Chapter 7 - The Encounter at the DinerThree days later, I had business across town and stopped by a modest, 24-hour diner for a late-night lemon tea. I was wearing a simple cashmere coat, far away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi, enjoying a rare moment of absolute peace.
The bell above the diner door chimed.
I didn't look up, but the familiar sound of ragged breathing and heavy footsteps made me pause. A shadow fell across my booth.
"Cassidy?"
I raised my eyes. Standing beside my table was Brendan.
Good lord, he looked unrecognizable. His hair was unwashed and matted, his designer suit rumpled and stained with street grime. He looked hollowed out, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, clutching a cheap plastic grocery bag containing whatever few clothes he had managed to salvage.
"Please," Brendan choked out, his voice cracking as he gripped the edge of my booth. He looked around frantically to make sure no one was listening before sinking awkwardly to his knees on the sticky diner floor. "Cassidy, please. I’m begging you. Drop the charges. Call your lawyers."
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I took a slow sip of my tea, not breaking eye contact. "My lawyers only take instructions from me, Brendan. And I haven't given them any reason to help you."
"We were married!" he sobbed pathetically, a tear carving a clean path through the dirt on his cheek. "We share a history! I... I loved you, in my own way! Can’t you show a little mercy? Just give me enough to get an apartment—just something!"
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