Cassandra woke up to the soft light of morning streaming through her dorm window. For a moment, she felt at peace. The warmth of the sun on her face made her forget the storm raging inside her. But the peace didn't last long. Memories of the night before flooded back, and with them came a sinking weight in her chest.
Her conversation with Jackson had left her raw, and the guilt of her deception was starting to creep into every corner of her mind. She had tried to convince herself that she could handle it, that her mission for revenge was more important than anything else. But Jackson's words haunted her.
Because I care about you.
Cassandra swung her legs out of bed and stared at the floor. "Focus," she muttered to herself. "You don't have time for this."
She got up, pulling on a hoodie and jeans, and made her way to the small desk in her room. She opened the drawer where she kept the evidence she had gathered against the Walters. The photos of Walter Walters with shady business associates, the documents that hinted at fraudulent deals—every piece of the puzzle pointed to a legacy of greed and destruction.
Her eyes lingered on a photograph of her parents. They were smiling, holding her between them as a toddler. That was before the fire, before everything had been taken from her.
She clenched her fists. She couldn't let emotions get in the way. Not now.
A knock at her door startled her. Cassandra quickly closed the drawer, hiding the evidence, and straightened up.
"Cassandra, it's me," Jackson's voice called out from the other side.
Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected to see him so soon after last night. She hesitated, then opened the door.
Jackson stood there, holding a small brown paper bag and two coffee cups. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept much, but his smile was still warm.
"Breakfast?" he asked, holding up the bag.
Cassandra stepped aside to let him in, her thoughts racing. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to," he said simply, placing the bag and cups on her desk. "Besides, you left so quickly last night. I figured you might not have eaten."
Cassandra sat down on the edge of her bed, watching him carefully. She hated how much she wanted to believe he genuinely cared about her.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Jackson handed her one of the coffee cups and sat down on the chair by her desk. "I didn't mean to push you last night," he said, his voice gentle. "I just… I don't like seeing you upset."
Cassandra looked down at her cup, the warmth seeping into her hands. "I'm fine," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Are you?" Jackson asked, tilting his head. "Because it doesn't seem like it."
She didn't answer, and the silence stretched between them. Jackson sighed and leaned back in the chair.
"Okay," he said. "If you don't want to talk about it, I'll drop it. But just know I'm here if you ever do."
His words made her chest tighten. She wanted to tell him everything, to unload the burden she had been carrying for so long. But she couldn't. If he knew the truth, it would destroy him.
Instead, she forced a smile. "Thanks, Jackson."
He nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he looked away. "Anyway, I should probably get to class. I just wanted to check on you."
Cassandra watched as he stood up and headed for the door. She wanted to call out to him, to ask him to stay, but the words caught in her throat.
As the door closed behind him, she let out a shaky breath.
Later that day, Cassandra sat in the library, pouring over the notes she had taken from Mrs. Walters' office. She had been able to access files that no one else could, thanks to the keycard she had stolen during her first week at the university.
But something wasn't adding up. She had always assumed that Walter Walters was the one responsible for her parents' deaths. After all, he was known for ruthless business tactics and eliminating anyone who got in his way. But the more she dug into the documents, the more doubts began to creep in.
There were records of business deals that had gone south, of lawsuits and threats, but nothing directly tied him to the fire that had killed her parents.
Frustrated, she leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. She needed more information, something that would confirm her suspicions—or prove them wrong.
Her phone buzzed on the table, and she glanced at the screen. It was a text from Matilda Casantro.
Meet me at the quad. Now.
Cassandra frowned. She hadn't spoken to Matilda since the incident in the cafeteria, and she wasn't sure why the other girl would want to see her now.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she grabbed her things, heading out of the library.
When she reached the quad, she saw Matilda sitting on one of the benches, her arms crossed. Her usual confidence seemed shaken, and Cassandra felt a pang of unease.
"What's going on?" Cassandra asked as she approached.
Matilda looked up, her eyes narrowing. "I know what you're doing," she said, her voice low.
Cassandra froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb," Matilda snapped. "You've been sneaking around, asking questions, digging into people's lives. You think no one's noticed?"
Cassandra's heart raced, but she kept her expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Matilda stood up, her hands on her hips. "You're not as clever as you think you are. People are starting to talk, and it's only a matter of time before someone puts the pieces together."
For a moment, Cassandra considered denying it, brushing Matilda off. But she could see the determination in the other girl's eyes, and she knew it wouldn't work.
"What do you want, Matilda?" Cassandra asked, her voice steady.
Matilda smirked. "I want to know the truth. Why are you really here? What are you hiding?"
Cassandra hesitated. She couldn't trust Matilda, but she also couldn't risk her poking around and uncovering something she shouldn't.
"Let's just say," Cassandra said slowly, "that I have my reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with you."
Matilda raised an eyebrow. "That's not much of an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting," Cassandra said firmly. "Stay out of my business, Matilda. You don't want to get involved."
Matilda studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when this all blows up in your face."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Cassandra standing alone in the quad.
That night, Cassandra returned to her dorm and opened her laptop. She had been holding back, afraid of what she might find, but after her conversation with Matilda, she knew she couldn't afford to waste any more time.
She started digging deeper into the Walters' financial records, hacking into systems she hadn't touched before. It was risky, but she didn't care.
Hours passed as she combed through file after file, her frustration growing. And then she found it.
A series of emails between Walter Walters and another businessman—someone Cassandra didn't recognize. The emails were vague, but they mentioned a "problem" that needed to be "taken care of." The dates matched up with the time leading up to the fire that had killed her parents.
Her hands trembled as she read the messages, her anger boiling over. This was it. The proof she had been looking for.
But as she continued reading, something caught her eye. One of the emails wasn't from Walter Walters. It was from Susan Walters.
Cassandra's breath caught in her throat. She read the email again, her heart pounding. It was clear that Susan had been involved, maybe even more than Walter.
The room seemed to spin around her as she tried to process what she had just discovered.
All this time, she had been so focused on Walter that she hadn't considered the possibility that someone else might be responsible.
And now, she wasn't sure what to do.
The next day, Cassandra found herself walking through campus in a daze. She couldn't shake the image of the emails from her mind.
She thought about Jackson, about the way he had looked at her, the way he had said he cared about her. How could she face him now, knowing what his mother had done?
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out. It was a text from Jackson.
Want to grab lunch?
Cassandra stared at the message, her heart heavy. She wanted to see him, to pretend for a little while that everything was normal. But she knew she couldn't. Not now.
Can't. Busy, she replied, her fingers shaking.
She turned off her phone and slipped it back into her pocket, her mind racing.
She had to make a choice. And no matter what she chose, there was no turning back.