Page 17 of Double Standards

Chapter Seven

The following morning comes far too quickly, dragging daylight into a night that never really ended. I haven’t slept a wink. I spent the entire time tossing and turning beneath tangled sheets, my mind running in circles—how do I get out of this? How do I make it all go away?I always have an answer, a workaround, a fix. But this time, I come up with nothing but silence.

I peel myself out of bed slowly, every muscle aching from exhaustion. My hand rubs at my tired, swollen eyes as I glance to the empty space beside me. Cooper never came to bed and that forces a weight to settle on my chest. We're growing distant, and I know it. I can feel the space widening between us like a fault line, subtle but dangerous. Taking this case, being around Axel, being immersed in this tangle of lies and tension—it’s like I’m willingly pushing the wedge in deeper. And the worst part? I’m not sure I have it in me to stop it.

“Morning,” comes Cooper’s voice, quiet and careful from the doorway.

I turn. He looks rough—hair a mess, dark circles carved under his eyes. He looks exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

“I didn’t hear you come home last night,” he says, stepping closer.

“I went for drinks with Jada,” I lie easily, but even I wince at how flat and disconnected I sound.

“You have a good time?” he asks, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his voice strained, like he already knows the answer doesn’t matter.

“Yeah,” I answer with a weak smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. It feels like there’s something invisible pressing between us. Not quite anger, not quite resentment. Just distance.

“I’m not gonna ask why you have this.”

Cooper suddenly pulls a brown file out from behind his back—the same one Axel gave me—and places it on the bed between us like it’s radioactive. My stomach lurches.

“Just be careful, Cass.” His voice is firm, but there’s something else under it. Disappointment? Fear?

I don’t have the chance to decipher it further because he’s gone, walking out of the room without looking back, leaving me staring at his retreating figure like I’m watching the last piece of something important fall away.

It’s not just the file that has my anxiety coiled tight anymore. It’s the thought of Cooper—of what he might’ve seen, what he might suspect. I should’ve hidden it better. Locked it away. But I didn’t, and now it feels like I’ve handed over pieces of something fragile without realizing it was already cracking.

I reach for the file slowly, like it might detonate, then trace the edge with my fingertips before flipping it open.

Phone bills. Encrypted emails filled with blackmail. Transcripts of late-night conversations from an unknown number. Some dates are circled, others highlighted. There’s a pattern here—I just can’t see it yet.

What the fuck.

My blood runs cold. These aren’t just random pieces of information. This is evidence. And if Axel gave it to me, then it’s his lifeline—his proof. His way out. Which only means onething: someone’s trying to frame him, and I’m standing right in the crosshairs.

It’s too much. Too heavy. Too early on a Saturday morning to be staring down the barrel of something this dangerous. So I do the only thing I can—run.

I lace up my shoes and bolt from the apartment like the air’s turned toxic.

The cool wind stings my face as my feet pound the pavement, slicing through my skin and driving the panic deeper into my bones. But it helps. It always helps. Each step is a distraction, each breath a reset. My thoughts don’t matter here. Only movement does.

I round the corner and veer into the park at the end of the road. I slow at the crossing, glancing around with a nervous twitch. A shiver slides down my spine, but it’s not from the crisp morning air—it’s something else. A presence.

I scan the sidewalk. Left. Right.

Nothing.

Still, the feeling follows me as I cut through the winding trail of the park. Like someone just behind me, just out of sight. It could be paranoia, or maybe it’s instinct. At this point, I’m not sure there’s a difference.

The chill stays with me even after I leave the park and my street comes into view. My pace falters as a sleek black SUV rolls up beside me, the tinted window lowering with a quiet hum.

“Cassie.”

I freeze.

Axel says my name like a statement. Or a warning.

His eyes lock onto mine through the open window—dark, sharp, and unreadable. They scan me slowly, lingering in a way that makes my skin prickle under my damp clothes. I catch the flicker of approval in his expression as his gaze drags from my legs up to my chest. He doesn’t even try to hide it.