Chapter 7

Cassandra instantly fell silent, her teary eyes fixed on the grandfather who was so close, yet she couldn't acknowledge him. For a brief second, she almost blurted out the truth. But she clenched her fist and held back. She knew how important Mara and Ethan were to Grandpa Gerald and the Hawthorne family. Right now, she was just a stranger—an outsider. And without solid proof, suddenly accusing Mara and Ethan of teaming up to murder Faye wouldn’t just sound crazy—it’d probably get her killed again… "I dreamt that Faye said…” Cassandra paused, pulling a striking, fiery-red gown out of her bag. She took a breath before continuing, “Mr. Hawthorne, remember this? It was Faye’s favorite. In my dream last night, she begged me to bring it. Said she wanted to wear the dress she never got the chance to in life, for her final goodbye. She also told me there’s something else—something important. But she asked me to wait for the right time to tell you.” Thank God she came. Otherwise, Faye's funeral would’ve been trashed by that two-faced witch, Mara, and no one would've known. Gerald jolted. He recognized that dress. Just two weeks ago, Faye held up a fashion magazine and playfully insisted to him, “Grandpa, I love this dress—like, love LOVE it. It’s perfect! Like it was made for me! I don’t care how, but when it drops, you HAVE to get it for me…” Cassandra had not only brought Faye’s favorite dress, but she’d also known something only the two of them ever shared. And, maybe it was just a gut feeling, but Gerald couldn’t shake the sense that this girl truly came to honor Faye—not to stir up trouble. He ordered the staff to change Faye into the dress. Meanwhile, in the corner of the hall, a tall, mysterious man stood unnoticed. His refined aura was unmistakable, even hidden in the shadows. A silver-white mask covered his face, revealing nothing but a strong, chiseled jaw and a pair of narrowed, intense blue eyes. He took in Cassandra’s every move, cold eyes gleaming with hidden curiosity. The funeral went on without a hitch. At the cemetery, Cassandra stood in tears as they laid her former body to rest. She let herself cry—just for today. After that, weakness wouldn’t be an option. When everyone else had left, she stayed behind, alone in front of her own grave. In her hand was a rose, still covered in thorns. She squeezed it tight until blood ran down her palm. But the pain didn’t even scratch the surface—not compared to the betrayal and murder by those she loved. Tears filled her eyes again, but this time, they burned with hatred. Her voice, low and icy, carried through the air: “From this moment on, there’s only Cassandra. The name Faye... is dead.” Mara, Ethan… You better be ready—your reckoning is coming. Lost in her rage, Cassandra didn’t notice the tall figure behind the cypress tree nearby. The man didn’t move. His whole presence screamed nobility and danger. The silver mask still covered most of his face, but his mouth tightened, and a flicker of shock flashed through those cold, deep eyes. What was she saying? What exactly was her connection to Faye? After leaving the cemetery, Cassandra didn't return to the hospital. Instead, she had the driver take her straight to the Taylor residence. Sitting quietly in the backseat, she peered out the window as the car approached the house—an extravagant architecture. Beneath the golden rays of the setting sun, the estate looked even more grand and luxurious. Her gaze lowered, eyes flashing cold. She clenched her fists in her lap. This new “home”… filled her with unease.