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killeromanoff · 1 day ago

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I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 4

summary: Cassie awakens grappling with a hangover and the consequences of her reckless curiosity from the previous night. As truths about Rutshire's tangled relationships and her own doubts resurface, she finds herself questioning the weight of her family name and the expectations tied to it.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Realism in Media Industry, Self-doubting

w.c: 12k

notes: hey, so sorry for the delay everyone!!! i’ve had final projects for college, exams, working during my break, and dealing with a million things over these holidays!! i’ve been trying for ages to find time to finally finish this chapter! but here it is, i haven’t forgotten cassie!! we’ll definitely see a lot more of her, hopefully!! i hope you haven’t forgotten about her either. enjoy the read!

[prologue], [chapter one], [chapter two], [chapter three], [here]

o4. please tell me who i am

Cassie woke with a start, the soft glow of morning filtering through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm haze over Freddie’s guest room. It wasn’t a graceful awakening—more of a slow, groggy stumble into consciousness, the remnants of restless dreams clinging to her like mist. The soft glow of morning filtered through the gauzy curtains, spilling over the warm, homey décor of Freddie’s guest room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from somewhere, a stark contrast to the turmoil in the young woman’s head. She groaned, shielding her eyes from the invading light, the hangover pressing down on her skull like a vise.

Sinking deeper into the plush bed, Cassie tried to piece together the night before. Snippets of conversations danced in her mind: Freddie’s calm assurances. Lizzie’s knowing smile. And that ridiculous, reckless question about Valerie. A question that had spilled out not from clarity, but from too many drinks and the false courage they provided.

Why had she asked him that?

She sat up slowly, her temples throbbing as she glanced around the room. Freddie’s guest space was comfortable in an unpretentious way, filled with little reminders of the life he’d built—books scattered on shelves, a clock ticking on the wall, and a blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The smell of coffee floated through the air, grounding her further in the present.

Before she could wrestle with her thoughts any longer, there was a soft knock at the door, followed by Lizzie’s voice.

“Morning, sunshine. Or should I say... Hangover Queen?”

The door opened just enough for Lizzie to step inside, balancing a mug of coffee and wearing that signature smirk that always made Cassie feel both supported and entirely called out. Lizzie set the mug down on the side table and perched on the chair beside the bed.

Cassie sighed, rubbing her temples. “Go ahead, get it over with.”

“What? The teasing?” Lizzie arched her brow, clearly amused. “I don’t need to. Your face says it all.”

“Great,” Cassie muttered, reaching for the coffee.

“Do you remember much from last night?” Lizzie asked, her tone more curious than judgmental.

“Enough. And... Not enough.” She sipped the coffee, savoring the way it cut through the fog in her head. “I remember asking Freddie something really stupid.”

“Define stupid.” Lizzie tilted her head, a crease formed between her brows as her lips pressed into a contemplative line. She leaned back in the chair slowly, her fingers drumming on the armrest, a subtle rhythm that hinted at thoughts she wasn’t quite ready to voice.

Cassie hesitated, her fingers clenching around the warm mug as the memory resurfaced with painful clarity. It was both embarrassing and shameful to remember having bluntly said such a stupid thing to him.

“Something you also wouldn’t have enjoyed,” she replied quietly.

The question she’d asked Freddie hadn’t come out of nowhere, though it had spilled from her lips without the restraint she might have exercised sober. Despite being a stupid thing to say, it was the truth.

It had been brewing for some time, rooted in the way she’d seen them—Freddie and Valerie—trapped in a marriage that seemed more like a formality than a partnership.

As all the marriages in Rutshire.

She thought of Valerie, a woman who was polished to perfection yet distant, her interactions with Freddie clinical at best. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen them exchange a genuine smile, let alone anything that felt remotely like affection. Their life together, as far as Cassie could tell, was lived parallel but apart.

And then there was Lizzie.

Cassie had observed the way her uncle’s guarded expression softened around her, how his wit softened when Lizzie was in the room, like some dormant part of him came alive in her presence. The same seemed true for Lizzie, whose laughter with Freddie felt freer, lighter, than with anyone else—including her husband, James.

The young woman had never understood what Lizzie saw in that pompous man, whose charm was as superficial as his dedication to their marriage.

That damn stupid question had been sitting in the back of her mind ever since she moved to Rutshire, gathering weight until it finally spilled out of her, uninhibited by sobriety or tact.

“I asked him why he doesn’t leave Valerie and marry you.” The words escaped from her before Cassie could stop herself, her voice wavering between the same two feelings: embarrassment and shame.

She had seen the way Freddie and Lizzie were together, the way they shared something beyond the surface—a connection that felt more real than anything Cassie had witnessed in the strained relationship between her uncle and Valerie.

It was impossible that they hadn’t thought about it, right?

Lizzie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but her reaction wasn’t one of shock—it was more like someone hearing a truth spoken aloud that they’d long since made peace with. She leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxing as a small, knowing smile played on her lips. It was the kind of smile Cassie had seen before, the one that softened her guard just enough for the words to slip through, unfiltered.

“Why doesn’t he leave Valerie and marry me?” Lizzie repeated, her voice light but with an edge Cassie couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sarcasm that stung; it was what hid beneath it. “You really don’t pull your punches, do you?”

Cassie flushed, her grip tightening around the mug. The heat of the coffee didn’t warm her, but the discomfort in her chest only grew. She looked away, her mind spinning in a blur of thoughts she didn’t know how to voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she mumbled, her voice faltering. “It’s just... I see how he is with you. How you are with him. And with Valerie, it’s not like that. It’s—”

“Different,” Lizzie finished for her, her tone softer now but no less firm. Her gaze shifted, her expression unreadable as she crossed her legs. “Trust me, Cassie, I see it too. But it’s not that simple.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the air dense with unspoken truths. Lizzie leaned back in her chair, a wry smile ghosting across her lips. It was the kind of expression Cassie had come to associate with her—a carefully constructed shield, sharp enough to deflect but never too revealing. Her gaze settled on Cassie, unreadable yet somehow piercing.

“Doesn’t it feel like a waste?” Cassie murmured, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. She stared into her mug, as if the swirling remnants of her tea might hold the answer. “He deserves better than this... This cold, perfect life with Valerie. And you deserve better than James.”

Lizzie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You don’t think I know that?” she asked, her tone cool but not unkind. Her words cut through the silence with precision, like a scalpel peeling back layers of pretense. “Freddie deserves better, yes. But what does that mean? Better for him, or better for me? It’s not that simple, darling. It never is.”

Cassie glanced up, startled by the edge in Lizzie’s voice. It wasn’t anger—not entirely. It was resignation, tempered by the quiet ache of unspoken longing and the exhaustion of navigating expectations that never seemed to change. Years of compromise, of managing the roles they were expected to play, had left their marks.

“You’re saying you’re okay with this?” Cassie’s voice cracked slightly, her frustration bleeding through. “Just... Letting it all stay the same?”

Lizzie’s laugh was soft but bitter, laced with a kind of knowing Cassie hadn’t yet earned.

“Okay with it?” she repeated, shaking her head, “Hardly. But life isn’t a neatly wrapped package, Cassie. It’s messy. People like Valerie don’t just disappear because we want them to. And Freddie, for all his charm and wit, is stuck in a role he doesn’t know how to break out of. And no bold declaration will change that, believe me, I know.”

Cassie flinched, the weight of Lizzie’s words sinking in.

“It feels like you’re both... Waiting for some big moment where everything will fix itself,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Lizzie’s expression softened for the first time, the sharp lines around her mouth easing into something more vulnerable. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, the motion unguarded but deliberate.

“Maybe he is,” Lizzie admitted, her voice carrying a note of resigned acceptance, “And I don’t blame him. Sometimes waiting is all you can do. You wait, and you hope that when the moment comes, you’re ready for it.”

Cassie fell silent, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her mug. She wanted to argue, to say waiting wasn’t enough, that action was needed. But Lizzie’s calm, her quiet conviction, held her words at bay. It felt like stepping into a current she didn’t quite know how to navigate.

Lizzie shifted then, her gaze drifting toward the window. The morning light filtered through the glass, casting soft patterns on the wall. For a moment, it seemed as though she was looking for something far away—an answer, perhaps, or the courage to voice what she was about to say.

“I’m not waiting for everything to fall into place, though,” she said, her voice steady, “I sent James the divorce papers this morning. Told him the house is mine, and he’ll need to find somewhere else.”

Cassie’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, disbelief etched across her face.

What?

“You did what?” she asked, her tone laced with incredulity.

Lizzie met Cassie’s wide-eyed disbelief with a steady look, her voice calm and unflinching.

“I sent him the papers, yes,” she repeated, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned back in her chair. The motion was smooth, practiced, but Cassie didn’t miss the flicker of vulnerability that passed through Lizzie’s eyes before she masked it again, “James and I have been living this charade long enough. It’s exhausting, Cassie. Pretending, performing... Existing in parallel lives that don’t touch. Sound familiar?”

Cassie’s fingers tightened around her mug, but she didn’t answer. Lizzie wasn’t really asking.

Of course it sounded familiar, it was some kind of pattern in Rutshire. Many marriages there were about pretending, her father and mother were a proper example. There was a reason why her mother had gone to Chicago when her father was still alive.

“You asked why Freddie doesn’t leave Valerie,” Lizzie continued, “Why did I stayed with James as long as I did? And the truth is... Sometimes it’s easier to keep the structure standing than to deal with the mess of tearing it all down. Especially when the world is watching, waiting for you to falter.”

“So what changed?” Cassie asked quietly.

Lizzie tilted her head, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile.

“I realized I couldn’t keep waiting for someone else to make the first move. I told James it was over because it needed to be done—for me. But with Freddie...” She trailed off, her gaze slipping toward the window again, the morning light reflecting faintly in her eyes. “That’s his decision to make. Not mine.”

Cassie hesitated, her voice a little smaller as she asked, “But doesn’t it hurt? Knowing you’ve made your choice and he hasn’t?”

“Of course it hurts,” Lizzie’s laugh was short and humorless, her gaze snapping back to Cassie, “But life isn’t fair, darling, and love doesn’t come with guarantees. Freddie and I have something, yes. But it’s not something I can force into existence beyond what it already is. And I’m not willing to sit around, waiting for scraps.”

Cassie blinked, feeling her own defenses unravel slightly under Lizzie’s candidness.

“I just thought... Maybe it could be different,” Cassie confessed, her voice soft with vulnerability, as if finally giving air to a wish she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. It sounded silly in her head, but saying it aloud felt like acknowledging a truth she had been holding back.

Lizzie didn’t hesitate, her gaze steady and not unkind.

“So did I,” she said quietly, the bluntness of her words disarming Cassie, “But different doesn’t happen by wishing. It happens by doing the hard thing. And sometimes, even then, it doesn’t change anything.”

Her voice was tinged with something close to regret, but there was no trace of self-pity in her tone—just the reality of a decision made, and a life that was still being navigated.

Cassie sat back as Lizzie’s words sank in, settling around her like the still air of the room. She thought about her father, about the split between him and her mother.

The way their marriage had deteriorated long before he died. How her mother had packed up and left for Chicago when Cassie was still too young to understand the intricacies of their broken home… Leaving her with her father, as if the distance itself could untangle the mess that had been left behind.

She’d been too young to remember much of it, but she remembered the emptiness that filled the spaces when they were apart. She never fully grasped what had gone wrong between them. And all of it became worse when he died and she had to be her mother’s responsibility again.

In some ways, she thought, this was all too familiar.

The way Lizzie and Freddie circled around each other, staying just out of reach. It wasn’t that they didn’t care—it was that the world they lived in made it impossible for either of them to take the leap. They stayed in their own self-made prisons, not daring to shatter the fragile construct they’d both built.

Her mother tried to get a new life without her and her father and, in the end, it didn’t work exactly as she had planned.

“I used to think... Maybe, if you loved someone enough, you could make it work,” Cassie continued, more to herself than to Lizzie, “But it’s like you said, isn’t it? It is not that simple. We can’t make people change. Not really.”

“No, you can’t make someone change,” Lizzie leaned forward, her eyes flicking to Cassie with an unspoken understanding, “But you can choose whether or not you’re going to keep waiting for them to do it. And sometimes, you’ve got to let go of the idea that you can make things right, and just accept that they’re not right.”

The words lingered in the air, settling over Cassie like a heavy fog, obscuring any easy answers she might have clung to.

“But you don’t just... Give up on the person you love,” Cassie whispered, her thoughts swirling, lost in the complexity of what she was saying, “How do you walk away from someone who means so much, even when you know it won’t work?”

“You don’t walk away from love, Cass,” Lizzie looked at her for a long moment, as if searching for something in Cassie’s face, “You walk away from the idea of what it could be. Because sometimes, the love itself isn’t enough, no matter how much you want it to be.”

Cassie felt something settle in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was the conversation, the heavy truths Lizzie was speaking, or just the exhausting burden of everything she hadn’t yet figured out.

The silence stretched between them, and in the quiet, Lizzie added, “You’ll get it, eventually. You’ll understand what I mean.”

After a brief period of silent reflection, Cassie exhaled deeply, her hands still wrapped around the warm mug as if it were the only tangible object in the room.

“I shouldn’t have spoken up,” she murmured, “It’s not my place.”

Lizzie regarded her with a softened expression, yet her words remained pointed.

“You’re asking questions, Cass. That’s a good start,” Lizzie reassured Cassie, a smile adorned her face. “It means you’re searching for answers, and maybe that’s enough to ensure you won’t have to face the same struggles your uncle and I are tangled up in.”

Cassie traced the rim of her empty mug, her thoughts tangling and untangling like a knot she wasn’t quite ready to cut. Lizzie’s words echoed in her mind—a thread she couldn’t quite grasp yet couldn’t ignore. They settled into the corners of her mind, quiet but insistent, nudging her toward truths she didn’t want to name.

Love was complicated, wasn’t it? A web that stretched across her life, inescapable and sticky with memories she tried not to disturb. Thinking about it meant pulling at threads she’d long since left knotted—threads tied to her mother and father's sad story, to the spaces they had left unspoken between them.

The house seemed to mirror her unease. The silence pressed closer, thick and watchful, broken only by the hum of Freddie’s voice from downstairs. It rose and fell in careful rhythms, too muffled to understand, but carrying a tension she could feel. It prickled against her skin, subtle but sharp, like a draft that found its way through cracks you didn’t know existed.

Cassie’s gaze flicked toward the window, the soft gray light filtering through like a promise she couldn’t decide whether to trust. A part of her wanted to get up, to move, to shake off the weight that was settling around her shoulders. But she stayed where she was, her hands resting lightly against the worn ceramic of the mug, tethered by thoughts she couldn’t yet untangle.

“Freddie’s probably pacing again,” Lizzie quipped, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, “He does that when Rupert’s around. It’s like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, “Is Rupert here?”

“Oh, yes,” Lizzie replied, her smile turning wry, “They’re discussing Venturer’s business. But Rupert has a way of making everyone feel like they’re a step behind. It’s his gift. You met him last night—you probably noticed.”

Cassie thought back to the previous evening. Rupert’s grin, so polished and charming, had carried an undercurrent of something sharper, something designed to disarm.

“He’s…” She paused, searching for the right word to capture the strangeness of him, the way he had exchanged those discreet glances with Taggie O’Hara, “Something..”

Too cautious. She’d already said more than she should, and she didn’t intend to repeat that mistake.

Lizzie chuckled softly, setting her mug on the table. “That’s one way to put it.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled both their attention. Freddie appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the room effortlessly. His eyes swept across the two women, lingering briefly on Lizzie before settling on Cassie.

For a moment, there was something in his expression—surprise, perhaps?—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Not at all,” Lizzie said smoothly, her tone light, “We were just chatting. Sisterly bonding, you might say.”

“Sisterly, huh?” Freddie’s brow arched, his lips curving, “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” Cassie quipped, her laugh masking her unease.

She was praying for Freddie to think she didn’t remember what she had told him last night, because one thing was to discuss it with Lizzie… Another thing was to have a sober conversation about it with her uncle. She would rather bury her rather in horse’s shit.

Freddie’s attention shifted fully to Cassie, his arms crossing loosely over his chest.

“How’s your head? Feeling sober enough to talk about Venturer?”

No questions about last night or weird looks… Good, perhaps she was safe.

“I think so,” Cassie answered, though her voice wavered a bit.

“Good,” Freddie replied with a nod, his tone shifting into something steadier, almost businesslike, “Rupert and I just got a call downstairs—Cameron wants a meeting. Now.”

Cassie blinked, momentarily thrown off balance.

“A meeting?” she echoed, setting her mug down a bit harder than she intended, “About what?”

“About you,” Freddie hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly to Lizzie before landing back on Cassie, “About the possibility of hiring you.”

Cassie’s stomach twisted, her thoughts racing. She wasn’t even sure she wanted this—though admittedly, she wanted it more today than she had yesterday. But the idea of Cameron, a woman she hadn’t even met yet, already calling a meeting about her? It sent an uneasy ripple through her chest.

Lizzie noticed the discomfort in Cassie’s expression and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “Cameron can be intense, but she’s practical. If she wants to talk about you, it means she sees potential.”

“Or it means she’s already decided I’m a liability,” Cassie shot back, her tone edged with bitter humor. She crossed her arms tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sweater. “I’m not even sure about this, and yet here I am.”

Her mind spun. She hadn’t even made up her own mind about joining Venturer. Sure, the idea was clearer now than it had been yesterday, but the thought of someone like Cameron—someone who didn’t even know her—sitting in a room analyzing her every move made her chest tighten.

I’m not even sure about it, she thought bitterly, even though I want it more today than I did yesterday. And Cameron, the woman I haven’t even met yet, already wants to pick me apart.

She exhaled sharply, forcing the air out of her lungs as she tried to settle her racing thoughts.

“So, what? You will all sit around a table and vote on whether or not I’m worth the gamble?”

Freddie crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with hers.

“No one’s voting on you, Cassie,” he took the empty mug off her hands, leaving it on the corner table next to them, “This isn’t about proving yourself. It’s about... Navigating the optics. Rupert and I are heading to Venturer now to figure out how this fits.”

“Optics.” The word felt sour on her tongue. “So this isn’t about whether I’m good enough. It’s about whether I look good enough.”

“Cassie,” Freddie started, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Freddie. I know exactly what this is.” She gestured vaguely, as if the answer was obvious, “This isn’t about my work. It’s about my name.”

Freddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew the truth better than her.

“Yes, the name is part of it.” He admitted. “But you’re more than just Matthew Jones’ daughter, or my niece, and you know that.”

Cassie wasn’t sure she believed him. She felt Lizzie’s gaze on her, trying to comfort her without saying the words out loud.

Her thoughts went back to Declan’s words the night before, to the way he had framed her story on his show with such precision. That moment had given her clarity she hadn’t expected, but clarity didn’t erase the fear that had crept in since then. It didn’t erase the feeling that she was walking into a trap.

Despite wanting to participate and be a part of the team, she didn’t know if she was ready for the first newspaper starring her as the daughter of Matthew Jones.

She could already see the headlines.

“They didn’t even invite me,” Cassie muttered, shaking her head once again, “You’ll be talking about me, deciding my future, and I won’t even be in the room.”

“That’s because this meeting isn’t about deciding anything final.” Freddie stood up, his posture still tense. “It’s about laying the groundwork, making sure everyone’s on the same page. Cameron is... Thorough, to say the least.”

From what little Cassie had heard about Cameron, “thorough” sounded like a gross understatement. She imagined someone cold, clinical—the exact kind of person who would see her as nothing more than a risk to be mitigated. A liability.

And, sincerely, she thought Cameron would be right to think so.

The possibility of joining Venturer felt both intoxicating and suffocating. It was the kind of chance that could elevate her career, but it could just as easily crush her under the weight of expectations she wasn’t sure she could meet.

Cassie rubbed her temple, the beginnings of a headache threatening to resurface. The weight of the conversation, the lingering doubts, and the prospect of a meeting where she’d be dissected like a business proposal—all of it was too much. She glanced at Freddie, who was watching her closely, his concern barely hidden behind his usual calm.

“Can you take me home on your way there?” Cassie asked softly, her voice almost apologetic, “I just... I need some space to think.”

Freddie paused, studying her for a moment before nodding.

“Of course. Let me grab my coat.” His brows furrowed slightly as he turned to Lizzie. “I’ll take you to your place too, Lizzie.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard.

“Oh,” she stammered before recovering with a small smile, “Thank you, Freddie. I appreciate it.”

As Freddie left the room, Cassie exhaled, relieved. She glanced at Lizzie, who gave her an encouraging look, though there was a faint crease of worry in her expression. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in as her thoughts churned.

She wasn’t angry, not at Freddie, not at Rupert or Cameron, not even at Declan—though his name lingered in her mind longer than she liked. She was just tired. Tired of the questions, the scrutiny, the way her father’s shadow seemed to follow her into every room.

I’m not even there yet, she thought bitterly, and they’re already treating me like a liability—or worse, an asset.

Lizzie reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, you know. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

Cassie gave her a small, tired smile, “I know.”

Freddie reappeared, coat in hand, his movements brisk but unhurried. He paused at the doorway, glancing back at Cassie.

“Ready when you are.”

She nodded, standing and gathering her things with deliberate slowness. Lizzie stood too, giving her an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she passed.

As they descended the stairs, the house seemed quieter than before, the faint hum of conversation from the kitchen reduced to murmurs as if respecting her mood. The faint aroma of Lizzie’s tea lingered in the air, blending with the sharper tang of Freddie’s cologne as he walked ahead. Cassie trailed behind, her steps slower, as though gravity had grown heavier.

“Where’s Rupert?” Cassie asked as they reached the foyer, her eyes scanning the space where he had been earlier.

Freddie glanced briefly out the window.

“Left a few minutes ago,” he said with a shrug, “Probably halfway to Venturer by now. Cameron won’t like to be kept waiting.”

Lizzie raised a brow, “He’s probably doing his best to charm her before the meeting starts. He’s good at that.”

Cassie huffed a small laugh, though her thoughts churned uneasily. Outside, the crisp morning air hit her skin like a bracing splash of water, the sun casting sharp shadows across the driveway. Freddie unlocked the car with a soft beep, his movements deliberate as he held the door open for her.

She hesitated for a moment, catching his eye.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice carrying more weight than she intended.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about me.”

Lizzie slipped into the backseat, giving Cassie an encouraging smile before leaning back into the seat. The car rumbled to life, the hum of the engine filling the air. Cassie leaned her head against the window, watching as the city blurred into streaks of gray and muted color.

The silence inside the car was heavy but not uncomfortable. Lizzie broke it with a soft murmur.

“You’ll figure it out, Cassie. You always do.”

Cassie didn’t respond immediately. Her thoughts were a storm of doubt and determination, fear and clarity. Freddie’s steady presence at the wheel and Lizzie’s quiet support behind her felt like the only anchors keeping her from being swept away.

The newsroom carried the distinct sound of controlled chaos. Producers darted between desks clutching papers, interns scrambled to keep coffee from spilling, and camera operators reviewed their setups for the next broadcast. It was a well-oiled machine built on deadlines and adrenaline, but there was always an undercurrent of tension—especially on mornings like this.

Declan strode through the room with a practiced authority, his mind half-focused on the day’s agenda and half on the conversation looming ahead. The faces around him—Seb gesturing animatedly near the teleprompter, Charles arguing over a graphic error—were familiar yet blurred as his thoughts sharpened. His gaze flicked toward the glass-walled conference room, where the meeting he’d been dreading was about to begin.

Inside, Cameron perched on the edge of the table, her posture as rigid as the sharp lines of her blazer. She exuded the kind of tension that made even the most confident producers tread lightly. She wasn’t just Venturer’s co-executive producer; she was its gatekeeper, guarding the platform’s integrity with an intensity that was both admirable and exhausting.

Despite admiring her unwavering commitment to the show, Declan couldn’t shake the sting of their argument the night before, just after his broadcast. Cameron had cornered him, her tone low but brimming with frustration, over his decision to use Cassie’s evidence against Mr. Willow without giving her a heads-up. He could still hear her words echoing:

“You’re not just playing with stories here; you’re playing with credibility.”

Declan knew she wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t stop the bitterness from creeping in. This meeting, he suspected, was the fallout.

Rupert, as always, was the foil to her precision. Lounging in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, he looked as though he’d wandered into the wrong room by mistake. But Declan knew better.

Behind Rupert’s air of nonchalance was a sharp mind that thrived on finding the cracks in any argument—Cameron’s, Declan’s, or anyone else’s.

Declan wouldn’t lie to himself: it was one of the many reasons he admired Rupert. But admiration came with its price. In moments like these, Rupert’s sharpness reminded Declan of his own insecurities—the kind that had lingered since they’d first worked together.

Rupert Campbell-Black was the type who could slice through a room’s tension with a single, well-placed quip, while Declan sometimes felt he was still proving himself.

Last night at the Spencer’s Gala had only sharpened Declan’s simmering insecurities.

The revelation of Rupert giving Taggie a ride had cracked open a door to fears he thought he’d long since locked away. He’d spent so much time trying to rebuild their bond—years of missteps followed by countless apologies and promises to do better. But seeing her turn to Rupert instead of him for something as simple as a ride wasn’t just a slight; it was a glaring reminder of how far he still had to go.

It wasn’t just the choice of transportation that stung; it was everything Rupert represented. The man exuded charm, the kind that made people gravitate toward him, made them feel seen. It was the same quality that had driven Declan to admire him professionally—Rupert had an uncanny ability to command a room. But when that same ease slipped into Declan’s personal life, filling spaces where Declan felt he’d fallen short, it was unbearable.

He replayed the moment in his mind. Rupert and Taggie at the gala, her laughing at something he’d said, the two of them effortlessly at ease in a way that felt foreign to Declan. He knew he had no right to begrudge her moments of levity—God knew she’d earned them—but still, it gnawed at him. The what-ifs buzzed like static at the edge of his thoughts. What if she turned to Rupert because she saw something in him that Declan lacked? What if Rupert understood her in ways Declan never could?

Shaking himself out of the spiral, Declan let his focus narrow on the present. The Venturer newsroom had its own kind of chaos, a rhythm he understood better than most. As his gaze landed on the glass-walled conference room, his thoughts shifted from family to the professional minefield ahead.

Inside, Freddie stood by the window, his back to the room, his shoulders squared in a way that gave no indication of where he stood on the issue at hand. Declan had worked with Freddie long enough to know the signs. The deliberate stillness, the subtle tilt of his head—Freddie was preparing himself. He had a knack for waiting until just the right moment to speak, his words cutting through noise like a knife.

As Declan stepped into the room and closed the glass door behind him, the atmosphere shifted.

Cameron didn’t wait.

"Finally," Cameron began, her voice clipped. "Let’s address the elephant in the newsroom."

Her eyes swept across the room, landing briefly on Declan before settling on Freddie. The unspoken accusation simmered in her tone, a jab at the brewing controversy over Cassie.

“By elephant,” Rupert interjected, lounging in his chair, “you mean the niece of a broadcasting legend and the star of an exposé that made national headlines? Quite the pachyderm.”

Cameron shot him a withering glare, “We’re not here to trade quips, Rupert. This is about perception, and I don’t need to spell out the risks of nepotism.”

“We’re not hiring Cassie because of her last name.” Declan, standing near the edge of the table, folded his arms, “Her work speaks for itself—her investigation into Crawford alone proves that.”

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Cameron retorted. She tapped her pen against the table, her movements sharp. “She’s already a lightning rod. Tying Venturer’s reputation to hers puts us in a precarious position.”

Freddie shook his head, tutting.

“It’s not just about risk; it’s about the opportunity,” He leaned forward, a torn smile on his face, “Cassie has the skills, the instincts, and the grit to bring something new to Venturer. We’re talking about talent, not handouts.”

Cameron’s gaze softened, though her tone remained pointed.

“Freddie, I get it. You want to support your family. But this isn’t just about her qualifications—it’s about the optics. How do we justify bringing her on without it looking like favoritism?”

Rupert, always quick to diffuse tension, raised his cup in mock agreement.

“True, optics matter. But let’s not overlook the bigger picture. Cassie’s presence—her credibility—could elevate Venturer in ways we can’t predict yet.” he added with a sly grin, “Besides, Declan was the one who introduced the idea after Freddie mentioned it months ago, right? If he is so keen on her, I’m inclined to trust his judgment.”

Cameron scoffed, leaning back in her chair with a sharp shake of her head.

“So we’re supposed to ignore the optics?” She asked, her eyes narrowing over Rupert’s figure, “Freddie’s niece, Matthew Jones’ daughter, the face of a major scandal—what part of that screams credibility to you?”

Rupert’s grin faltered, his posture stiffening as he leaned forward. Declan, standing at the head of the table, remained silent for a moment, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. Freddie’s gaze flicked between the two of them, his calm exterior masking the churn of unease beneath.

No one seemed to have any cards left to play—at least, that’s how it looked to Rupert and Freddie.

But Declan? Declan had something.

“What screams credibility is the fact that she did the right thing,” He stepped closer to the table, leaning forward just enough to command their attention, “While others were sitting on their hands, she was exposing the truth. If we’re afraid of the optics, then we’re no better than Crawford’s FM.”

The room fell into silence, the only sound the groan of activity from the newsroom beyond the glass walls. Cameron’s fingers tightened around her pen, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t immediately reply. Rupert tilted his head, his gaze shifting between Declan and Cameron, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

Freddie was about to speak when a sharp knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. A producer stepped in, her expression tense, clutching a tablet.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice brisk, “but there’s breaking news. A whistleblower just leaked internal documents on water contamination near that factory in Suffolk. It’s spreading across major networks.”

Cameron frowned sharply, “Suffolk? That’s the same case that’s been bubbling up for weeks now.”

But it was Freddie’s reaction that turned heads. His posture went rigid, and his face paled ever so slightly. The pieces clicked together in his mind faster than he cared to admit.

Suffolk… Water contamination… Cassie.

His thoughts flashed to the morning he got her out of prison, the morning he got her out of prison, the same day they got to her all her missing calls… Didn’t one of them have something to do with water issues near a factory?

Her name was Sarah, right? After that morning, Cassie had spent hours on the phone with him telling him what she had in hand with those contacts, even telling him more about this one specially.

Sarah Halverson… That was her full name.

A local from Suffolk who had provided crucial leads in her investigation.

“Bloody hell,” Freddie muttered under his breath, drawing every gaze in the room. He turned back to the producer, “Thanks for the update.”

As the producer exited, Declan raised a brow at Freddie’s sudden shift in demeanor, “Care to enlighten us?”

“Cassie’s investigating this.” Freddie’s lips thinned. “She already has a witness and a pile of evidence.”

Cameron froze, her pen hovering mid-air, “Are you telling me that your niece was already investigating this whistleblower?”

“It’s not a ‘might.’” Freddie leaned on the back of an empty chair, his tone steady but charged with conviction, “I don’t know the details of this leak, but Sarah Halversoni is one of Cassie’s primary contacts. She is a local who lives near the factory, Cassie has been talking with her for weeks now.”

Rupert whistled low, shaking his head, “Well, that changes things, doesn’t it?”

Cameron’s skepticism was immediate.

“And you didn’t think to mention this before now, Freddie?”

“Well, it wasn’t in my bingo that a whistleblower would come forward the same morning we're debating whether Cassie is worth it,” Freddie massaged his mustache, his frustration showing in his measured tone, “But here we are.”

Declan, processing the revelation, spoke carefully.

“If this leak confirms Cassie’s investigation…” He paused, letting the news sink in completely, “Then we have more than just a story—we have a reason to bring her in. She knows the case. She knows the players. And she knows how to follow the threads.”

“And we have a media storm brewing,” Cameron countered, “A storm that could sink her—or worse, us.”

Rupert steepled his fingers, his grin replaced with an expression of thoughtful calculation.

“Or it could propel us forward. This is the kind of opportunity that defines networks, Cameron. If we act decisively, we control the narrative.”

“And we have to act.” Declan nodded. “If we hesitate, someone else will break the follow-up first. We’ll lose the momentum.”

Cameron sighed heavily, clearly wrestling with the decision, “So what’s the plan? We hire her on the spot?”

“On a trial basis,” Freddie suggested, “She already has a foot in the door with this story. Let’s see what she can do with the rest.”

Rupert leaned back in his chair, cracking a small smile, “Now we’re talking.”

Cameron still didn’t look convinced, but she relented with a curt nod.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a deviant smile tugging in her lips. She could lie all she wanted, but she enjoyed debating with the three idiots. “But if this backfires, don’t expect me to clean up the mess.”

However, she wouldn’t let her friendship with the men interfere with her career.

“It won’t backfire,” Declan said, meeting her gaze directly.

The late afternoon sun lingered low, its warm, amber light draping the countryside in golden hues. Cassie adjusted her posture on Jester, the familiar sway of the gelding's steady pace grounding her in the moment. The rhythmic clop of hooves against the packed dirt trail seemed to echo her own heartbeat.

She stole a glance at Bas, who rode ahead, his dun horse, Rocky, moving with an easy confidence that matched his rider's. The contrast between his usual carefree demeanor and the quiet intensity of her own thoughts couldn’t have been starker.

Freddie’s voice echoed in her mind, the conversation from earlier replaying itself in snippets. He’d given her the gist of the meeting once it ended: Cameron had finally relented after considerable debate, agreeing to a trial run contingent on the developing Suffolk water contamination story. Cassie’s contact—Sarah Halverson—had leads that now aligned with a whistleblower’s explosive revelations.

Venturer wanted her on board not just for her name, but for the narrative she’d started to unravel.

She only had to go visit them and say yes.

But that wasn’t what kept Cassie up the entire afternoon. It was the outcomes—the way her father’s legacy loomed over everything she touched. She couldn’t help but wonder if this opportunity would bring her closer to stepping out of that shadow—or cement her place within it.

Jester’s ears flicked back as if sensing her unease, and she reached down to pat his neck absently.

“Easy, boy,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if she was reassuring him or herself.

Cassie shifted her weight in the saddle, the familiar sway of Jester’s gait grounding her. The tall chestnut gelding moved with an energy that mirrored her own—restless, but controlled. The crisp evening air filled her lungs, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as she and Bas rode side by side along the winding trail.

Around them, the countryside stretched out in soft greens and browns, the rolling fields edged with clusters of oak and hawthorn.

Ahead, Bas leaned forward on Rocky, his dun horse’s ears flicking back toward him as if listening to the idle hum of his rider’s voice. His posture was as casual as ever, but Cassie didn’t miss the glint in his eye when he turned to glance at her.

“You know,” Bas began, breaking the silence, “Jester’s looking particularly spirited today. Probably because he knows his rider’s overthinking.”

Cassie smirked, patting Jester’s neck, “Overthinking is a survival skill in my family.”

“Ah, but darling, there’s a difference between surviving and living,” Bas shot back, his grin sharp and playful. He urged Rocky into a smooth trot, the dun horse responding effortlessly. “Speaking of which, how’s the decision-making process coming along?”

Cassie rolled her eyes, guiding Jester to match Rocky’s pace, “I wasn’t aware there was a deadline.”

“Oh, there’s always a deadline,” Bas teased, his voice carrying easily over the sound of hooves. “Especially when Cameron’s involved. Or Declan, the man’s been in a mood, you know. Something about an opportunity slipping through his fingers.”

Her grip on the reins tightened instinctively, though she kept her expression neutral, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Bas drawled, his tone turning deliberately conspiratorial, “that Declan’s not exactly the patient type. He sees something—or someone—with potential, and he doesn’t like to waste time. You’ve been the topic of quite a few conversations lately.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, her voice dry, “Am I supposed to feel flattered?”

“Flattered? Absolutely,” Bas said, his grin widening. “But also aware. Declan doesn’t push for just anyone. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

Jester snorted beneath her, and Cassie leaned forward to steady him, her thoughts turning inward. The idea of being a pawn in someone else’s game—no matter how well-meaning—made her stomach twist. She’d spent too long trying to carve out her own space, free of the shadows cast by her father’s legacy.

The trail curved gently, opening into a sun-dappled clearing. Bas slowed Rocky to a walk, letting the horses stretch their necks. He turned to her, his expression softening just slightly.

“Look,” he said, his tone losing some of its usual bravado, “I know you’re not the type to jump at something just because it’s offered. But this—Venturer, everyone’s backing—it’s not just another job. It’s a platform. A bloody big one. And if anyone can make something out of it, it’s you.”

Cassie didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching the warm tones of Jester’s coat. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool air.

“I already have my answer, that isn’t why I am overthinking” she said finally, her voice quiet. “Because, it’s not just about me, though, is it? It’s about what people expect. What they assume. My name, my family—it’s a package deal whether I want it to be or not.”

Bas tilted his head, studying her with an almost brotherly fondness, “And you think that’s a bad thing?”

“I think it’s a complicated thing,” she admitted.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the rolling Rutshire countryside. Cassie and Bas rode side by side, the rhythmic clopping of Jester and Rocky's hooves the only sound breaking the tranquil evening. The scent of damp earth and blooming hawthorn filled the air, a reminder of the world beyond their immediate concerns.

Bas, ever the embodiment of charm and mischief, glanced at Cassie, his dark eyes gleaming with sincerity.

"You know, Cass," he began, his voice smooth yet tinged with earnestness, "Venturer isn’t just looking for a pretty face or a famous name. We want someone with real vision, someone who can shake things up."

“And let me guess,” Cassie met his gaze, her expression a blend of curiosity and caution, “You, Rupert, Declan, my uncle... Everyone there had agreed in today’s meeting that’s me?”

Bas shrugged with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, yet the twinkle in his eye betrayed his enjoyment of her reaction.

“Something like that,” he said, smirking, “But really, it’s not about them deciding anything. It’s about you.”

Cassie exhaled, pulling Jester into a slow trot as the clearing narrowed again into a wooded trail. The light shifted, the shadows of the trees dappled against the horses’ sides.

“It’s not as simple as you make it sound,” she muttered.

Bas clicked his tongue, urging Rocky closer.

“Nothing’s ever simple to you, Cass,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “You can’t let that stop you. Venturer is a platform. And you... You’re a storyteller. This could be the way you tell them—on your terms for once.”

She shot him a look, unsure whether to be flattered or annoyed by his knack for cutting through her layers of doubt.

“You make it sound like I’ve already said yes,” she pointed out.

Bas tilted his head, his smirk returning.

“Haven’t you?”

Cassie didn’t respond, her grip tightening on the reins. He knew damn well that she had, indeed.

“Besides,” Bas continued, his tone lightening again, “it’s not like Freddie would let you say no… Or Declan. Hell, that man’s persistence is borderline pathological. You’d better prepare yourself for relentless charm and dramatic monologues about justice and accountability.”

That earned a small laugh from her, though she quickly stifled it, shaking her head.

“You’re insufferable,” she said.

“And you’re predictable,” he shot back, flashing her a grin.

The sound of hooves crunching against the gravel filled the silence between them, a rhythmic backdrop to the thoughts tumbling through Cassie’s mind. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted—not entirely. But for the first time, the weight of indecision didn’t feel as suffocating.

Bas guided Rocky toward a small rise overlooking the fields, his movements relaxed but purposeful. He turned in his saddle to look at her, his expression suddenly serious.

“Cass,” he said, “I’m not saying this because Declan told me to, or because Freddie would love it, or even because Rupert is secretly betting on it—though he probably is. I’m saying it because I believe in you. You’ve got something the rest of us don’t, and it’s not just your name.”

Cassie blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“What is it then?” she asked, her tone quieter now.

Bas paused, his gaze sweeping over the horizon before settling on her again.

“You see people,” he said simply. “Not just their stories, but them. And that’s what Venturer needs right now. Someone who can cut through all the noise and make people feel like they matter.”

For the first time that day, Cassie felt something close to hope. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there.

Maybe Bas was right.

Maybe this was her chance to step out of the shadows.

Maybe it was time.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, unsure.

The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the path. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and the earthiness of the trail.

Bas guided Rocky toward a small rise overlooking the fields, his movements relaxed but purposeful. Cassie noticed how the dun horse seemed attuned to Bas, its ears flicking back at the slightest shift of weight. Jester followed willingly, his chestnut coat gleaming under the sun, though his steps were slower, mirroring Cassie’s own contemplative mood.

When they reached the rise, Bas turned in his saddle to look at her, his expression suddenly serious. The playfulness she had come to expect from him had softened into something weightier, more deliberate.

“You know,” he began, his voice casual but with a thread of excitement, “Venturer’s invited you to the studio tonight. They want you to see how everything works—meet the team, feel the energy.”

Cassie’s hands tightened on Jester’s reins as she glanced at him, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise.

“You’re late,” she said, her tone half-teasing.

“Late? How am I late?” Bas blinked, caught off guard, “This was supposed to be my big moment.”

“Freddie told me already,” she smirked, patting Jester’s neck, “Right after he got back from Venturer.”

Bas groaned dramatically, throwing his head back as if deeply wounded.

“Of course he did,” he muttered, “Can’t even let me have the joy of being the bearer of exciting news.”

Cassie laughed softly, shaking her head.

“He’s my uncle, Bas. Did you really think he wouldn’t tell me first?”

Bas let the silence linger between them for a few beats, his gaze following the path ahead as Rocky ambled forward. Cassie stayed quiet too, her thoughts turning over his words like smooth stones. It wasn’t just his confidence in her that made her pause—it was the ease with which he assumed she could step into the chaos of Venturer and emerge unscathed.

“So,” Bas said, breaking the silence, his tone lighter, “Does that mean you’re going to accept? Or is it the reason for your overthinking?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie sighed, her expression softening into something more thoughtful. “Freddie told me a little about the meeting and how Cameron eventually agreed. As you may already know, they want me to work on something related to that Suffolk factory scandal—apparently, it’s picking up momentum. I know I’ll say yes eventually, but...”

“But what?” Bas pressed gently, steering Rocky closer to her.

“I’m not sure how it’s going to play out,” she admitted, almost in a whisper, “My name is already tied to so much—my dad, Crawford, everything I’ve done so far. What if this just... Adds to the noise? In a bad way?”

Bas studied her, his usual humor tempered by something more earnest.

“You’re right—there will for sure be noise., good and bane one.” He agreed, humming as he pondered about it, “But there’s also going to be a hell of a lot of substance. You don’t get to the good stuff without making waves, Cass.”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile, though the doubt lingering in her eyes didn’t entirely dissipate.

“That’s what Freddie said too, in his own way,” she murmured.

“Well,” Bas replied, his grin returning, “Great minds and all that.”

“Or annoying ones,” Cassie teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

Bas laughed, urging Rocky forward as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his chin forward to hurry her along, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Cassie shook her head lightly at Bas’s audacity, the reins slipping comfortably through her fingers as Jester paced forward, closing the small gap Rocky had created.

“At least this time,” she said with a teasing edge, “you’re warning me before barging in uninvited.”

“See? Progress. I’m evolving.” Bas turned in his saddle, grinning wide. “Besides… You didn’t say ‘no’.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smirk that tugged at her lips. The golden light of the setting sun played over the soft sway of the field grasses, and for a fleeting moment, she felt grounded. But the reality of the evening ahead loomed heavy in her mind.

“And so, what?” Cass lifted a brow, trying to mask the faint flicker of amusement beneath her skepticism, “There was room for a ‘no’?”

Bas tapped his chin dramatically, his expression the picture of mock deliberation.

“Hm... No. Not really.”

Cassie let out a soft laugh despite herself, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. The wind teased strands of her hair as Jester fell into an easy rhythm beside Rocky.

The young Jones hovered just outside the sleek, glass-fronted building of Venturer, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Under the fluorescent glow of streetlights, the building loomed, its sharp edges and modern facade exuding an intimidating presence. The reflective glass panels mirrored the city’s bustling energy, yet inside, through the transparent walls, she could see a hive of controlled chaos—the newsroom buzzing with purpose even at this late hour.

She shifted on her feet, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, but the tension in her chest made it hard to focus on anything but the daunting scene ahead. Every flicker of movement inside felt magnified, from producers gesturing animatedly to camera operators adjusting equipment with precision. The scale of it all was staggering, a far cry from the quiet solitude of her own investigative work.

Beside her, Bas leaned casually against the edge of a nearby planter, arms crossed and a small, amused smile playing at his lips. His relaxed posture was a sharp contrast to the knots in her stomach.

“Nervous?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her. His tone was light, but there was a knowing quality to it that made Cassie glance his way.

“What gave it away?” she replied dryly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her unease. Her fingers gripped her bag strap tighter, as if it might anchor her to the ground.

“Just a hunch,” Bas chuckled, “Relax… Today they were in a good mood, I doubt that something might have changed that.”

Cassie forced a thin smile but said nothing. Her chest tightened as she glanced back at the building.

Through the transparent walls, she saw the frantic energy that radiated from within—producers huddled over glowing monitors, interns rushing between desks with trays of coffee, and the glow of screens flashing breaking news. It felt like another world entirely, one where every movement had purpose, every glance carried weight.

The atmosphere was completely different from the radio.

It felt like stepping into a different universe, one where every movement had purpose and every glance carried purpose. The controlled chaos of the newsroom was nothing like the quiet intimacy of the radio station she had left behind. That had been a space where her voice had been her only tool, her thoughts carefully constructed before they reached the world.

Here, everything seemed raw, immediate, and relentless.

Her stomach churned as she followed the employees with her eyes. These were people who thrived on the electric buzz of breaking news, the high stakes of live broadcasting.

“There he is,” Bas said suddenly, nodding toward a familiar figure emerging from the revolving doors.

Freddie strode toward them with the steady confidence of someone entirely at home in his domain.

“Right on time,” Her uncle said as he approached. He spared a brief glance at Bas, “What’s going on with Rupert? Lately, it seems like you’ve traded him for Cassie — she’s the one glued to your side now.”

“I like to keep Rupert guessing," Bas grinned, clearly unfazed, ”Besides, he’s been busy these past few days, and, well, someone has to keep me entertained. And she’s much better company.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, “By force. Every time we meet, it’s because you’re either already there or you’ve swung by my place uninvited, luring me out with promises of free food or drinks.”

Bas laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender, “What can I say? I know your weaknesses.”

Freddie shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him.

“Ready?” He asked, his tone gentler now, though his eyes searched hers carefully.

She took a deep breath and nodded, “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Come on. Let’s get you introduced.” Freddie’s expression softened, though his composure remained intact.

He led the way, and Bas gave Cassie a quick pat on the shoulder before falling into step behind them. As they stepped through the revolving doors, the cacophony of the newsroom enveloped her.

The air was thick with the scent of coffee and printer ink, underscored by a persistent buzz of energy that seemed to pulse through the walls. It was electrifying and overwhelming in equal measure.

Cassie’s gaze darted around as they walked deeper into the newsroom. Desks were scattered with papers and half-empty coffee cups, while monitors displayed live feeds and scrolling headlines.

Some employees huddled in intense discussions, their voices blending into a low hum of urgency. While others darted between workstations, their movements swift and purposeful as they carried stacks of papers and trays of drinks.

Every corner of the room seemed alive with purpose, each person contributing to the intricate machinery of Venturer’s operations.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Freddie asked, glancing back at her. His tone was conversational, but there was a hint of pride beneath it.

Cassie nodded, though her stomach churned, “Overwhelming might be the better word.”

“You’ll find your rhythm.” Freddie’s lips curved into a brief smile, “Everyone does.”

As they rounded a corner, Cassie’s attention was drawn to a cluster of monitors displaying various live feeds. One screen showed a rehearsal for an upcoming segment, the anchor’s voice crisp and confident as she practiced her lines. Another displayed vibrant animations breaking down the day’s financial news. The sheer professionalism on display was staggering, and Cassie couldn’t help but feel like an imposter.

They approached a glass-walled studio, where a small group had gathered just outside. Cassie’s pulse quickened as her gaze landed on a tall woman in a sharply tailored blazer. Cameron Cook.

The co-executive producer’s reputation preceded her, and the no-nonsense authority in her posture made Cassie’s nerves spike.

“Ah, our newest addition,” Cameron said as they approached, her tone clipped but polite. Her sharp gaze raked over Cassie in a swift assessment.,“Cassie Jones! Welcome, Cameron Cook.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” Cassie extended her hand, her grip firm despite the tightening in her chest, “But I believe I still have to sign the contract to become the addition.”

“Of course, and soon you will,” Cameron’s smile was brief, a perfunctory gesture that didn’t quite reach her eyes.,“Freddie’s spoken highly of you. Let’s hope you live up to your reputation.”

Before Cassie could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“There she is!” Rupert Campbell-Black strode over, his grin as disarming as ever, “Our rising star.”

Cassie stiffened slightly, but Rupert’s easy charm was hard to resist. He greeted her with the familiarity of an old friend, though they’d barely exchanged more than pleasantries last night.

“You’ve met Cameron,” Rupert said, gesturing toward her before leaning conspiratorially closer to Cassie, “Don’t worry—she’s only terrifying on Wednesdays.”

Cassie’s lips twitched despite herself, though she caught the flicker of irritation in Cameron’s gaze.

“Let’s move along,” Bas cut in smoothly, redirecting the conversation before Rupert could continue his theatrics.

Freddie seized the moment, nodding toward the studio visible through the glass walls, “There’s something I want you to see.”

Cassie followed him into the studio, her heart pounding as she stepped into the epicenter of Venturer’s operations. The space was meticulously organized, every detail fine-tuned for efficiency. The anchor desk gleamed under the studio lights, cameras positioned like sentinels around it. Technicians adjusted microphones and lighting, their movements precise and practiced.

“They’re recording the night’s financial segment,” Freddie explained, his voice low as they stood at the edge of the activity, “You’ll see how everything comes together.”

Cassie watched in awe as the anchor took her place, her composure unwavering. The teleprompter’s glow reflected in her glasses as she scanned her lines one last time. A producer signaled the countdown, and the room fell silent except for the anchor’s voice, steady and authoritative as she began her segment.

Her gaze shifted to the control room visible through another set of glass panels. Inside, directors and producers communicated through headsets, their voices calm yet commanding. Monitors displayed multiple camera angles, graphics overlaying the live feed seamlessly. It was a symphony of coordination, and Cassie felt both awed and intimidated.

On the radio, everything had been raw—immediate. There were no glowing teleprompters or perfectly lit sets.

Her words had to be sharp enough to cut through static, to grab attention without the benefit of polished visuals, in and outside her show. She had relied on her voice alone to hold an audience, to convey urgency and emotion. Here, everything seemed engineered for impact, every detail meticulously arranged to tell the story in high definition.

Everything there circled around her mind as she thought about the invitation to join Venturer. The prospect of stepping into this polished, high-stakes world was both thrilling and terrifying. It was an opportunity she hadn’t dared to imagine—one that could elevate her work, yes, but also tie her name to an institution where everything she did would be under a microscope.

She had seen what her father went through and where it had led him… Was she ready for that?

Freddie glanced around, someone waving at him called his attention. He sighed before turning back to Cassie.

“I need to handle something,” he said, his tone apologetic but firm, “Stay here and watch. This is the best way to understand how we operate.”

He offered her a brief, reassuring smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Before she could reply, Freddie slipped away, weaving through the controlled chaos of the studio. Cassie turned her attention back to the action, though the absence of his steady presence left her feeling exposed. She adjusted her bag strap, trying to ground herself amid the swirl of activity.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Cassie turned to see a young man around her age, standing next to a sleek camera rig. He was tall, with a mop of dark curls that frame a sharp but friendly face. His posture was relaxed, his expression open and inviting, as though he’d seen enough of the world to be confident but not enough to be cynical.

“You’re Cassie Jones, right?” he asked, lifting a brow.

Caught off guard, she nodded, “That’s me.”

He smiled, leaning against the camera rig he was adjusting, “Freddie mentioned you might be joining us. Said you were interested in understanding how it all works—from behind the mic to in front of the camera.”

“Did he now?” Cassie smiled, remembering what she had said to him last night, “He makes me sound more ambitious than I am.”

The cameraman chuckled, shaking his head.

“He didn’t,” he clarified, “Said you’d be a good fit, especially with the way you dig into stories. I had heard of you before and, seeing you now, I don’t doubt him.”

Cassie tilted her head, the compliment both flattering and unnerving. One thing was to hear from her uncle, but it always was strange and new to hear such compliments from faces she had never seen before.

“Thank you,” she said, the words cautious but sincere. Her gaze softened as she added, “I hope you’re right.”

He grinned, pushing himself off the camera rig.

“And you are…” she prompted, letting her words trail off as her curiosity piqued.

“Elliot,” he supplied, offering a quick but genuine smile, “Cameraman, occasional tech support, and unofficial snack hoarder of Venturer Studios. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliot,” Cassie couldn’t help but laugh softly, “I hope we can team up against Rupert’s stash. I hear he guards it like it’s the crown jewels.”

“Oh, he’s relentless about it. But I’ve got my ways,” Elliot grinned, his eyes lighting up with shared humor, “Stick with me, and you’ll have access to the good stuff—chocolate biscuits, crisps, the occasional gourmet coffee. Perks of being the unofficial snack whisperer.”

Cassie chuckled, the playful warmth in his tone easing some of the tension that had been gnawing at her.

“Gourmet coffee, huh?” She nudged his shoulder lightly, “You really know how to win people over.”

“Well,” he said, leaning casually against the camera rig, his gaze lingering on her just a moment longer than necessary, “You don’t strike me as someone who’s easily won over. But I like a challenge.”

Her cheeks warmed at the subtle edge to his words, but she covered it with a light laugh.

“I’ll take that as a compliment—though I should warn you, I’m more of a tea person.”

“Noted,” Elliot replied smoothly, his grin unwavering, “I’ll keep that in mind for the next snack heist.”

Cassie found herself relaxing further, the camaraderie in his tone an unexpected balm to her nerves. She glanced around the studio, her gaze sweeping over the meticulous choreography of Venturer’s operation. The controlled chaos of producers gesturing at screens, the soft murmur of urgent conversations, and the sharp focus of camera operators adjusting equipment—it was daunting and mesmerizing all at once.

“You’re in for a ride, you know?” Elliot said, nodding toward the bustling studio floor. His voice carried an undercurrent of sincerity now, grounding the levity from moments before. “This place doesn’t slow down for anyone. But I think you’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah?” Cassie tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “What makes you say that? My reputation? Bloody Harrier and all?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, “Your reputation, sure. But it’s more than that. You’ve got the look—the kind that makes people stop and listen. Not everyone can pull that off.”

The words were casual, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—an understated confidence, a hint of flirtation that wasn’t overplayed but was impossible to ignore.

Cassie opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a familiar voice cut through the moment with effortless precision.

“Elliot,” Declan O’Hara’s steady baritone cut through the moment, turning both their heads. His presence, even at the edge of the bustling studio, carried an unmistakable authority that made the surrounding activity seem to quiet slightly, “We need you in the control room.”

Elliot straightened from his relaxed stance, flashing Cassie an easy grin before stepping away.

“Duty calls,” he said lightly, giving her a quick wink, “But don’t worry—I’ll keep my word and save you a biscuit for the next heist.”

Cassie managed a small laugh, muttering a thanks as Elliot disappeared into the chaos. The moment of levity he’d offered was gone, replaced by the weight of Declan’s steady presence as he stepped closer.

Her eyes flickered to Declan as he approached, cutting through the controlled chaos of the newsroom with the kind of ease that only came from living in its rhythm. He didn’t rush; his steps were measured, purposeful, as though he knew everything would pause just long enough for him to arrive.

It was impossible to ignore the way the room seemed to tilt in his direction, as if drawn by the quiet gravity he carried.

He wore a dark, tailored suit, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the low studio lights. His tie was loosened just enough to hint at the relentlessness of the day, and there was a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw that Cassie could only describe as deliberate—calculated imperfection.

“Settling in?” Declan’s voice seemed to cut through the noise around them without effort. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, like he’d spent years mastering how to command attention with the bare minimum.

Cassie adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing over the worn leather as she sought an anchor.

“As much as anyone can in ten minutes,” she replied, her tone even, though the edges of her nerves showed.

His lips curved into a faint smile—not enough to soften him, but enough to suggest he’d expected the response.

“Ten minutes is enough to know whether you’re intrigued or terrified,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

“Can’t it be both?” she countered, her voice lighter than she felt.

Declan tilted his head, as if considering her words, “Fair. But I’d guess you’re more intrigued than you’re letting on. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Cassie’s breath caught briefly, the casual certainty in his tone unsettling. It wasn’t arrogance—it was an understanding that felt earned, as if he’d seen her hesitation before she’d even recognized it herself. She straightened slightly, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“Sincerely,” she sighed, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t interrupt. His silence felt deliberate, giving her the space to continue.

“I want to be part of it, truly, despite the outcome,” Cassie confessed, glancing at Declan. “It is the right thing and the right step for my career, but I can’t stop the feeling that I didn’t earn it. My name did, my relation to my uncle and father did it.”

Declan’s expression didn’t shift dramatically, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—not pity, but a quiet intensity, as though he were weighing her words. He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on the desk beside him.

“Maybe the name got you in the door,” he said, his tone calm and deliberate, “But it’s not why you’re still here. That’s on you.”

Cassie’s lips parted as if to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her shoulders sagged, his words settling alongside her own doubts.

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, “Do you know why Crawford hired me? He discovered Freddie is my uncle, that was enough for him to consider giving me a show. He didn’t get to discover about my father, but I can only imagine that he would have considered it quicker.”

Declan stepped to her side, his movements deliberate but not hurried, as though giving her the space to process. When he spoke, his voice was softer, just as yesterday.

“Do you know when I started seeing you?” he asked, searching for her eyes, “It wasn’t when Freddie mentioned someone who could work here—honestly, I don’t even remember him saying your name that day. No, it was when you invaded your ex-colleague’s show and made it your own, two days ago, perhaps?”

Cassie blinked, her brows knitting together in surprise.

“Do you truly mean it?” she asked, her voice hesitant, as if unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer.

Declan’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I do,” he said simply, “It wasn’t just the audacity of it—though I’ll admit, that caught my attention. It was the way you held the room. The way you spoke, not just with conviction, but with care. You weren’t just talking to fill airtime. You had something to say, and people listened.”

Cassie’s throat tightened, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. She didn’t know what to say, so she looked away, her gaze flitting over the newsroom as though it could offer her some escape.

“I know you feel like you didn’t earn it,” Declan continued, his voice steady but low, as though speaking to her and her alone, “That it was handed to you by Freddie. But I’ll tell you this: I’ve been bidding for you since the day you did that last show on Crawford FM. It’s only been a few days, and I know it might sound presumptuous, but I believe in your potential. Not your name. Not your connections. You.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and charged. Cassie felt her lungs drained, lacking oxygen despite her breathing in and out. It wasn’t the anxiety this time, but something else, something sharper and more difficult to define.

Slowly, she turned back to him, her gaze meeting his.

The sincerity in his tone unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She searched his face for something—arrogance, calculation, or even flattery, as most of the men in their field would pursue—but there was none.

Just a steady conviction that made her feel simultaneously seen and exposed.

What am I even doing here? The question clawed at her thoughts. The newsroom buzzed with a purpose she wasn’t sure she could match, the weight of expectations pressing down on her chest. She wanted to believe Declan’s words, to let them pull her out of the mire of self-doubt, but the shadows of her past choices lingered.

Her mind raced back to Crawford FM—the nights she spent pouring over documents, the restless urgency of exposing what everyone else seemed content to ignore. It had been exhilarating and terrifying, a tightrope walk where one misstep could cost her everything. And now, here was Declan O’Hara, a man whose reputation was built on sharp instincts and unshakable confidence, telling her she was worth the gamble.

“Why?” she asked, “I did ask you this yesterday, when you were in my house, I believe. If not, I’m asking now. Why do you believe in me? You had said yourself that you had only searched about me, like—two days ago.”

It felt strange, vulnerable even, to ask such a thing outright. But she had to know.

Declan’s lips curved into a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes but felt genuine nonetheless.

“Because what I heard that day wasn’t a name or a legacy.” He shrugged, as if he was saying the simplest thing in the world, “It was someone who cared enough to find the truth and tell it, no matter the cost. That’s what matters. That’s what lasts.”

For a moment, Cassie couldn’t speak. The weight in her chest shifted, lighter now, letting the oxygen fill her lungs despite the lingering pressure in them. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she straightened.

Declan’s words lingered, resonating in a place she didn’t know existed—a fragile space between doubt and possibility. She wanted to dismiss him, to chalk up his praise to strategy or manipulation, but there was nothing in his demeanor that suggested pretense.

Her mind raced back to the endless hours at Crawford FM. The nights she burned through research, the relentless pace of deadlines, the way her chest tightened every time she hit “send” on a risky story. The way she learned to steel herself against the inevitable pushback.

It had been lonely, exhausting work, but it had been hers. She wasn’t sure if Venturer—or Declan—was ready for someone like her, or if she was ready for what they might expect.

And yet, his words wouldn’t leave her.

“You’re not afraid that I’ll ruin what you’ve built?” Cassie glanced at him, her gaze sharp, “That bringing me on will taint Venturer’s reputation? You’ve just escaped from someone like Tony Baddingham. I don’t exactly have a clean slate myself.”

Declan’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he seemed to grow more resolute. He leaned in, his voice low but unwavering.

“If I worried about reputations, Cassie, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would you.”

She held his gaze, searching for cracks in his conviction, but found none. There was something almost disarming about how steady he was, how unshaken by her doubts.

“What I care about,” Declan continued, “is the work. The truth. You’ve proven you care about that too, even when it costs you. That’s the kind of person I want on my team.”

A knot formed in Cassie’s chest, her breath catching as a tangle of emotions surged within her—gratitude, fear, hope, doubt. It was rare to hear someone speak about her with such unwavering certainty, and rarer still to believe it might be true. Lately, the only ones who had been her constant pillars were Freddie, Lizzie, and Bas.

In the past few months, they had been the steady figures in her life—the ones who knew her best, who saw her struggles without needing explanations. So, having someone who had once been a distant figure, a name on a screen, now looking at her with such unwavering trust felt surreal.

It was disorienting, this shift from admiration to recognition, from idol to… She didn’t know yet how to label him.

But it was different, it was nice.

“Do you already have a contract?” she asked suddenly, interrupting her own thoughts this time.

Declan didn’t answer right away, he narrowed his eyes at her figure as he tried to understand what she meant by the random question. Yet, when their eyes met again, there were no doubts left in his expression, only certainty.

As in hers.

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