The Stranger

Chaper 9 - Cassandra

Sunday passed in a fog.

I tried to keep myself busy—laundry, gym, reorganising my week. But all day, the anger simmered, bubbling up every time I thought of Alex. The fact that I'd let him get so close, just for him to use me, then run off to Madrid to be with Lisa. Poor Mum had to endure my sudden mood swings. I blamed it on a stomach ache that didn't exist.

By Monday morning, I was seething. Every part of me ached to march into Alex's office, tell him what a prick he was, and then walk away, satisfied. He was always in before I got to work—one of the first to arrive. Yet today, his chair sat empty. Neither Lisa nor Alex was there, which only stoked my suspicions. Lisa, who was hardly ever early, could have been coming in late because of jet lag, but Alex? No meetings were scheduled, no reason for his absence. The waiting only fuelled my resentment, so I tried to drown myself in work. But instead of concentrating, I found myself reliving that night—his hands softly caressing the inside of my thighs, that look in his eyes that made me melt. Every memory made my pulse pound harder, and my anger felt twisted, tangled up with desire.

Then, close to lunch, Lisa strolled in. She looked refreshed and radiant, her face lit up with a post-holiday glow.

"Hi, girl! Madrid was amazing," she beamed. "I'm telling you, you need to meet a Spanish man. Lunch date?"

I forced a tight smile, barely meeting her eyes. My chest felt heavy with the weight of what I wanted to say, what I couldn't. She didn't know we'd slept with the same man.

"I can't, sorry. Too much work on my plate."

"Suit yourself," she said with a smile, heading toward the break room. She was already halfway down the corridor when I felt him—Alex—his presence drawing my gaze across the office. He was seated at his desk, back straight, hands poised over his keyboard, eyes focused on his screen. Those intense, commanding eyes. He looked up as I stood, sensing me.

The anger flared again, molten and sudden, overtaking everything else. I stalked across the room, barely registering anything but the sharp beat of my steps and the thrum of my pulse. I opened his office door without knocking, closed it behind me, and faced him with all the fury I'd built up.

"You fucking asshole," I spat, barely able to keep my voice level.

He sat back in his chair, eyebrow arched, one leg crossed over the other as he held my gaze with an infuriating calmness. "Good morning to you, too, Cassandra."

I leaned across his desk, fists planted on its surface. "You had the audacity to fuck me, then fly out to Madrid to fuck Lisa. What kind of manipulative son of a—"

His smirk cut through my words. He leaned back, tapping a pencil against his lower lip, studying me as if I were some kind of puzzle. A light flickered in his eyes, but this time it wasn't warmth—it was cold. Calculating.

"First of all, Cassandra," he began, his voice steely, "I went to Madrid to visit my father, who's very ill." He paused, letting the words sink in, his gaze unwavering. "Second, if you don't believe me, speak to Lisa. And finally, you and I are not together. I owe you no explanation. This...jealousy?" He shrugged, his face a mask of mild distaste. "It's unattractive and a massive turn off."

My confidence faltered. My stomach dropped as I realised the full weight of my assumption. I wanted to run. But instead, I pressed on. "So, that's it? You can do what you want?"

He sighed, glancing at the door. "If you're done, I'd like to get back to work."

Shame flooded through me. I could feel my cheeks burn, felt the humiliation prickle hot across my skin. I turned, left his office with all the grace I could muster, and ran straight into Lisa as she walked toward the lifts.