The campus buzzed with the usual chatter of students, but for Cassandra, the noise felt distant. Her mind was a battlefield, torn between her mission for revenge and the growing attachment she felt toward Jackson. The weight of her discovery—that Susan Walters, Jackson's mother, might have played a role in her parents' deaths—hung over her like a storm cloud.
She walked aimlessly, her thoughts swirling. The neatly manicured paths of the university felt like a maze, trapping her in a web of secrets and lies. She couldn't shake the image of Jackson's kind eyes, the way he had reached out to her, not knowing the truth.
As she reached the library steps, a voice called out behind her.
"Cassandra! Wait up!"
She turned to see Jackson jogging toward her, his backpack slung over one shoulder. His face lit up with a smile, and for a brief moment, Cassandra's heart softened. But then the reality of her situation came crashing back.
"Hey," she said, forcing a smile.
"I was looking for you," he said, slightly out of breath. "You've been hard to find lately."
"Just busy," she replied, avoiding his gaze.
Jackson frowned, studying her closely. "Is everything okay? You seem… different."
Cassandra hesitated. She wanted to confide in him, to let him shoulder some of the burden she carried. But how could she? He was tied to the very people she had vowed to bring down.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just a lot on my plate right now."
Jackson didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Well, if you need to talk, you know I'm here, right?"
Her throat tightened. "Thanks, Jackson. That means a lot."
As he walked away, Cassandra felt the walls of her resolve begin to crack.
Later that evening, Cassandra sat in her dorm room, staring at her laptop. The emails she had found were still open on the screen, mocking her. She had spent hours trying to piece together the puzzle, but the more she uncovered, the more tangled the web became.
Susan Walters wasn't just a grieving widow trying to hold her family together. The emails hinted at a woman who was ruthless, willing to do whatever it took to protect her empire.
Cassandra clenched her fists. How could someone like Susan smile in public, play the role of the perfect mother, while hiding such a dark secret?
A knock on her door startled her. She quickly minimized the screen and called out, "Who is it?"
"It's Matilda," came the reply.
Cassandra groaned inwardly. She wasn't in the mood for Matilda's drama, but she couldn't afford to draw suspicion by ignoring her.
She opened the door to find Matilda standing there, arms crossed.
"We need to talk," Matilda said, pushing her way inside.
Cassandra shut the door, her patience already wearing thin. "What do you want, Matilda?"
"I want to know what's going on," Matilda said, her voice sharp. "You've been acting weird, and people are starting to notice."
"So what?" Cassandra shot back. "Why do you care?"
Matilda's expression softened, and for the first time, Cassandra saw something resembling concern in her eyes.
"Look, I don't know what you're up to," Matilda said, "but whatever it is, it's going to blow up in your face if you're not careful. This place has eyes everywhere."
Cassandra folded her arms, studying Matilda. Was this genuine concern, or was she fishing for information?
"I can handle myself," Cassandra said curtly.
Matilda sighed. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
As Matilda left, Cassandra felt a new wave of unease wash over her. Matilda's words lingered in her mind, adding another layer to her already tangled thought.
Determined to find answers, Cassandra decided to take a bold step. She needed to confront Susan Walters directly, to see if the woman would slip up under pressure.
The opportunity came sooner than she expected. That weekend, Susan was scheduled to attend a university fundraising gala. Cassandra managed to secure a volunteer spot at the event, giving her an excuse to be there.
Dressed in a simple black dress, Cassandra blended in with the other volunteers, carrying trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for Susan.
It didn't take long to spot her. Susan Walters stood near the center of the room, surrounded by a group of well-dressed donors. She exuded confidence, her every movement calculated and poised.
Cassandra's heart raced as she approached, her tray steady despite the storm brewing inside her.
"Mrs. Walters," she said, her voice polite.
Susan turned, her smile warm but guarded. "Yes?"
"I'm Cassandra," she said, offering a hand. "I'm one of the student volunteers tonight."
Susan shook her hand, her grip firm. "It's lovely to meet you, Cassandra. Thank you for helping out."
Cassandra nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course. I couldn't pass up the chance to meet someone as inspiring as you."
Susan laughed lightly, the sound practiced and polished. "You're too kind."
For a moment, Cassandra hesitated. How could this polished woman be the same person who had ordered the destruction of her family?
As the conversation continued, Cassandra subtly steered it toward the Walters' business. She watched Susan carefully, looking for any sign of guilt or discomfort.
But Susan was a master of control. Every answer was smooth, every smile calculated. If she was hiding something, she didn't let it show.
Frustrated, Cassandra excused herself and stepped outside for air.
As she leaned against the cool stone wall, Cassandra replayed the conversation in her mind. She had hoped to catch Susan off guard, to see a crack in her facade, but the woman had been unshakable.
"Cassandra?"
She turned to see Jackson standing a few feet away, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I just needed some air," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jackson studied her, his brows furrowing. "You've been acting strange lately. What's going on?"
Cassandra hesitated, the weight of her secret pressing down on her. She wanted to tell him the truth, to let him in, but the risk was too great.
"I'm fine," she said finally. "Just… stressed about school."
Jackson didn't look convinced, but he didn't press her. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, his touch warm and steady.
"Whatever it is, you don't have to go through it alone," he said softly.
Cassandra's chest tightened. She knew she was walking a dangerous line, and the closer she got to Jackson, the harder it would be to stick to her plan.
But in that moment, she didn't care.
"Thanks, Jackson," she said, her voice trembling.
He smiled, and for a brief moment, the chaos inside her seemed to quiet.
The next morning, Cassandra returned to the emails, determined to find something she had missed. As she combed through the files again, a new detail caught her eye.
One of the emails mentioned a payment made to an anonymous account shortly before the fire. The amount was substantial, and the timing was suspicious.
Cassandra's pulse quickened. If she could trace the payment, it might lead her to the person responsible.
She spent hours digging into the financial records, following the trail of money. It wasn't easy—whoever had set up the account had gone to great lengths to cover their tracks.
But Cassandra was relentless. By the time the sun began to set, she had uncovered a name.
Her breath caught as she read it.
Matilda Casantro.
The room seemed to spin as the pieces began to fall into place. Matilda had always been overly curious about Cassandra's plans, always showing up at the wrong time.
And now, it seemed she might be involved in the very tragedy Cassandra was trying to avenge.
Cassandra's mind raced as she pieced together the implications of her discovery. Was Matilda working alone, or was she part of a larger scheme?
And more importantly, how much did Jackson know?
Her world felt like it was crumbling around her, but one thing was clear: the answers she sought were closer than ever.
But as she prepared to confront Matilda, Cassandra couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into a trap.
The lines between friend and foe were blurring, and with every step she took, the danger grew.