Chapter 8 You Are My Life

# Chapter 8: You Are My Life

The press conference was a study in controlled chaos. Journalists packed the Thorne Industries lobby, cameras flashing like lightning as Cassian took the podium. I watched from a hidden alcove, heart hammering against my ribs. Everything hinged on the next few minutes.

Cassian looked immaculate in a charcoal suit, his expression betraying none of the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours. Only I could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight whitening of his knuckles as he gripped the podium.

"Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice steady. "I'm here to address the rumors and speculation regarding my family, my company, and the woman who has been at the center of recent media attention."

A hush fell over the crowd. This was the moment they'd been waiting for—the confession, the breakdown, the scandal.

"Ten years ago," Cassian continued, "my father framed Anna Miller, a housekeeper in our home, for a theft she didn't commit. She went to prison and later took her own life, leaving behind a daughter who grew up in foster care."

Murmurs rippled through the audience. This wasn't the story they'd expected.

"That daughter is Maeve Miller. And yes, she came into my life under false pretenses, claiming to be my sister Elise." His gaze swept the room. "What the media doesn't know—what my mother failed to mention in her statement—is that I knew who she was from the beginning."

The murmurs grew louder. I could see Helena at the back of the room, her face pale with fury.

"I welcomed Maeve into my home knowing full well she wasn't my sister. I did so because I owed her the truth about what happened to her mother. I did so because my family's actions destroyed her life, and I wanted to make amends."

A journalist shouted out, "Are you saying you orchestrated this entire situation?"

Cassian nodded. "I allowed Maeve to believe she was fooling me. I wanted to understand her intentions, to see if she truly sought justice or merely revenge."

"And which was it?" another reporter called.

Cassian's expression softened imperceptibly. "She came seeking revenge and found something neither of us expected."

The room erupted in questions. Cassian raised a hand for silence.

"As for my sister, the real Elise—she is alive and well, living abroad. She left our family by choice years ago, to escape the toxic environment created by our father."

This revelation caused another wave of exclamations. Helena stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise.

"This is absurd. My son is clearly unwell. These wild accusations—"

"Are supported by evidence," Cassian interrupted smoothly. "Evidence that has already been provided to the authorities and the board of directors. Evidence that proves not only my father's crimes but your complicity in them, Mother."

Helena's face contorted with rage. "You would destroy your own family?"

"You destroyed it long ago," Cassian replied, his voice eerily calm. "I'm simply bringing the truth to light."

A security guard approached Helena, whispering something in her ear. Her expression shifted from anger to shock as she was quietly escorted from the room.

Cassian turned back to the reporters. "Thorne Industries will be undergoing significant restructuring in the coming weeks. I've appointed Noah Thorne as interim CEO while I take a leave of absence to address personal matters."

Near the back of the room, I spotted Noah, his expression a mix of surprise and something that might have been respect.

"And what about Maeve Miller?" a female journalist asked. "What happens to her now?"

Cassian's eyes found mine across the room. "That's for her to decide. But whatever path she chooses, she will have the full support of the Thorne fortune behind her. Her mother's name will be cleared, and the world will know the truth."

He stepped away from the podium, ignoring the barrage of questions that followed. Security created a path for him as he walked directly toward me, his intent clear.

When he reached me, he took my hand without hesitation, in full view of the cameras. "Ready?" he murmured.

I wasn't. Not for the media frenzy that would follow, not for the scrutiny our relationship would face, not for the fundamental shift in identity from vengeful daughter to—what? Victim turned victor? Adversary turned ally?

But I nodded anyway.

As Cassian led me through the crowd, reporters shouted questions, cameras flashed blindingly, but he kept me close to his side, his body a shield between me and the chaos.

In the car, I finally exhaled. "That was..."

"Just the beginning," Cassian finished, his expression grim. "Helena won't go quietly. The board is divided. And the media will tear into every aspect of our lives."

"Our lives," I repeated, testing the phrase. "Is that what we have now? A shared life?"

His hand found mine across the seat. "If you want it."

Did I? The question had haunted me through the sleepless night. My entire existence had been defined by my mother's tragedy, my quest for vengeance. Without that driving force, who was I?

"I don't know how to be anyone but the girl seeking revenge," I admitted quietly.

Cassian's eyes softened. "Then be the woman who found justice instead. Be whoever you want to be, Maeve. Just—" his grip tightened slightly, "—be with me while you figure it out."

The car took us not to the penthouse or the mansion, but to a private airstrip where a sleek jet waited.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we boarded.

"Away," Cassian said simply. "Just for a while. Until the worst of the storm passes."

The "while" turned into three weeks. Three weeks in a secluded villa on a private island, with nothing but ocean views and each other for company. Three weeks of learning who we were outside of our twisted history, of discovering each other's bodies and minds without the shadow of revenge hanging over us.

I learned that Cassian laughed rarely but fully, that he spoke three languages fluently, that he had a scar on his shoulder from falling out of a tree as a child. He learned that I sang in the shower, that I couldn't sleep without a window open, that I had a talent for painting I'd never had time to develop.

We talked about everything—his childhood in the cold Thorne mansion, my years in the orphanage, the parallel paths that had led us to each other. We argued too, fierce debates about responsibility and redemption, about whether some sins could ever truly be forgiven.

And at night, we came together with a hunger that never seemed to diminish, as if making up for all the time we'd wasted in our dance of deception.

It was during one such night, with moonlight spilling across the tangled sheets, that Cassian first said the words.

"I love you," he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with emotion. "God help me, I love you more than sanity allows."

I froze beneath his touch. No one had said those words to me since my mother. I'd never expected to hear them again, certainly not from the man I'd set out to destroy.

"You don't have to say it back," he continued, pressing his lips to my shoulder. "I just needed you to know."

But as I looked into his eyes—dark and vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before—I realized with startling clarity that I did love him. Not despite our broken beginnings but because of them. We had seen the worst of each other and chosen each other anyway.

"I love you too," I whispered, the words foreign but right on my tongue. "And it terrifies me."

His smile was worth every moment of fear. "Good. It should. Love like this isn't safe."

On our final night on the island, Cassian received a call from Noah. The conversation was brief, but I could tell from Cassian's expression that our respite was over.

"The board wants me back," he explained after hanging up. "Helena's been arrested for financial crimes uncovered during the investigation. The company's in free fall."

"So we go back," I said, already mourning our private paradise.

Cassian studied me for a long moment. "Not necessarily we. You could stay here, or go anywhere else. Start fresh without the Thorne name hanging over you."

The offer was generous—a chance at a clean slate, a life unburdened by our complicated history. A week ago, I might have taken it.

"No," I said firmly. "We go back together."

Relief washed across his face, quickly masked by his usual composure. "There will be more media attention. More scrutiny. They'll dig into your past, try to paint you as a gold-digger or worse."

"Let them try." I moved into his arms, drawing strength from his solid presence. "I'm not afraid anymore."

The return to reality was as brutal as Cassian had predicted. Paparazzi swarmed the airport when we landed, their shouted questions ranging from invasive to offensive. Social media buzzed with theories about our relationship, most casting me as a manipulative opportunist who had seduced a powerful man for his fortune.

But there were supporters too—women who saw in my mother's story a reflection of their own struggles against powerful men, journalists who appreciated the David versus Goliath narrative, even some of Cassian's business associates who respected his willingness to choose justice over family loyalty.

Noah proved to be an unexpected ally. He had kept the company afloat during Cassian's absence, fending off hostile takeover attempts and reassuring key clients.

"Don't look so surprised," he told me over dinner at the penthouse, which had become our de facto home. "I always knew there was something off about you being Elise. I just didn't expect my brother to be so... invested in the deception."

"Neither did I," I admitted.

Noah's gaze shifted to Cassian, who was taking a business call in the next room. "He's different with you. Less controlled. It's good for him."

"Even though I nearly destroyed your family legacy?"

"Especially because of that." Noah grinned. "The Thorne legacy needed a good shaking up. Though I could have done without my mother's arrest."

Helena remained a shadow over our new life. From jail, she had managed to retain a team of high-priced lawyers who were fighting not only her criminal charges but also attempting to have Cassian removed from the company on grounds of mental instability.

"She won't stop," Cassian told me one night as we lay in bed, city lights twinkling beyond the windows. "Not until she's destroyed one of us."

"Then we'll be stronger," I replied, pressing a kiss to his chest, right above his heart. "Together."

A week later, Cassian asked me to marry him. Not with a grand gesture or public declaration, but quietly, as dawn broke over the city. No bended knee, no diamond ring—just his hand holding mine, his eyes serious in the early light.

"Be my wife," he said simply. "Not because of what we've been through or what lies ahead, but because I can't imagine my life without you in it."

I thought of all the reasons to say no—our twisted beginning, the media circus that would surely follow, the enemies we'd made along the way. But those reasons felt hollow compared to the certainty I felt when I looked at him.

"Yes," I answered, my heart lighter than it had been in years. "Yes."

The wedding was planned for the following month—a small, private ceremony far from the public eye. But Helena had one final card to play.

Three days before the wedding, I was served with papers—a civil lawsuit claiming emotional distress, fraud, and conspiracy to commit corporate espionage. The damages sought would bankrupt me ten times over.

Cassian was livid. "She's trying to force my hand. She thinks if she can't destroy me directly, she'll do it by destroying you."

"Can she win?" I asked, staring at the legal documents spread across our dining table.

"No," he said firmly. "But she can drag this out for years, keep us in litigation, make your life a living hell."

I considered the options, the weight of the past and future pressing down on me. Then, with sudden clarity, I knew what I had to do.

"I want to see her," I announced.

Cassian stared at me. "Helena? In jail? Why would you subject yourself to that?"

"Because this ends now," I said with a conviction that surprised even me. "One way or another."

The women's correctional facility was cold and sterile, the visiting room even more so. Helena looked smaller than I remembered, the prison jumpsuit washing out her complexion. But her eyes were as sharp as ever, calculating and cold as they assessed me across the table.

"I'm surprised you came," she said by way of greeting. "I assumed you'd send lawyers."

"This isn't about lawyers," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "This is between us."

Helena's laugh was brittle. "There is no 'us,' Miss Miller. There's only what you've taken from my family."

"I've taken nothing that wasn't stolen from me first." I leaned forward, meeting her gaze directly. "But I'm not here to argue about the past. I'm here to talk about the future."

"Your future with my son?" Her lips curled in disdain. "There won't be one. I'll make sure of it."

"You've already lost, Helena." I kept my voice gentle, free of the triumph I could have claimed. "Cassian knows everything—about my mother, about your husband, about your role in covering it up. And he chose me anyway."

Something flickered in her eyes—not defeat, not yet, but perhaps the first acknowledgment that her control was slipping.

"What do you want?" she finally asked.

"Peace," I answered simply. "Drop the lawsuit. Accept that Cassian and I are getting married. And in return, we'll ensure you serve your time in a minimum-security facility, with all the comforts that money can buy within legal limits."

She studied me for a long moment. "You think it's that easy? That you can just erase decades of family history with a bargain?"

"No," I said softly. "I think nothing about this is easy. But I also think you're too smart to waste your remaining years in a legal battle you can't win."

The silence stretched between us, charged with all the things we'd never say—her grief for the son she was losing, my lingering anger for the mother I'd lost, the strange symmetry of our positions as women shaped by the Thorne men in vastly different ways.

Finally, Helena nodded once, a queen acknowledging a worthy opponent. "I'll consider your offer."

It wasn't surrender, not quite. But it was a beginning.

When I told Cassian about the meeting, he was quiet for a long time. Then he pulled me into his arms, his embrace fierce and protective.

"You amaze me," he murmured into my hair. "Every day, you amaze me."

Three days later, we were married in a private ceremony on the rooftop garden of our penthouse. Noah stood as Cassian's best man. My only attendant was a childhood friend from the orphanage—the one person who had known me before revenge became my purpose.

As we exchanged vows with the city spread out below us, I thought about the journey that had brought us here—the lies, the manipulation, the gradual, unexpected slide from hatred to love. None of it conventional, none of it easy, but all of it ours.

Later that night, as we danced alone under the stars, Cassian whispered, "You're not my sister—you're my life."

I smiled against his shoulder, thinking of how far we'd come from that first meeting in his study, when I'd trembled in his arms and asked if he remembered me.

"Say it again," I murmured, needing to hear the words that had replaced revenge as my anchor.

Cassian drew back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze intense with a love that still sometimes frightened me with its depth.

"You are my life," he repeated, each word a vow more binding than those we'd exchanged earlier. "My creation. My salvation. My everything."

As his lips found mine, I surrendered to the truth we'd both finally embraced: that sometimes the greatest lies lead to the most profound truths, and that love—even born in deception—could be the most honest thing of all.