Chapter 12
Cassian did not ask forgiveness.
That was almost worse.
He asked me to understand.
“We built this together.”
“No.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
We grew up together.
Before Westbrook became mine.
Before responsibility hardened our names.
He was beside me the night my mother died.
Beside me when my father collapsed at a dinner.
Beside me when I took command.
Then slowly, he began believing proximity to power made him co-owner of it.
The private payments started small.
A favor for an old friend.
Then another.
He told himself he was preserving relationships I was too rigid to understand.
Silas encouraged him.
Anthony discovered it.
Everything followed.
“Why not come to me?”
Cassian laughed bitterly.
“Because you would have removed me.”
“Yes.”
“There.”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
I stared.
He thought consequence justified concealment.
Classic.
Then:
“And Scarlett?”
His face changed.
He had loved her.
Maybe still did.
But after Anthony died, guilt made her unbearable to face.
Years later, Silas suggested using the truth—distorted—to turn her against me.
Cassian resisted.
Then agreed.
One compromise after another.
That was how people like Cassian fall.
Not one dramatic choice.
A thousand smaller choices made after the first lie becomes expensive to admit.
I removed him from Westbrook entirely.
No command.
No estate.
No crews.
No private protection from our name.
He kept his personal money.
His life.
I did not kill him.
That surprised him.
“Why?”
“Because death would let you stop carrying it.”
His eyes filled.
Cruel?
Maybe.
Also true.
He would live knowing Anthony died because Cassian chose a road for him.
Knowing Scarlett loved a lie Cassian manufactured.
Knowing I survived the coup he helped stage.
May you like
Some punishments do not need violence.
Sometimes memory has better stamina.
