I Let Them Think They Won - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading I Let Them Think They Won, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of I Let Them Think They Won.
Cassie's POV
Violet gave a tinkling laugh as she flaunted an expensive bracelet with a dramatic wrist flick.
"Gorgeous, isn't it?" she cooed, rotating her arm like a jewelry model.
The circle of women erupted in awed whispers, their eyes glittering with envy.
"You're so lucky," one gushed. "Everything about you just radiates class."
Violet batted her lashes with practiced modesty.
"Max and Violet - now that's what I call a power couple," someone murmured.
"Honestly, I always knew they'd end up together," another conspired.
Their chatter died abruptly when they noticed me hovering at the edge of their circle.
I offered a tight smile before pivoting sharply, my stilettos cracking like gunshots against the marble. But Violet wasn't finished.
"Cassie," she singsonged, trailing me into a quieter hallway. When I turned, she leaned in with saccharine concern. "Not trying to rub it in," she lied, her crimson lips curling, "but I've got a date tonight. Funny how my boyfriend actually carves out time for me." Her eyes glittered with malice. "But I guess that's not really your scene anymore, is it?"
I studied her like a mildly interesting specimen. Where rage should've burned, I only felt a dull throb - like pressing on a long-healed bruise.
"How lovely for you," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "Enjoy your evening."
Her smirk faltered when her barb failed to land. I left her standing there - let the petty princess have her hollow victory.
Back in the party's glow, the champagne bubbles and forced laughter lifted the weight in my chest just enough to fake my way to Max's side. He stood encircled by admirers, working the room with effortless charm. When our eyes met, his smile softened with genuine concern.
"Cassie? You okay?" He stepped closer, his hand hovering near my elbow.
"Not feeling great," I murmured, studying my clutch.
Before I could blink, Max was addressing the room. "Everyone, we'll need to call it a night - Cassie's not well." His arm slipped protectively around my waist as guests murmured sympathetic goodbyes. For one fragile moment, I let myself believe he still cared.
The night air kissed my flushed cheeks as Max guided me to the car, his palm warm through my dress.
"Got work tonight?" The question escaped before I could cage it.
His hesitation lasted less than a heartbeat - just long enough to fracture my hope. "Of course not," he said too quickly, flashing that disarming grin. "Tonight's all yours, Cass."
Then his phone vibrated.
Watching his face shutter as he read the text was like watching a vault slam closed. "Cass, I—" He pocketed the phone with practiced ease. "Work emergency. I'll be back before you know it."
He was in the car before I could inhale. I stood watching taillights disappear, then walked fifteen kilometers home in my party heels, each step pressing disappointment deeper into my bones.
The wooden chest in our bedroom groaned as I lifted the lid. Inside lay a decade of handmade treasures - a seashell necklace from our first beach trip, a lopsided clay vase, love notes yellowing with age. My fingers traced their imperfections as headlights finally painted the driveway at 3 AM.
Max stumbled in reeking of whiskey and someone's perfume, his tie hanging like a noose. I watched from the shadows as he face-planted onto our bed, hugging a pillow to his chest.
"Cass..." he slurred into the sheets.
A mirthless laugh escaped me. He jerked upright, blinking owlishly until his gaze landed on me perched on the couch.
"Cass? Why're you— I told you not to wait up." He scrubbed his face like that might sober him.
I flicked on the lights, illuminating the spread of memories between us. "I was awake for these."
Max's bloodshot eyes traveled over the artifacts of our past. "You kept all this?" His voice cracked. "These were just... stupid little things."
"They were everything," I corrected softly. "Before presidents and penthouse parties. When you carved time from wood instead of your schedule."
He reached for the scrapbook with trembling hands. "God, I remember making this after you cried over that failed interview..."
"Exactly." I smiled without warmth. "Now you just throw money at problems. Including me."
Max flinched. "That's not—"
"You're right, Max." I stood, brushing invisible lint from my dress. "They don't compare."
As I walked away, I finally understood - some treasures aren't worth keeping. Not the trinkets. Not the lies. And certainly not the ghost of the man who once made them.
Violet gave a tinkling laugh as she flaunted an expensive bracelet with a dramatic wrist flick.
"Gorgeous, isn't it?" she cooed, rotating her arm like a jewelry model.
The circle of women erupted in awed whispers, their eyes glittering with envy.
"You're so lucky," one gushed. "Everything about you just radiates class."
Violet batted her lashes with practiced modesty.
"Max and Violet - now that's what I call a power couple," someone murmured.
"Honestly, I always knew they'd end up together," another conspired.
Their chatter died abruptly when they noticed me hovering at the edge of their circle.
I offered a tight smile before pivoting sharply, my stilettos cracking like gunshots against the marble. But Violet wasn't finished.
"Cassie," she singsonged, trailing me into a quieter hallway. When I turned, she leaned in with saccharine concern. "Not trying to rub it in," she lied, her crimson lips curling, "but I've got a date tonight. Funny how my boyfriend actually carves out time for me." Her eyes glittered with malice. "But I guess that's not really your scene anymore, is it?"
I studied her like a mildly interesting specimen. Where rage should've burned, I only felt a dull throb - like pressing on a long-healed bruise.
"How lovely for you," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "Enjoy your evening."
Her smirk faltered when her barb failed to land. I left her standing there - let the petty princess have her hollow victory.
Back in the party's glow, the champagne bubbles and forced laughter lifted the weight in my chest just enough to fake my way to Max's side. He stood encircled by admirers, working the room with effortless charm. When our eyes met, his smile softened with genuine concern.
"Cassie? You okay?" He stepped closer, his hand hovering near my elbow.
"Not feeling great," I murmured, studying my clutch.
Before I could blink, Max was addressing the room. "Everyone, we'll need to call it a night - Cassie's not well." His arm slipped protectively around my waist as guests murmured sympathetic goodbyes. For one fragile moment, I let myself believe he still cared.
The night air kissed my flushed cheeks as Max guided me to the car, his palm warm through my dress.
"Got work tonight?" The question escaped before I could cage it.
His hesitation lasted less than a heartbeat - just long enough to fracture my hope. "Of course not," he said too quickly, flashing that disarming grin. "Tonight's all yours, Cass."
Then his phone vibrated.
Watching his face shutter as he read the text was like watching a vault slam closed. "Cass, I—" He pocketed the phone with practiced ease. "Work emergency. I'll be back before you know it."
He was in the car before I could inhale. I stood watching taillights disappear, then walked fifteen kilometers home in my party heels, each step pressing disappointment deeper into my bones.
The wooden chest in our bedroom groaned as I lifted the lid. Inside lay a decade of handmade treasures - a seashell necklace from our first beach trip, a lopsided clay vase, love notes yellowing with age. My fingers traced their imperfections as headlights finally painted the driveway at 3 AM.
Max stumbled in reeking of whiskey and someone's perfume, his tie hanging like a noose. I watched from the shadows as he face-planted onto our bed, hugging a pillow to his chest.
"Cass..." he slurred into the sheets.
A mirthless laugh escaped me. He jerked upright, blinking owlishly until his gaze landed on me perched on the couch.
"Cass? Why're you— I told you not to wait up." He scrubbed his face like that might sober him.
I flicked on the lights, illuminating the spread of memories between us. "I was awake for these."
Max's bloodshot eyes traveled over the artifacts of our past. "You kept all this?" His voice cracked. "These were just... stupid little things."
"They were everything," I corrected softly. "Before presidents and penthouse parties. When you carved time from wood instead of your schedule."
He reached for the scrapbook with trembling hands. "God, I remember making this after you cried over that failed interview..."
"Exactly." I smiled without warmth. "Now you just throw money at problems. Including me."
Max flinched. "That's not—"
"You're right, Max." I stood, brushing invisible lint from my dress. "They don't compare."
As I walked away, I finally understood - some treasures aren't worth keeping. Not the trinkets. Not the lies. And certainly not the ghost of the man who once made them.
End of I Let Them Think They Won Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to I Let Them Think They Won book page.