Chapter 1Repaying The Debt Of Love With Ash And Shards

Ten years after yanking the elusive golden boy off his pedestal, I, Cassidy "Cass" Jones, finally stopped pretending for Preston Brandon.

I redecorated the apartment in the Vegas-flashy, 'new money' style I actually liked. I meticulously calculated and emailed him the household expenses, demanding we split them. I even got into a screaming match with a neighbor, the kind of public brawl that had the cops knocking on the door.

When Preston walked in, I was standing in the hallway, hands on my hips, shouting loud enough for the whole floor to hear.

“Mrs. Davison, my contractors work nine to five. Perfectly legal. Your kid plays the cello like he’s sawing a tree down at ten o’clock every night. Are you really calling the police on yourself for a noise complaint?”

Mrs. Davison’s face went purple with fury. “You—you’re being ridiculous!”

I didn’t budge. “I’m being factual!”

Preston strode forward, his brow severely furrowed, a quiet disapproval radiating off him.

“Cass, that’s enough. They’re neighbors. You need to play nice and apologize.”

I finally raised my eyes to look at him.

* * *

He was wearing a simple white button-down and black slacks, yet he still exuded that innate, aloof refinement—the kind money and art had steeped into him—making him look utterly out of place amidst the chaos. Even Mrs. Davison, moments ago hysterical, flushed and began waving her hands.

“Never mind, never mind. It’s a minor thing, apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Brandon.”

But I turned my hostility on him, my voice sharp.

“I’m entirely in the right. If you can’t handle it, you can always go back and live at the Estate.”

Preston stiffened.

He always hated my vulgar taste, my penny-pinching habits, and my aggressive, market-raised spirit. To please him, I had spent years suppressing my nature, trying to be the muted, quiet, uncontentious wife he seemed to want. This recent behavior was a complete reversal.

Since Mrs. Davison backed down, the impromptu mediation was over. I was already disinterested, turning to walk into the apartment, when he called me back.

“What is this temper tantrum really about?” Preston stared at me, searching my face for an answer. “If this is about Sienna staying at the Estate, I can explain. She just got back into the country, and I simply—”

“What does that have to do with me?” I cut him off, genuinely confused. “That’s your family property. You can let anyone you want stay there.”

His confusion deepened. “But you were the one who helped me buy the Estate back. If it’s not that, then what is it?”

I sighed. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. This is just who I am, Preston. You know that.”

Before he could speak again, I reached up and straightened his collar.

“Never mind all that. Today is the ten-year anniversary of my father’s death. Get cleaned up. We’re going to the cemetery.”

We went downstairs, where two town cars were waiting. Preston hesitated for a moment, then, to my surprise, got into the same car as me. I raised an eyebrow; he usually refused to be close to me because he couldn’t stand the faint scent of fish that always clung to my clothes.

But I didn’t care about the small details anymore. I told the driver to start and turned my gaze to the city rushing by.

If it hadn’t been for the Brandon family’s spectacular bankruptcy a decade ago, Preston and I would have remained galaxies apart.

His father had been a shipping magnate. His mother, a socialite. Preston himself had studied under master artists since childhood, holding his first gallery exhibition at fifteen. He was the Brandon golden boy, the celestial being everyone in the City envied.

My father was just their sous chef. My family ran a fish stall in the gritty Fulton Market Area to make ends meet.

Everyone said Preston was the moon, and I was the dirt beneath their feet. That no amount of polish could ever make me worthy.

Then their sky fell.

His father’s investments tanked. Debt collectors swarmed the mansion, and his parents took their own lives.

I was sixteen. That morning, my father had simply said, “The Brandon family is in trouble. I need to go see about them.”

I waited all day. What returned was my father, bleeding and barely conscious, and a frantic, panicked Preston.

“Cass, get the Young Master out of here…” My father choked out the words, then died.

I looked down at Preston, who was kneeling beside my father’s body. The Brandon golden boy, the one I’d been secretly crushing on for years, looked like a drenched, beautiful stray. My heart hammered in my chest. I knew I shouldn’t, but I grabbed his hand and ran with him into the rainy night.

I took him back to my tiny railroad apartment. He took one sniff of the fish smell and threw up. While I cleaned it up, I remember thinking, A prince’s stomach is so delicate.

But I was willing to sacrifice everything for him.

To support this precious young man, I got up at four a.m. to buy fish at the wholesale market, opened my stall at seven, worked a waitressing gig in the afternoon, and strung beads for jewelry late into the night. The first money I earned was always for him: canvas, oil paint, and the precise blend of Blue Mountain coffee he preferred.

Once, he frowned and said, “The color in this paint isn’t pure enough.”

I quietly asked the art supply store owner, who explained, “The pure pigments have to be specially ordered. A set is three thousand dollars.”

I bit the bullet and took on three overnight beading jobs to save the money. When I presented the box of paint to him, he only said, “Thank you.”

His tone was polite, distant, and formal. I was so happy I couldn’t sleep that night.

Three years later, my seafood restaurant opened. I drank some wine that night, and the courage hit me. I took his hand and blurted out, “Preston, I’m crazy about you. So, so crazy.”

Preston was silent for a long time.

Outside, the neon lights of the City never dimmed. Inside, my heart was a wild thing. I watched his handsome profile and told myself that if he said no, I would understand. He was the moon; I was the mud. We were never meant to be.

But Preston said, “Okay.”

I laughed, and then I cried.

I knew he was accepting out of debt—to repay the favor. I knew I was greedy; I had the man, but now I wanted his heart. But a lifetime is a long time. I was sure I would get my way eventually.

Until Sienna Reed came back.

She was his cherished childhood sweetheart, his former painting apprentice, and the girl he was once destined to marry.

“Is all this change because of Sienna? She and I are truly just old acquaintances…”

Preston had been holding it in all the way, and the question finally broke through, interrupting my memories.

“Yes and no,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “After we finish honoring my father, I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on.”

Preston had to settle for that, stuffing his anxiety back down.

The car was only two blocks from the Northside Cemetery when his phone rang abruptly.

He answered, and the sound of Sienna’s delicate, soft voice spilled from the line.

“Preston, a pipe burst at the Estate, and there’s water everywhere! I’m so scared… can you please come over?”

I acted as if I hadn’t heard, staring out the window, entirely unconcerned.

Preston glanced at me, his frown deepening. “Sienna, I’m not free right now. Just turn off the main water valve. I’ll call the building management…”

“I don’t know where the valve is!” Sienna sobbed, cutting him off. “Preston, are you still mad at me? My parents forced me to leave a decade ago, and there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted it. I’m sorry, but please don’t abandon me…”

The air in the car solidified for a few agonizing seconds. The sound of weeping and gushing water over the phone was sharp in Preston’s ear.

He squeezed his phone, took a deep breath, and turned to me.

“Something happened at the Estate. Sienna was always pampered; she can’t handle this alone.”

“Cass, I…”

I had already anticipated his choice. I didn’t have the patience to listen to his elaborate excuses. I signaled the driver to pull over and unlocked Preston’s door. My tone was sincere, a simple nudge.

“Just go. Don’t keep her waiting.”