Sarah sat in the corner of the sofa, her back straight but not tense, legs crossed. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, her fingers tracing the stitching of her silk robe. She hadn’t asked for wine, but a delicate glass sat waiting for her, half filled with ruby-red liquid. She hadn’t touched it.
From the far hallway, Cassandra emerged. She moved deliberately, her bare feet silent on the floor as the fabric of her deep maroon robe followed her. She was closer now, and with her came the subtle scent of jasmine, delicate but unmistakable, curling its way into Sarah’s awareness. Cassandra held a glass of her own, untouched like Sarah’s.
“You’ve barely said a word tonight,” Cassandra remarked as she approached, her voice casual but focused. She didn’t sit beside Sarah but instead chose the armrest, angled slightly to study her.
Sarah turned her head but kept her body still. “I’ve been watching the news.”
Cassandra raised a brow, brushing her fingers along the edge of her glass. “And what does it tell you?”
Sarah shifted slightly on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. The past three nights had been surreal—a world of silk sheets, meals she hadn’t prepared, and Cassandra’s presence so close, so constant. It had been years since they’d been together, yet nothing about Cassandra’s touch or the way she said Sarah’s name had changed. Cassandra always knew how to make the world feel smaller, and quieter, as if nothing else mattered but her.
And yet, the tension gnawed at her. She didn’t trust what this was now. Not fully. Sharing a bed, sharing Cassandra’s life—was it comfort or just another form of control?
“I don’t need to tell you what people are saying,” Sarah said, breaking the silence. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “Riots. Arrests. Reeves. It’s chaos out there.”
Cassandra set her glass down carefully, leaning closer, and with her came the jasmine, subtle and maddening. “The public clings to simple stories,” Cassandra said softly. “Villains to blame. Martyrs to mourn. But you, Sarah, know the truth is rarely so clean.”
Sarah turned, meeting her eyes. “And what’s the truth this time?” she asked, a bite in her tone. “That Reeves was some kind of hero? That Jo and Maya would just... turn violent?”
Cassandra studied her, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, brushing her fingers against Sarah’s knee, deliberately but gently. “Reeves was flawed. Ambitious. Proud. He underestimated everyone—including Marcus.”
Sarah froze. “What are you saying?”
“Marcus,” Sarah repeated, the name falling heavy between them. Her chest felt as if the air in the room had thickened. She hadn’t thought of him much since the news of the riots—just another piece of chaos in a city unraveling. But now, with Cassandra so close, every word carried a weight that made her heart race.
“He acted out of desperation,” Cassandra said, her voice low, almost regretful. She shifted closer, her knee brushing against Sarah’s. “The situation escalated. He couldn’t control himself, and Reeves...” Cassandra trailed off, letting the implication hang.
Sarah swallowed hard, the words twisting in her mind. “Why would he—” She stopped herself. Cassandra’s was steady, unflinching, and it made her skin prickle. “You’re saying Marcus killed Reeves?”
“I’m saying emotions got the better of him,” Cassandra replied softly. Her hand lifted, just briefly brushing Sarah’s. “And Jo? She didn’t stop it. She fought back, made everything worse.” Sarah’s thoughts spun in a loop. Jo wouldn’t—couldn’t—be reckless without cause. And Cassandra—she wouldn’t offer this kind of information without purpose. Her words were too deliberate, her timing too exact.
The weight of everything pressed against Sarah’s mind: Kai’s arrest, Jo and Maya’s supposed betrayal. Pieces that didn’t fit, a puzzle Cassandra seemed to hold in her hands. Sarah felt her guilt stir, heavy and bitter, as if her actions caused their fall.
Despite the risk, Sarah needed answers. Answers that Cassandra would only dance around. Her dream walk tech might be able to find something if she didn't get lost. She was trained not to use it on people who knew her. But tonight, she’d have to look where Cassandra couldn’t guard herself, within her dreams.
“Why tell me this now?” Sarah asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
Cassandra tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Because you matter to me, Sarah. You deserve to know the truth. And because I need you to see the bigger picture. Veridian needs stability, and I can’t do this alone.”
Cassandra’s words lingered in the warm air, deliberate and slow, wrapping around Sarah like silk. She shifted slightly on the sofa, her robe brushing against her knees as she tried to steady her breath. “You’re asking me to trust you,” Sarah said, her voice quieter now, almost wary. “When everything you’ve done makes that impossible.”
Cassandra smiled, more bemused than kind. “Everything I’ve done,” she repeated, her voice deceptively soft. “You mean putting you in the lap of luxury, or had you already been pampered enough by becoming a premiere citizen? Maybe you’re offended by my lifestyle after years of clawing your way up from second citizenship. You know as well as I do, Veridian doesn’t hand out favors without effort.”
Sarah stiffened, but the flicker in her expression betrayed the words had landed. Cassandra leaned back slightly, her movements slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch for a moment before continuing.
“And the hospitals?” Cassandra’s tone sharpened. “They’re open because of me. Those supplies—beds, equipment—were rotting in a warehouse until I stepped in to help. No one else bothered.”
The reminder hit deeper than Sarah wanted to admit. “You didn’t fund them for me,” she said, her voice quiet. “You did it to—"
“To show you what stability requires,” Cassandra interrupted smoothly, her smile softening. She leaned forward, her hand brushing Sarah’s lightly before resting on the sofa between them.
Cassandra’s words sank in like weights pulling Sarah deeper into a tide she was resisting. She unclasped her hands, smoothing the fabric of her robe as if to steady herself against the weight of Cassandra’s unspoken demands.
“You think funding hospitals makes you a savior?” Sarah asked, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. “You didn’t save anyone, Cassandra. You negotiated. You used people’s lives as leverage.”
Cassandra’s expression didn’t falter, but something shifted in her eyes—calculation. “And it worked,” she said simply. “Those hospitals are still open, aren’t they? Supplies delivered. Staffed. Lives saved. Or would you rather I’d done nothing at all?”
“That’s not fair,” Sarah murmured, but her voice wavered, her confidence shaken. Her fingers curled again, tightening into fists against her knees. “You know why I signed the contract. I—” She stopped herself, the words choking in her throat. Admitting the truth felt too raw, too vulnerable.
Cassandra’s softened, her hand hovering just above Sarah’s. “Because you thought it was your fault,” Cassandra said gently, her tone free of mockery. “TruthGate. Kai. You believed that if you’d supported someone else—someone safer—none of this would have happened.”
Sarah felt the old guilt rising again, leaving a bitter taste. “I believed in him,” she whispered, staring at the viewpane as if Veridian’s skyline held the answers she couldn’t find. “I thought he’d change everything.”
Cassandra let Sarah’s words hang in the air, unchallenged, for just long enough to let them echo back. Then she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Sarah’s, lingering. “And you were right to believe in him,” Cassandra said, her voice steady, deliberate. “Kai’s vision was... admirable. Even brilliant in parts. But brilliance without discipline can be catastrophic.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Sarah flinched at the word, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You don’t have to remind me,” she said quietly. The bitter weight of TruthGate settled heavily on her chest, the moment that had unraveled everything. Her unwavering support of Kai had turned to doubt, and the collapse of his project had taken so much with it. Cassandra knew exactly where to press, and it infuriated Sarah how easily she fell into it.
“You carried his failure as if it were your own,” Cassandra continued, her tone softer now, almost coaxing. “I saw it, Sarah. Every time you came to those meetings, defending him, pushing for his ideas. You wanted so badly to fix what he broke.”
Sarah’s hand jumped slightly under Cassandra’s touch but she didn’t pull away. “Maybe because I believed in what he stood for,” she said, her voice a mix of defiance and self-recrimination. “Maybe because I thought it was worth it.”
“And maybe it still is,” Cassandra said smoothly, unwavering with warmth. “But someone has to hold the pieces together now. Someone with clarity. Discipline.”
Cassandra let the tension settle between them for a moment, then her hand moved, deft and fluid, to lift the glass of wine from the table. “You’re holding onto this too tightly,” she said, her tone softer now, more intimate. She swirled the wine gently before holding it out to Sarah. “Here. Just breathe for a moment.”
Sarah hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the glass. The scent of the wine—something rich, dark, and unfamiliar—blended with the jasmine that seemed to follow Cassandra like a cloud. “I don’t want to forget,” Sarah said quietly, even as her hand closed around the glass.
“You won’t,” Cassandra murmured, her fingers grazing Sarah’s before pulling away. “But clarity doesn’t come from tension. It comes when you allow yourself to see the pieces for what they are, not what they could have been.”
Sarah took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading down her throat. She hated how easily Cassandra unraveled her defenses, but part of her—buried deep under guilt and exhaustion—craved the simplicity of surrender.
Cassandra leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. “Kai never understood that,” she said. “The weight of responsibility. The need for control. But you do, Sarah. You always have. That’s why I wanted you here.”
Sarah’s breath caught. “Wanted me?” she asked, the wine glass trembling slightly in her hand.
Cassandra’s lips curved, her eyes locking onto Sarah’s. “You’ve always seen more than most. I wanted someone who could understand what needs to be done—and why.”
Sarah set the glass down carefully without taking a sip, her fingers trembling. She didn’t know if it was Cassandra’s voice, or the proximity of her presence—the jasmine that clouded her thoughts like a drug—but her focus wavered.
“You make it sound so easy,” Sarah said, her voice quieter now. “Like it’s all just... pieces on a board. Strategy. Clarity.” She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “You think I’m like you.”
Cassandra smiled, her posture unshaken. “No. You’re better,” she said softly. The words hung in the air, dangerously sincere. “You see the weight of it. You feel it. That’s why I know you can do what’s necessary.”
The truth Sarah had been avoiding clawed its way to the surface. “You keep saying that. ‘Necessary.’ Like there’s only one path. But if that’s true, then why does it feel like all I’ve done is fail?” The last word cracked, unguarded, before she could stop it.
Cassandra reached for the glass again, her fingers brushing Sarah’s in the motion. “Because you’re carrying a weight that isn’t yours to bear,” she said. “Kai’s vision wasn’t your failure. It was his. You believed in him because you saw something no one else did. That isn’t a weakness, Sarah. That’s strength.”
Sarah blinked hard, trying to swallow the lump rising in her throat. “Then why does it feel like I’m the one who has to atone for it?”
Cassandra leaned closer, her presence magnetic, her words like the thread of a tapestry Sarah had been too afraid to weave. “Maybe it’s time to stop atoning and start rebuilding.”
Sarah wanted to hate the simplicity of it, the way Cassandra made even pain seem elegant, but the longing to believe her was undeniable. She stared at her untouched glass of wine. She didn’t need to drink to feel warmth in the room—heat was there, laced with the jasmine that followed Cassandra. But the whirlwind of events was too hard to swallow.
Cassandra reclined at the edge of the sofa and seemed at ease. But Sarah knew better. The way her fingers toyed absently with the edge of her robe, the small twitch in her jaw when she thought Sarah wasn’t looking—Cassandra was never this still unless she was calculating.
“Do you really think taking the council seat is the right move?” Sarah asked finally, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Cassandra tilted her head, her dark eyes catching Sarah’s. “You’ve been thinking about it,” she said, not as a question, but as a statement.
Sarah nodded, leaning back into the cushions, though the motion did little to ease her discomfort. “It’s bold. Risky. You’ve never been... out there like that before.”
Cassandra shifted slightly, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “It’s not where I’m comfortable,” she admitted, her voice almost hesitant. “But this city... it’s tearing itself apart. Reeves left a vacuum, and someone has to fill it. Someone has to stop the bleeding.”
Sarah studied her carefully, her brow furrowing. “You’re not exactly a bleeding heart.”
“No I’m not,” Cassandra replied with a quiet laugh, slightly forced. “But leadership—it’s not about what I want. It’s about what needs to be done. And right now, Veridian needs stability.”
For the first time, Sarah caught a flicker of something in Cassandra’s expression that she couldn’t quite place. Really, vulnerability? The cracks in the mask she wore carefully. “And you’re the one to do it?” she pressed.
Cassandra sighed, looking down for just a moment. “Do you know how isolating it is, Sarah?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “To be the person everyone looks to, expects from. To know that every choice you make could unravel everything—or save it.” She paused, her fingers brushing against her temple as though trying to push away the thought. “It’s... exhausting.”
The words settled in the room, heavy and raw. Sarah felt something shift in her chest, a pang of recognition she didn’t want to acknowledge. “You’re not alone,” she said softly, her hand reaching out instinctively to cover Cassandra’s.
Cassandra stilled, her eyes lifting to meet Sarah’s. For a moment, the air between them held nothing but silence, thick with something unspoken. Then, Cassandra leaned forward, her hand turning to entwine with Sarah’s. “You always see more than the others,” she murmured, her voice low, intimate. “It’s why I needed you here.”
Sarah’s breath caught, her pulse quickening as Cassandra leaned in closer. She could feel the warmth of her presence, the scent of jasmine teasing at her senses. When their lips met, it was tentative, soft, a question rather than a demand.
Pulling back just slightly, Sarah let out a breathless laugh, her words tinged with dry amusement. “Of course, you like it when I kiss you.”
Cassandra’s smile deepened, her fingers brushing against Sarah’s cheek. “And you like it when I remind you why.” Cassandra’s hand lingered on Sarah’s cheek, her lips still carrying the warmth of their kiss. The air between them felt charged, the boundaries they’d danced around for the past few nights slipping away.
Sarah’s hand, which had been resting lightly on Cassandra’s waist, squeezed slightly, pulling her closer. She looked into Cassandra’s eyes, her own expression a mixture of amusement and resignation. “You always know how to get what you want,” Sarah murmured, her voice carrying a hint of teasing.
“And what is it I want right now?” Cassandra asked, her voice a whisper.
Sarah didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing against Cassandra’s neck with a deliberate softness that deepened into something firmer as she neared her lips. When their lips met, Cassandra responded immediately, her arms wrapping around Sarah as the kiss grew more intense.
When they separated slightly, Cassandra’s breathing was uneven, her lips curving into a slow, satisfied smile. “I knew you’d come around.”
Sarah laughed softly, shaking her head as she rested her forehead against Cassandra’s for a moment. “You like me to find you irresistible,” she said, her tone light but edged with something deeper.
Cassandra’s fingers trailed down Sarah’s arm, her grip firm but not insistent. “I like more than kissing,” she said.
Sarah exhaled, stepping back slightly but keeping Cassandra’s hand in hers. “Come then,” she said quietly. “Let me help you relax.” Holding Cassandra’s hand, she stood and led her down the hallway towards the bedroom. Her thoughts were a careful balance of appreciation, surrender, and curiosity about Cassandra's true plans and motivations. Cassandra’s fingers rested lightly in her hand, warm and steady.
She could feel Cassandra watching her every move—the way her hair fell against her shoulders, the soft smile she offered when she glanced back. Sarah was surrendering now, drawing Cassandra close. The thought of entering Cassandra’s dreams churned uneasily in her chest—risky, invasive, but necessary. As Cassandra’s fingers lingered in hers, Sarah let tension slip from her shoulders.
The bedroom exuded an understated luxury, every detail carefully curated to evoke serenity. The centerpiece was a grand canopy bed, its silk drapes cascading in soft folds, embroidered with intricate patterns of gold that caught the light with subtlety. The bed was slightly elevated on a wooden platform with two steps, its dark tones contrasting beautifully with a cream-colored rug that spread across the floor.
The walls were adorned with a textured pearlescent finish, the soft light complementing the warmth from wall-mounted sconces shaped like lotus flowers. To one side, floor-to-ceiling windows stretched high, framed by sheer, flowing curtains that subdued the city beyond. In the corner, a minimalist vanity stood with a sleek crystal mirror. A velvety stool tucked beneath. Above the bed, an abstract art piece in muted tones provided a focal point, its swirling patterns hinting at themes of movement within stillness.
Everything about the room enveloped its occupants in a cocoon of elegance and ease. The room both welcoming and disarming. Sarah paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Come now,” she murmured, her voice low. “Let me help you relax."
Cassandra paused, her eyes tracing Sarah’s face. “You know I like how you play for me,” she said softly.
Sarah tilted her head down, pulling Cassandra closer with her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. “I like playing for you."
Cassandra stepped closer, her fingers brushing along Sarah’s arm and following it down to her waste. “Show me.” Sarah guided Cassandra to the bed and lay down in front of her.