She hated waiting. It was never a virtue she learned to perfect but in this case she did. But it was taking so long for Philip to make a move—any move.

Waiting for her phone to ring or her door to rattle with a knock was plain agony on her part.

Cassandra finally reached the acceptance phase of her grief by the end of the second week. She finally accepted that Philip would not come to her and beg her to come back. It hurt. Hell, it hurt more than that time she found out her father willingly gave her away. But she had to face it.

She never answered any calls from anyone, not even her mother or Chanty, who seemed to sense like there was something going on because she had been sending her text messages asking if she and Philip were okay.

She never replied, not intending to.

Her mother was the first to panic when she learned that she was back to her own house.

"Mom, I am fine. Philip and I just had a fight. That's all. I need some time to be on my own and think," she told her over the phone.

But she knew her mother would not just stop there.

The next day, Cassandra found her father at her doorsteps.

She sighed, opening the door wider. "Dad. If you're here to beg me to go back to him and pretend that we are okay like what we've been trying to act all these months, this is not your lucky day."

"Let's go for a drink, shall we?" her father said with an awkward smile.

"Say whatever you have to say," she said an hour later. She and her father found a silent pub near her place and they were down to their second bottle.

Kurt Anders sighed and leaned back against his chair. He took his precious time to look at his daughter in the eye and a gentle smile slowly formed on his face. "I am not going to force you to go back to him. What I did months ago was the first and last. Now that everything's over, now that everything's been taken care of, you are free to do whatever you want, Cassy."

She frowned. "What do you mean everything's over? What has been taken care of? Oh, wait, I don't know." She shot him a sarcastic look as she said that. "Because no one cared to tell me the truth. He gave me the divorce papers. That must mean your chess game is over earlier than expected, right? And he told me you will tell me the truth once it is."

Her father leaned forward and looked at her patiently, confusion flashing on his face at her mention of the chess game but he did not ask about it. Instead, he sighed and held her gaze. "I was in deep, serious trouble last year. I made deals with the wrong people and before I knew it, I was trapped. It was never in my plan to be tangled with such dangerous people."

"Dangerous?"

"At first I didn't know. They just came to me and asked if I would be willing to provide them with a packing service."

"What do you mean, dad? You sell plastics for a living."

"I was," he said, "Until last year when I said yes to these guys and packed their goods for them."

Cassandra stared at her father in disbelief. Her eyes widened and she hissed, "You're telling me there are illegal goods inside your plastics?"

"It was too late when I found out," her father hissed back, his face red.

"What the hell, dad!" she cried out, horrified.

Her father looked away from her guiltily. "I didn't know! It was only when I noticed a lot of discrepancies with the product shipping that I started investigating. And when the result of such investigation came, I was already in serious trouble."

"Dad," she said, leaning forward, her voice a whisper, "are you telling me you worked with people like the Mafia?"

Her father just stared at her.

"Oh my god. They were the mafia? The freaking mafia?"

"Keep your voice down," her father ordered. He looked around before he leaned closer. "Not the Mafia, but another fast-growing organized crime."

"Oh my God. That does not make it any better!"

"I know."

"And where does Philip fit in in all this?"

Her father's eyes faltered before he sighed. "Strindberg Enterprises owns a shipping company."

Cassandra groaned and slumped lower in her seat. "Great. Just great. What a great strike of luck!"

"Philip realized the problem and was about to report to the authorities but I begged him not to."

Cassandra groaned again. "Can this get any worse?"

Her father ignored her. "If he did that, I'd be going down with everyone else, Cassandra. And so I approached him and asked for a bargain."

"What bargain?"

Kurt Anders swallowed his beer before he continued. "At first he refused, saying he has his own people and that I can go to hell."

"Typical Philip, of course," she wryly noted.

"But one day he called me up and his tone changed. He said he needed my help after all."

She frowned. "How?"

Her father shrugged. "It seems that the men I have been working with have been under the government's radar and the man Philip is working with wants everything they he can get to wipe the group clean. They've been able to slip through their fingers for lack of concrete proof of their organized crimes."

Finally everything dawned on her and she slowly nodded. "And you are the only one close enough to give the good guys what they need."

His father nodded. "And so I bargained with Philip. I give them what they want but in return he takes you in as his wife."

"To keep me safe?"

"That and to keep the men we work with from suspecting our every move. They've been watching Philip closely but if Philip took you in as his wife, he is marrying into our family and my bad business. He will be in too deep with no escape."

Cassandra scoffed. "Ah, the psychology of bad business. You should write a book about it. You guys seem to be the expert on the field."

Her father did not appreciate her sarcasm. "I did everything I could to keep you and your mother safe. And save the business."

"And Philip did what he did to save his own. Great teamwork!" When her father remained silent, she asked, "Are those the guys you talked with in the party? The bad business partners?"

He nodded.

"Great," she said, shaking her head. "And Henry Bell is the good guy from the government?"

He nodded again.

"Wow. Glad I did not get any spoilers. This fucking story is amazing!"

She finally understood everything. Philip's obsession on keeping her locked inside his home and on shadowing her around. He was simply keeping his end of the bargain.

Cassandra was silent for a very long time. Her father looked at her, anxiously waiting.

"I don't see why you couldn't tell me this months ago," she finally said, her voice free of any hint of whatever she was feeling. Scratch that—she couldn't bring herself to feel anything because she was numb. "I could have helped you more than just blindly getting married to someone."

"What could you have done, Cassandra? I couldn't do anything back then. Philip entered into a business deal with the people I worked with. It was too late when he found out. When he did, everything just went crazy and I had to choose which side to play with. I chose his. His friend works for the government and they needed my help. I could give them everything they need to throw the organization to prison but I did not agree to help unless you and your mother were safe. Marrying into the Strindbergs was the best solution at that point both for Philip and our family.

"If it was not for his friend, we could have ended up in jail because everything pointed back to us. It took a lot of professional skills to wipe my slate clean and throw those bastards in prison. It is not even coming out in the news because that is how serious those people are."

"No, it is not coming in the news because it will be bad for both you and Philip. Your businesses will suffer after such big mess," she corrected.

Honestly, she was tired. She was too tired to reason with her dad. She was tired of waiting. She had been waiting for Dennis to wake up for two years. She had been waiting for her dad to trust her with the truth. She had been waiting for Philip to...to what? Do something for them? He had done enough.

Why would he? He just solved the biggest business obstacle and now he was back in action!

"But are you sure everything's okay now? No bad guys will come knocking on our doors for vengeance?"

Her father nodded his head before he finished his beer. "They're still doing some surveillance. It will last for a couple more weeks. Don't worry, they are pretty good people you will barely know they are there."

"You mean there are people lurking outside my home right now checking if I am still alive?"

"Checking is the right word." Her father stared at her intently and she immediately knew what was coming. "You left Philip's house. We agreed that he'll keep you safe for six months."

"I left because I wanted to and because he served me the divorce papers. What do you think I should have done? Demanded that I get his house and kick him out instead?"

The slight twitch on her father's mouth surprised her.

"You're laughing at me. Why?"

"I never actually thought you'd learn to love the man, Cassandra."

"Come on, dad. You are the only person who knows that's impossible."

"Then why do you look like a mess?"

She arched her eyebrow. "You think I look like this because of Philip?" she asked in feign horror. "These," she said, pointing at the dark circles under her eye with two fingers, "are the products of months living with that man and being manipulated by the both of you!"

Kurt Anders just smiled at her. "Let me know if the two of you plan to tell everyone about our secret. I want to make sure that your mother will not have a heart attack."

"There's no use. We can just go with it as planned. We continue on with the divorce and no one will have to see each other again."

"The Strindbergs will demand for an explanation. And your mother deserves to know the truth. She has been thinking of baby names lately."

"Oh God," she groaned. "But shouldn't you be the one to tell them everything? You and Philip?"

Her father just smiled. He took out some bills and stood up. "Just tell me if the two of you decide to tell everyone the truth."

"You're part of this too, aren't you? Why would you live that to us?"

Kurt Anders shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his daughter with amusement. "Because you might choose to live the lie?"

Her father left her in the pub feeling even more confused and angry. That was it? They had some beers and he told her the truth and he was gone? Just like that?

What the hell!

*****

By the time she finally calmed down—more like became numb—she finally decided to leave. Leave like work. Work like teaching children how to paint somewhere. Somewhere like far away. Away like no freaking Mafia-like groups. Away like no Philip.

No Philip meant no family to deal with and lie to. No Philip meant starting all over again.

Going away would be the only thing that could take her mind off him. And that would be the only thing that she could make it hard for him to reach her to serve her another set of divorce papers.

He could chase her all he wanted, but she was not staying to wait for him to hand her the papers. He'd have to go after her, she thought.

Only Toni, her manager, knew where she would be going. Her mother didn't have any idea—for all she cared, they still thought she would be back in that blasted house with her husband. Harrison was quite busy with his work, so she did not bother sharing the news.

Cassandra knew what she was doing was close to running away, but she didn't care. She had to get away to think, to be with herself in a place she felt at home. Of course it was not like being home with Philip, but it was the closest thing.

She was packing her bag late the night before she was to leave when she heard something crack from the living room. She stiffened, ready to hide behind the door of her bedroom. Her defensive instinct to be safe was in full throttle all of a sudden.

If his father and Philip thought that they won the game against those men, then they might just be wrong.

She searched her room for her phone and realized she left it in the kitchen. Shit.

What should she do now?

Slowly, she made her way to the door to listen. It could just be a cat, she hoped. But cats don't have footsteps like humans, right?

And that was when she heard hissing and angry whispers. What the hell, more than one intruder? How the hell could I handle that?

Part of her mind wanted the intruder to be Philip because, if that were so, she knew she would not be in danger. He would be in danger with what she could physically do to him with her nails, her feet, her teeth and even the kitchen knife. But the angry whispers told her it was not her husband.

She was in the process of thinking if she should attack or grab her phone to call the police when she heard a very distinct voice she recognized.

"What the hell, we can shout all we want here. Why are we whispering anyway? Cassandra's not home. She's with Philip."

What the hell! Angelica? Cassandra couldn't believe it. How did the lady know she lived here?

"Shut up and be quiet. We can't be too careless. This was your fault," a familiar voice replied, not bothering to whisper.

Henry? Henry Bell? Okay, so she didn't know the guy that well but she was sure it was him. If it was in a better circumstance, she would be in the phone calling Chanty to confirm the gossip.

"What? It's my fault? Who almost got killed if I didn't save him? Was it me? No, mister, it was you," Angelica retorted.

Without hesitating, Cassandra opened her bedroom door and said, "What the hell are you two doing inside my house?"

She heard Angelica gasp and Henry, who was sitting on a chair, his form silhouetted by the darkness of the room, his left hand grasping his right shoulder, shot to his feet in a fighting stance. Cassandra was taken aback. Henry Bell looked exactly how Chanty painted him to be weeks ago. Cassandra saw met the man merely twice: on her wedding day and her father's birthday party. And on both occasions she had never imagined him to be looking haggard, full of sweat, wearing dirty shirt and torn pants, and his hair looked like he came from cleaning chimneys.

"Cassandra!" Angelica exclaimed. She turned her eyes away from Henry and took a step back with shock when she saw the red-haired mess standing there beside the man.

"Angelica, what the hell happened to you?"

"Let me explain—" Henry started, but Angelica cut him off, saying, "We need your help now that you're here," as she brushed her messy—with specks of ashes—hair away from her face.

She never noticed that her mouth had fallen open. She shook her head, trying to test if she was just dreaming. "What the hell is going on? Henry, are you hurt?" She peered through the darkness to see his face.

Anyone could easily point out that he was. His hand was covered with blood! Yeah, it was dark but she was pretty sure it was blood dripping down his hand.

"No, I'm fine," he obviously lied.

"No, you're not," Angelica snapped at him. "Look," her friend walked forward. The torn white pants, the boots and the bloody gray shirt were scandalous for Angelica's standard. "Cass, we can't explain everything. I don't even know if I understand the whole thing myself, but I—we—really need you to keep this thing to yourself. Don't tell anyone about what you saw, or what you are about to see. Please."

Cassandra just stood there for a long time before she finally nodded, her thoughts not muddled but completely empty. "If you don't tell anyone you saw me here," she negotiated.

Angelica's curiosity took over. "And why are you here again? I thought you are married and living with Philip?"

"It's complicated," she answered, not willing to give out that much information.

"Angelica," Henry called out, his black eyes seriously telling the two ladies that he was hurting.

"Yes, yes, I'll get to it!" Angelica snapped at him and looked back at Cassandra. "I need hot water, clean towels, and a first aid kit."

"Uh, sure," was all Cassandra had for an answer. Her mind was still adapting to the sudden events inside her home—and the look of the two people who intruded inside it—when she made her way to the bathroom to get what Angelica asked for.

"Hey, stop whining like a baby," Angelica was saying when Cassandra got back with everything. Her friend was in the process of trying to cut Henry's shirt with the kitchen scissors.

"Why do you have to cut it? Are you crazy? I don't have a spare shirt!"

"Are you the doctor here?' Angelica asked him.

Cassandra was getting startled as seconds clicked by. She never saw Henry acting like that, never imagined it. He had always been cool and collected.

A thought crossed her mind about what her father told her yesterday. One of Philip's friends had helped her father with his business troubles with the bad guys (she could never bear to call them the Mafia because it sounded something snatched out of a freaking movie). And he confirmed it was Henry Bell.

So he is not one of the bad guys? He's from the government?

And what about Angelica? Why was she with him? She never saw Angelica so out of poise and dirty except that time when she arrived smelling like garbage before Willie's party.

"Where have you two been and why are you—oh my God, you're shot!" She cried out in horror when she finally saw Henry's shoulder.

Okay, Henry was definitely working for the action-packed department of the government. But which one?

"Yes, he is. Now, stop asking questions," Angelica told her, taking the towels from her hand.

"What the hell, this is really crazy!"

"Yeah, that's the first thing that came to my mind when I found out," Angelica said sarcastically.

"Found out what?"

"Cass, please, no questions."

"Okay, okay," she placed the basin on the nearest table and went to where the switches for the lights were. "How can you work with that wound if the lights are out?" she asked, about to raise her hand to turn on the switch.

"No!" both her visitors cried in unison.

"No lights," Henry ordered.

"Yes, no lights, Cass," Angelica agreed.

"This is really getting weird, you know that?"

"Tell me about it," Angelica said, rolling her eyes, back to working Henry's wound.

"Since you two are not so glad to talk about what's been going on, I think I'll go back to my task. Just call me when you need something." She had to get away to think and collect her thoughts.

"Thanks, Cass," Angelica said gratefully.

"Thank you," Henry was able to utter through clenched teeth. "Means a lot," he added with a wink.

Okay, maybe he was still the Henry Bell she knew him to be after all. Or not.

*****

"Hey," Angelica peeked in her doorway as she was about to close her suitcase. Her friend frowned when she saw what she was doing. "You're leaving?"

Cassandra did not answer. "You need fresh clothes? I have some in my closet if you want. You look like hell, Ange," she retorted instead, changing the topic.