I Don't Love You Like I Did Yesterday

“Cassian.” Sloane’s airy voice pulled me back to the present. “I left my new lingerie in the car. Can you have Livia bring it up for me?”

She let out a dramatic sigh before quickly adding, “Oh, never mind! I’ll go get it myself. What was I thinking? She’s not a maid.”

Cassian smirked, giving me a knowing look before turning back to her.

Cassian smirked, giving me a knowing look before turning back to her. “No, it’s fine."It’s fine. Liv will get it for you,” Cassian said smoothly, his gaze flicking to me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He turned and descended the stairs, subtly motioning for me to follow. Confused, I hesitated before trailing after him. He led me into the dimly lit space beneath the grand staircase, where the shadows swallowed us whole.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until he reached out to touch my face. His fingertips lingered just beneath my eyes, catching the stray tears before they could fall further. He hesitated, then pressed his thumb gently to my cheek, wiping away the evidence of my heartbreak.

“Why?” My voice wavered as I forced myself to meet his gaze, desperate for an answer, a reason—anything to make sense of this.

His thumb ghosted over my skin, his voice low and smooth, almost hypnotic. “You know you’re the one I trust the most, Pixie.”

I flinched at the nickname, once a term of endearment, now feeling like a cruel mockery.

“Sloane helped me secure the Kensington deal,” he continued, his tone frustratingly patient. “I sent the staff home, so I need you here. If my parents show up, I need you to cover for me. Just for a few days. Can you do that?”

There it was. The role I was destined to play in his life—his most trusted, but never his most loved.

Above us, Sloane moved about freely in the master bedroom—the one place I had never been allowed to step foot in. And yet, Cassian and I had shared our first time right here, in the shadows beneath the staircase. Not in his bed, not in a place of love, but in secrecy, where no one could see.

Like the difference between a carefully chosen possession and a mere afterthought.

I had once been naive enough to believe that I was the former.

When I first came to the Montclair estate as a child, I was a mess—unpolished, grieving and completely out of place. The other children mocked me, calling me Cassian’s little charity case, his unwanted shadow. But he had fought for me, stood by me, forced them to acknowledge me as his equal, or at least sister.

Then Sloane had left for Europe and he had convinced his mother to mold me into something refined, something worthy. For him, I had learned, changed, adapted.

And yet, tonight, Sloane had so easily dismissed me as just another servant in this house—and he hadn’t corrected her. He had let me drown in humiliation, without a word.

Cassian had pulled me from the mud, only to shove me back into it when it was convenient.

The dream I had held onto for so long—it had been nothing but an illusion.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to speak. “Yeah. I get it.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but I didn’t wait for a response. I pulled away from his grasp and turned, leaving him standing in the darkness.

The next afternoon, Cassian called for me. “Come upstairs and clean the room.”

I hesitated at the threshold of the master bedroom. For years, I had wondered what lay beyond this door, longing to step inside. Now that I finally had permission, I found myself paralyzed, afraid of what I would see.

Summoning my courage, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

My stomach lurched.

The walls were adorned with massive portraits of Sloane, each one capturing her in different moments of her youth. She was everywhere—laughing, gazing wistfully into the distance, lips parted in an unspoken promise. It was a shrine to her, a museum dedicated to the only woman Cassian had ever truly loved.

“Excessive, isn’t it?” Sloane’s voice rang out behind me, laced with amusement. I turned to see her lounging against the doorframe, her satin robe slipping off one shoulder, revealing smooth, bare skin. She was the picture of effortless beauty, every inch of her exuding confidence.

She let out a soft laugh, her fingers toying with the edge of her robe. “I used to look so awful and yet he went ahead and blew up my face on these giant canvases. What a weirdo.”

Before I could respond, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Cassian pulled her close, his fingers brushing her skin with practiced ease.

“You looked perfect, Sloane,” he murmured, lips skimming the curve of her neck. “You always do. Especially last night, when you have nothing on you.”

“Cassian!” She giggled, swatting at his chest. “Not in front of Livia.”

He barely spared me a glance, but his lips curled at the edges as if he found the entire situation amusing. “She should get used to it.”

Then, without hesitation, he turned her in his arms and kissed her—slow, deep and possessive.

I stood there, numb, watching as the man who had once whispered promises in my ear tangled himself with another woman right in front of me.

When they finally pulled apart, Cassian’s gaze flicked to mine, his expression unreadable.