Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé.
The evidence was undeniable—the photo had been taken right inside the opera house, beneath the same red silk-draped table where Cassandra and Matthew had been seated earlier.
Cassandra's pulse skyrocketed as panic gripped her. Then she felt it—an unmistakable touch gliding up her leg under the table. Her breath caught in her throat. That wasn't Matthew's hand.
She whipped her head toward him, only to find his jaw clenched in barely contained rage. He kept shifting in his seat, repeatedly batting away the persistent groping. Julia—brazen, shameless Julia—was crawling under their table.
White-hot fury shot through Cassandra's veins. She slammed her palm against the tabletop, her voice slicing through the tense atmosphere.
"Housekeeper! We seem to have a rat problem beneath our table!"
A collective gasp swept through the opera house. The hesitant housekeeper had barely taken two steps when Aunt Lawrence's commanding voice cut through the murmurs.
"I'll deal with this."
All eyes turned as Aunt Lawrence strode forward, her regal presence instantly hushing the crowd. She knelt gracefully, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she lifted the tablecloth.
The silence stretched unbearably. Cassandra watched as Aunt Lawrence's expression flickered—just for an instant—before she rose smoothly, dusting off her gloves.
"Just some bothersome mosquitoes. Nothing worth making a scene over," she announced with practiced calm.
Before Cassandra could object, Aunt Lawrence steered her away, murmuring about an early departure. Cassandra's mind reeled. What kind of twisted game was this? Why was everyone—servants included—covering for Julia's disgusting behavior?
Alone in her bedroom later, Cassandra numbly stared at her phone's glowing screen. A new message from Julia appeared:
"He says I'm not good enough for the Lawrence estate. Funny—tonight I proved exactly what he really needs. Me. Not you."
The phone nearly slipped from her trembling fingers. The awful truth crashed over her—they'd all known. The servants, Aunt Lawrence, even Matthew. They'd let her be the punchline of this cruel joke while they played along.
For the first time, Cassandra understood how completely alone she truly was.
Cassandra's pulse skyrocketed as panic gripped her. Then she felt it—an unmistakable touch gliding up her leg under the table. Her breath caught in her throat. That wasn't Matthew's hand.
She whipped her head toward him, only to find his jaw clenched in barely contained rage. He kept shifting in his seat, repeatedly batting away the persistent groping. Julia—brazen, shameless Julia—was crawling under their table.
White-hot fury shot through Cassandra's veins. She slammed her palm against the tabletop, her voice slicing through the tense atmosphere.
"Housekeeper! We seem to have a rat problem beneath our table!"
A collective gasp swept through the opera house. The hesitant housekeeper had barely taken two steps when Aunt Lawrence's commanding voice cut through the murmurs.
"I'll deal with this."
All eyes turned as Aunt Lawrence strode forward, her regal presence instantly hushing the crowd. She knelt gracefully, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she lifted the tablecloth.
The silence stretched unbearably. Cassandra watched as Aunt Lawrence's expression flickered—just for an instant—before she rose smoothly, dusting off her gloves.
"Just some bothersome mosquitoes. Nothing worth making a scene over," she announced with practiced calm.
Before Cassandra could object, Aunt Lawrence steered her away, murmuring about an early departure. Cassandra's mind reeled. What kind of twisted game was this? Why was everyone—servants included—covering for Julia's disgusting behavior?
Alone in her bedroom later, Cassandra numbly stared at her phone's glowing screen. A new message from Julia appeared:
"He says I'm not good enough for the Lawrence estate. Funny—tonight I proved exactly what he really needs. Me. Not you."
The phone nearly slipped from her trembling fingers. The awful truth crashed over her—they'd all known. The servants, Aunt Lawrence, even Matthew. They'd let her be the punchline of this cruel joke while they played along.
For the first time, Cassandra understood how completely alone she truly was.
End of Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé book page.