Inside waited the same unanswered calls, the same unopened messages.

But space hadn’t solved anything.

She sighed, unlocking the door—only to freeze.

Standing in the quiet hallway in front of her apartment was the last person she expected.

Cassian.

Dressed simply in dark jeans and a gray jacket, he looked nothing like the glamorous celebrity the world adored. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face shadowed with frustration and exhaustion—but his eyes burned with quiet determination.

"Finally," he muttered, pushing off the wall. "You’re avoiding me."

Elara tightened her grip on her bag. "I was... busy."

He gave a dry chuckle. "For a whole week? Ignoring every message? Every call? Elara, what happened?"

She kept her expression flat, unwilling to let the rush of confusion or anger show. "Your family happened."

His face stilled.

"So they did visit," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "I thought something was wrong... but they didn’t tell me they came here."

Elara stepped back, opening her door halfway but not inviting him in. Her voice was cool, but her heart raced.

“They came. Brought your 'perfect match' with them, too. To thank me… and to warn me.”

Cassian’s brows knitted. “Warn you?”

“Yes. To stay away from their precious heir.” She tilted her head slightly. “Which heir exactly? The celebrity who texts like a normal person… or the future chairman of Rhys International, with a fiancée in tow?”

His jaw tensed. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” she cut in, arms crossed. “Your mother called her the perfect match. Your fiancée—her words, not mine—smiled like she already owned you.”

She took a breath, voice dropping to a whisper.

“But then, you said you were interested in me. That you found me—the girl who saved you.”

Cassian’s eyes softened, but the tension didn’t leave his face.

“I did,” he admitted quietly. “But I never told them that. Or you… until now.”

Elara’s chest tightened in surprise, confusion, and something like disbelief. Her mind raced—He’s interested in me? The real me? Amid all this chaos, that claim felt both like a lifeline and a trap.

She leaned against the doorframe, cold calm settling into her. "That’s the problem, Cassian. You had secrets... and they brought them to my door before you did."

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Cassian exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. His mask of patience cracked, showing the tension underneath.

"I came here to make this clear face to face, since you wouldn’t answer me." His gaze locked on hers. "I never wanted to lie. Or drag you into this. But now that you know… I want you to hear this directly."

She raised a brow, cautious.

"I’m not going to marry Vivienne. Not by force. Not by arrangement. My family knows that... and now you do, too. Whatever they told you — ignore it. If you have a problem, come to me. Not them."

Elara’s chest tightened — with confusion, with something like anger, with something like fear. She hated this. This messy, loud drama pressing into her quiet life.

"And why should I believe you?" she asked evenly. "You said nothing until now. You let this build until they broke the news first."

"Because I never lied to you about who I am," he said softly. "Only about where I came from. And I’ll prove it — if you let me."

Another silence.

Then Elara sighed and shook her head. "You should go, Cassian. I need to think."

His gaze lingered — disappointment, frustration flickering beneath the calm.

"Fine," he murmured, stepping back. "But I’m not giving up. You deserve the truth. All of it."

He turned and left, the soft echo of his steps fading down the hall.

Elara closed the door, leaning against it, heart pounding in her chest.

The storm wasn’t over. Not even close.