Words escaped her and none came out of her mouth.

Cassandra stared at the papers like they were her archenemy. She despised the sight of them. She wanted them to burn right in Philip's hand and he could burn with them as well because she hated him right that moment.

He appeared calm and collected like that time he appeared in front of her in the coffee shop.

"This is probably what you wanted to talk about, right?" he said.

"W-what?" she stuttered in a whisper, her mind busy trying to stop the tears that were trying to break free.

"Dennis is awake and obviously wants you back. I can talk with your father. I don't see any threat coming my way or yours now that Henry is almost done with his job."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I needed you for a wife to protect myself, my family and the business. Believe it or not, marrying you was the only way to save myself from some enemies."

"Philip, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Your father can explain everything. By the time the divorce is finalized, your father and I will have won our game of chess and you will get your answers."

Her mouth fell open, her mind muddled, confused.

He looked at her for a brief moment before adding, "I don't think I need you anymore, Cass." He placed the papers on the nearest table and with his crutches limped his way to his office.

Scream, her mind ordered, but her tongue held her back.

Two balls of tears escaped her eyes. Her lips trembled to stop the rest from falling because she couldn't break down now. She couldn't even open her mouth without whimpering.

A strong force was wrenching her heart and she couldn't breathe at all. Her knees wobbled and she steadied herself on the table, her hands right on top of the papers. She snatched them, balling her hand with what was left of her strength and pushed away from the table, willing herself to turn and walk. She needed to go to her room. There, she could cry and break down.

Go, Cassandra, go, another voice ordered.

No, go knock on that door and say the words, a contradicting thought said.

But with a whimper, she followed the first voice and forced herself to take the steps up the stairs and there she cried like a child. But she cried silently, muffling the sounds with her pillows.

What a freaking day.

She went to reject Dennis and came home to be rejected. And she wasn't even able to make her proposal yet!

By the time her tears drained dry, Philip's words ran around her mind.

I don't think I need you anymore, Cass...

And so Cassandra ordered herself to get up.

*****

She took his car. He could rot in that house with his crutches and she wouldn't care.

Bargaining, denial, and acceptance could come later. Right now she was just plain angry—angry at him, and herself mostly. How could she have been stupid to think he'd want to keep her? When did she start to forget that he married her for a reason? And when did she start hoping that he might not want to let her go?

Yes, she could have walked right up to him and talk some sense, but a lot of things ran around her head. Maybe he was itching to get her out of his life. Didn't he say that he and her father were winning the game?

And winning was everything for Philip, right? However he used her, for whatever reason he used her, he won and like the many pawn pieces of his secret chess game, she had just been kicked out of the game.

Or maybe he thinks you wanted out, one part of her brain said, that ever hopeful part of her who wanted Philip so badly.

And what about last night? What, it was just a goodbye camping trip? The memory of last night was what made her angry and the reason why she left as he suggested.

"What a moron!" she grumbled, stepping on the gas. She left behind her things. They could rot with him as well.

All she took with her were the divorce papers—her worst nightmare.

Suddenly, she felt lost. And unlike most girls, she got no real girl friends she could call for comfort. Yes, there was Chanty, but calling her would be just stupid. And there was Angelica, but the lady would only either jump with joy or snap at her for leaving.

Harrison and her family were out of the question.

Shit. Family.

How would they react?

She couldn't trouble over it right now though. First, she had to go back home—to her original home where she'd be alone—and think. She couldn't act harshly just because she was angry, right? She threw a quick glance at the papers lying beside her.

He had them prepared. Always the conniving, one-step-ahead-of-the-game son of a bitch!

Philip saw this was coming. He anticipated it. He made it possible because he freaking planned for this a long time ago! And now he thought it was the perfect time to give them to her because what, Dennis woke up?

Always the conniving, one-step-ahead-of-the-game son of a bitch indeed!

The constant pang in her chest hurt every time she thought of her husband, slash, soon-to-be-ex-husband-if-she-signed-the-papers. Their time together may not have been perfect, but it invaded most of her memories more than the years spent with Dennis. She had been through a lot because of her husband—and most of them were usually happy in most ways.

Memories of their first meeting, their wedding, their honeymoon, their days inside his house, babysitting, those moments when they did nothing but stare up the stars, their camping trips... there were a lot of memories she could barely handle them without her heart aching with the thought that there would be no more them. No banters and snappy remarks. No Philip to eat her horrible cooking. No Philip to carry her home whenever she was intoxicated. No Philip who would get angry whenever she got a call from Harrison. No Philip to nag her about the toothpaste.

No Philip.

And no Philip was like Cain without Abel or David without Goliath—the pairs were not perfect, but one couldn't be defined without the other and in Cassandra's mind that was what she and Philip were.

*****

Ever felt like you were Atlas? Ever imagined how it would feel having that humongous weight on your shoulders and the pain radiates to your heart you could barely breathe? Ever thought of carrying that wherever you go?

That was precisely what Cassandra felt. But it was not the world she was carrying, but the cluster of emotions she could not thoroughly express—the hurt, the anger, the love.

Part of her hated herself. She could have taken the risk of telling him the way she planned it. But most part of her told her to stay at home and get over it, sign the damned papers and...and what? Go on living like a zombie? Because that was what she had been doing for like a week now. She was a living dead rotting inside the confines of her own home. The home she had loved before she met Philip but now just felt like some cheap motel room that offered no comfort or security.

And it was not like Cassandra to be sleeping the day doing nothing.

Get up, you stupid girl, her strong side urged almost every day.

But she gave in to the helplessness and the depression. She knew she was just going through a phase and it would be over soon.

She was practically lying on her carpeted floor just staring at the far corner of her room like a crazy drunk when in fact she did not get an ounce of alcohol when her phone rang.

She did not get up. She didn't even know where she threw her mobile phone.

But it persisted, irritating her. She was loving the smell of her carpet and was in the process of creating some picture for a painting, but it was shattered because of the noise.

So she pushed herself up and stood up, feeling quite dizzy by the sudden change of position, and looked for her phone. She found it and punched the green button. "What?" she snapped.

"Are you okay? You sound tired," Chanty's voice asked with concern.

"Yes, I'm okay," she rolled her eyes.

"Well, anyway, I have news for you," her sister-in-law, slash, soon-to-be-ex-sister-in-law-if-she-signed-the-papers, the very same ones lying there on the floor with her, said with excitement. "Are you alone? Is Philip with you?"

Oh, so he did not break the news yet? Great. What a moron. "Yes, I'm alone. Completely alone," she said dryly.

"Okay, so you would not believe this one. I just found out who Ange is dating!"

"Who?" she asked, not really interested. She was too eager to drop the phone and go back on that carpet and dream. She knew she looked horrible and her hair was all over the place, but she didn't care.

"Henry Bell! Can you believe it?" Chanty squealed.

"Uh, no," she frowned. "But I thought you said she was dating someone rugged-looking?"

"I know, right? But then, I really bumped into them just this morning and I got a good look at him. I don't really know Henry that well—only seen him during parties—but I knew it was him! But get this: it looked like he was not that glad to see me! And Ange was in shock like she wanted to hide. It was just so weird."

"They're probably trying to hide it," she said.

"Maybe, but anyways, why don't you come over? I'm baking a cake."

"Uh, I have some work to do," she lied.

"Where's Philip anyway?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen him in a week," she said truthfully.

She got the reaction she expected. Chanty laughed. "Funny, Cass. Is he working his ass off and ignoring you again?"

"Yeah, I guess that's it," she nodded.

"Well, I hope he gets better soon. And call me when he's free of his crutches so we can come by and celebrate."

"Uh, sure," she nodded. "Hey, I really need to go now."

"Okay, talk to you soon?"

"Sure," she gulped the tears. She loved Chanty like she was her real sister. Turning off her phone, she threw it on her bed.

The tears pooled her eyes and she didn't stop them this time. It would be better if they emptied themselves fast. She needed her old life back if she had to sign those damned papers soon. She walked right where they were spread out on the floor and stared at them coldly.

*****

She was just about to grab a pen and sign them when her house phone rang.

Her thoughts halted, freezing her on the floor. No one knew she was home. No one except Philip.

Her heart started to hammer. She hated the effects he had on her! She stormed out of her room, ready for battle. Whatever he had to say, she'd face it. What the hell, she was acting like a crazy person, acting so depressed one moment and being an Amazonian soldier the next.

She grabbed the ringing phone and shouted, "What the hell do you want, Philip?"

"Uh, Ms. Cassandra?" it was a woman's voice.

Shit. "What?" she snapped.

"Mr. Strindberg asked me to call you. This is his lawyer's secretary."

Cassandra's face was drained of blood—or what was left of it. What the hell. Even Henry wouldn't want to deal with her now, is that it? "What does he want?"

"He is asking if you already signed the papers?"

Again, daggers through the heart, and again, ouch, that hurt like hell. "I was about to attack the damned papers with a pen when you rang. Tell him I'll deliver them tomorrow. Personally. And tell him I won't give it back unless I'm face to face with his stupid, kill-worthy face, understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Cassandra—" she did not hear any more of the woman's voice because she shouted, "I am still freaking Mrs. Strindberg!" and slammed the phone down.

Cassandra took a deep breath to calm herself. She had to think. She had to get back on track and think. "What a stupid, stupid—urgh! Idiot!" she shouted, her whole being shaking.

You can't let him go...you have to get him this time!

Shit, that was something Angelica would do. She would go after Philip like a crazy bitch.

Yes, do that. Show him what you are capable of.

Right. Yes, she had to give it a try—just one try and she would be fine.

Composing herself, she slowly walked back to her room, thinking. What could she do?

Then an idea punched her in the face.

Okay, that's a fantastic one, she grinned and ran the rest of the space to where the divorce papers were lying on the floor. She hurriedly picked them up and walked to her studio. Philip could bring hell to earth with what she was about to do, but she didn't care.

*****

Cassandra took a bath and dressed her usual outfit of shorts, t-shirt, and boots the very next day. She wanted to be fresh when she met with Philip today.

Before leaving, she looked down at the papers. What she did with them would tell him what she really wanted. She would not say the words. What she did was enough for him to understand and if he would not get it, that would be the end of it.

With renewed strength, she walked to his car and drove.

Again, memories ran through her mind. She was getting used to them. Even that pang of hurt was starting to get tolerable. It told her she was human and what she was going to do was right. The hurt told her she was doing the right thing because it reminded her that she had to address it—that she had to do something to make it go away.

She wanted this. She wanted him. And she was giving him one chance. Yes, just one. He'd be stupid not to take it.

*****

She rang the bell, not intending to go straight right in. She still had the keys, but she didn't want to get inside unless she'd be staying for good—unless he invited her in with the offer of spending the rest of their crazy lives together.

She heard his crutches from the other side and her heart couldn't help but hammer.

You can back out now. Now's the time for that.

No, you moron. Stay and face this.

She chose the latter suggestion of her brain and stayed, anticipation rising up. She felt him standing behind the door, but it took him a lot of time to open it. And when they did, she was almost ready to jump in his arms and beg. But that would never happen. No, Cassandra never begged for anything. She had too much pride to do that.

Instead, she held her place, her hands at her back, holding the thing he had asked for. Their gazes locked and hope crept up to her when she saw longing flash before his eyes before it turned blank at his will. Why did he need to make things difficult?

He looked tired. Like, really tired with bags under his eyes, and she wanted to think it was because of her. His face was unshaven, his dark brown hair a mess. Well, that's a good thing. If he was looking all so fresh, she would have clawed on his face.

And seeing him still in crutches, she wanted to cry. She wanted to be taking care of him until he was fine. Until he could walk normally again and be the one doing the caring. She wanted to take care of him until he could drive again and she could ride shotgun now that she was over the fear. She wanted to know how that would feel—to be able to share a ride with him behind the wheel while she was sitting in that passenger side feeling no fear. They were not able to do that. And they wouldn't be able to do that if he would not take her.

They did not say a word for a very long time, but Cassandra cleared her throat and started by saying, "I brought them," her voice was hoarse.

Philip just nodded, his eyes still blank.

Knowing she would not be hearing anything from him, she asked, "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. You look good yourself," he said without emotion.

"Yeah, I just had a shower." She rolled her eyes, then that silence reigned once again. Okay, small talk wouldn't work. She finally willed her hands from her back and held them out to him.

The frown on his face which she had expected appeared. "What's that?"

"Our divorce papers. I thought you wanted them back."

"What the hell did you do to them?" he asked, anger in his voice.

Yep, typical Philip reaction. Cassandra raised one eyebrow and said, "This is all I could think of. I hope you get the message." She pushed the canvas into his hands and backed off.

He looked at the canvas in shock.

She tore the freaking papers to pieces and made a collage out of it. It was a tent—a black-and-white collage of a tent. His mouth was open as he looked at her work.

"Think about it, Philip. This is the only chance I'm giving you."

"What?" he asked, snapping his head up to glare at her.

"I have to go," she said without answering the question. She had to get away because she didn't want to cry in front of him.

She climbed back in his car and drove away, not looking back. She knew he was still standing in that doorway. He could be angry for all she cared. He could come after her if he could find another ride.

Right now, it was all up to him.

All she had to do was wait.