Kensingtons, I’ll talk to my Mom and Dad about our engagement.”

My grandmother had worked as a housekeeper for the Montclair Family her entire life. After my parents died in a car accident, she had taken me in, raising me within the Montclair estate. She had always carried herself with quiet dignity, teaching me to be grateful for the roof over my head.

As a child, I had watched Mrs. Montclair educate Cassian with careful discipline, shaping him into the perfect heir. I had envied him. I had longed for even a fraction of that parental guidance.

Once, I had run away from the estate to visit my parents’ graves. It had been the dead of winter and the frozen lake near the cemetery was covered in a deceptive layer of ice. I hadn’t noticed—until I fell through. Cassian had jumped in after me without a second thought, pushing me to safety while he himself nearly drowned in the freezing water.

The jagged ice had cut into his thumb, leaving a scar that never completely faded.

Back then, I hadn’t understood the full weight of his actions. The Montclairs had a strict rule—no heir was allowed to engage in reckless or dangerous behavior. When Cassian returned home that night, he was beaten within an inch of his life for breaking that rule.

But he had never once apologized.

“Saving her wasn’t a mistake,” he had said, his young voice steady despite the welts on his back.

The punishments had only stopped when my grandmother knelt before the Montclairs and begged for their forgiveness.

Cassian had always been the golden child, the one who had everything. And yet, despite it all, he had chosen to protect me.

Even after my grandmother passed away, the Montclairs had continued to provide for me. But I never let myself forget the divide between us—the unspoken boundary that could never be crossed.

So when the boy I had admired for years—the boy who had once risked his life to save me—came to me that night, promising forever, how could I not believe him? How could I not hope? But that promise had barely lasted a week before it was shattered.