Cassian PoV
I sighed and glanced back at Shelly. Not again. I went ahead and acted like a jerk in front of her. At this rate, she would never see me as anything other than a pervert. How would my plan to seduce her ever succeed?
Maybe Mom and Isabella were right. My plan seemed good on paper, but I was the worst person to do it. I wasn't exactly a player. I was a playboy in name only. Women were the ones who approached me first. I never had to put any effort into it. I just had to smile and flirt and they'd fall into my bed. It was too easy.
But Shelly was different. She wasn't interested in me like that. If she was, I would have had her in my bed already.
I sighed and rubbed my face. This was ridiculous. I should just give up.
Then again, it was too late to back out now. I had already told my family that I was going to woo her into marrying me and give me her shares. I had to at least make it believable. I just had to get her to hate me less.
How was I supposed to do that? I lightbulb went off in my head. Damien got close to her by being good with Toren. Maybe I could try that, too. But, how could I even begin to do that? I wasn't good with kids. I never was. I didn't know what to do or say to them.
I sighed and shook my head. There was no way I could pull that off. I would just have to try a different approach.
"You look stressed, big bro," Isabella said as she walked outside. She smirked at him, as if she already knew what was going on.
I huffed. "Shut up. It's nothing. Just thinking."
She sat down next to me. "Thinking about your epic failure in trying to flirt with Shelly?"
My face reddened. "That's none of your business, brat."
She giggled. "Is that any way to talk to your little sister?"
I rolled my eyes. "Your cutesy attitude won't work on me."
She huffed. "You're no fun. Anyways, you're going to fail if you keep acting like that. You're too blunt. You have to be more subtle in your approaches. Make her lower her guard, then strike when the time is right."
"I don't need your advice," I said, crossing my arms.
She sighed. "Fine. Your plan was doomed in the first place. You're just too much of a failure, just like our father. You're a carbon copy of him, except less competent."
I glared at her. "Take that back."
She smirked. "Why should I? It's the truth. You're a loser, and you always will be. You think you're popular, but the truth is that everyone secretly looks down on you. They're all waiting for you to fail, and when you do, they'll laugh at you and say, 'I told you so.'"
I clenched my fists. "You're lying. They all love me, you'll see."
She laughed. "Oh, poor deluded Cassian. You really believe that, don't you? Girls just want your money, and guys befriend you so that they can use you. You're a joke, Cassian. You always were, and you always will be."
I growled and stood up, stomping away. I wasn't going to let her get to me. She was just trying to mess with my head. She wanted to see me fail, so she was trying to make me doubt myself. That little girl was a brat, a schemer. That's why Mom loved her.
I went into my room and slammed the door shut. I couldn't let her words get to me. I had to prove her wrong. I had to prove that I was better than Dad. I had to prove that I was worth something, that I was more than a failure, that I was more than a joke.
Isadora's taunts kept replaying in my head, over and over.
She was wrong. She had to be. I wasn't like Dad—not completely. Sure, I liked to party, and maybe I'd lost a few too many bets at the casino, but I wasn't a washed-up nobody. I was Cassian Aldrige Veyron de Luthaine, the guy everyone wanted to be around. I had charm, looks, money—everything.
So why did her words feel so heavy?I stopped pacing and caught my reflection in the full-length mirror on my wardrobe door. My blond hair was still tousled from lounging in the sun, my jaw tight with frustration. I looked the part of the golden playboy, but my eyes betrayed me—there was doubt there, a flicker of fear I couldn't ignore.
What if Isadora was right? What if everyone was just waiting for me to crash and burn? The thought made my stomach twist, and I turned away, unable to face myself any longer.
I flopped onto my bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, and stared at the ceiling. My room was a mess of my own making—empty whiskey bottles on the nightstand, clothes strewn across the floor, and a deck of cards I'd used for a late-night poker game scattered on the desk. It was the kind of chaos Mother despised, the kind that made her compare me to Dad at every turn. I'd always laughed it off, but now… now it felt like a weight pressing down on me. I had to prove them wrong. But... I was no Damien or Alexander. I wasn't even a Jonathan or a Lora. I was the useless one, the fuck-up. The one that everyone loved to mock. If Damien wasn't such a goofball, I probably would be the most stigmatized in the family.
I closed my eyes, trying to silence the voice in my head that kept telling me that I was nothing more than a joke. It was no use. I had to do something. I couldn't just sit here and wallow in my misery. I was going to prove to them that I wasn't a failure. I was going to prove to them that I was worth something.
My eyes darted toward the whisky bottles. There were a few drops left in the one closest to me.