Chapter 14
Violetta and I met for dinner eighteen months after the engagement ended.
No romance promised.
She looked different.
Not physically.
Less defended.
“I thought you’d hate me.”
“I did for a while.”
She appreciated the honesty.
“Now?”
“I don’t trust you enough to love you the way I did.”
Her eyes lowered.
Fair.
Then she said:
“I loved you even when I used you.”
“I know.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Yes.”
Good.
No need to make pain prettier.
She had begun working with families connected to her father’s old faction.
Not as leader.
Archivist of memory, almost.
Collecting stories from widows and children about the split.
I warned her:
“Don’t turn Cassian into a saint.”
She smiled.
“I won’t.”
Progress.
Her father had been framed.
Then angry.
Then harmful in some choices.
All true.
A restored name did not require a polished myth.
May you like
We drank coffee after dinner.
Left separately.
