Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 153: The Name Long Buried

Cassius gaze settled on her then. Direct. Calm. Unreadable.

"I’ve met them," he said simply. "A long time ago."

Levy tilted her head slightly. "Was it... through my mom’s work?"

"Perhaps."

That was all he offered. His voice gave nothing away.

She hesitated. "She’s a nurse. Still works at Diamond Public Hospital."

"I know."

Again, just that. No warmth. No curiosity. No indication of how—or why—he knew.

She nodded slowly, unsure what to make of that.

As she turned to leave, he called gently, "Montclair."

She looked back.

"Your observations in class—they’re sharp. Don’t second-guess yourself so much."

Then he returned to his notes.

Levy stood there a second longer, her heart oddly full and heavy all at once.

She didn’t know him.

But he felt like someone who had known her.

—

Back at the dorm, she collapsed onto her bed, arm over her eyes.

Mira flopped down beside her, mid-rant. "If I have to look at one more watercolor landscape and pretend I see emotional depth, I’m going to throw myself into the fountain."

Dana sat cross-legged on her bed, typing on her laptop. "Do it. I’ll film it. Title it ’Freshman Art Student Snaps.’ Instant virality."

Celeste was sorting through a few small folders on her desk. "You look like you’ve been through emotional war," she said to Levy, not even glancing up.

"I had a weird conversation with Mr. Varen."

Mira’s eyes lit up. "Oooh. Was it intense? Did he smolder at you? Was there tension?"

"No! I mean—maybe? Not like that. It was just... strange. He asked about my mom. Said he knew her from before."

All three girls paused.

Dana pushed her glasses up. "That is a little weird."

"Not creepy weird," Levy said quickly. "Just... like he knew something but didn’t want to say it."

"Maybe he dated her," Mira offered.

Levy made a face. "Ew. No."

Celeste finally looked up. "Or maybe he was involved in something medical. Maybe he was a patient or something. A lot of people come through Diamond Public Hospital."

That made sense. And yet...

Why didn’t it feel like that?

---

That evening, after most students had retired to their rooms or group chats, Cassius Varen sat once again at the Diamond Public Hospital viewing corridor.

Below, the nurses moved like clockwork—efficient, quiet, compassionate.

Mrs. Christy Montclair stood at the counter, reviewing charts. She looked the same.

No. She looked tired. There were new lines around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders. But her eyes, soft but steady, were still unmistakably hers.

Sophia stood beside him, sipping something from a thermos. "She seems more overworked than last week."

"She always pushed herself," Cassius said quietly. "Even when she was barely holding together."

Sophia glanced at him. "You could talk to her."

"No."

"She wouldn’t recognize you?"

"She might," he admitted. "But it wouldn’t help."

Sophia didn’t reply immediately. "You’re doing it again. Watching the past instead of moving forward."

Cassius rubbed his temple. "Sometimes the past is the only place that hasn’t changed."

Silence stretched between them. The overhead lights of the hospital flickered briefly, a hum passing through the corridor walls.

Then Sophia spoke, almost absently. "The girl—Levy. She reminds you of her, doesn’t she?"

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t need to.

---

After some time, Cassius turned from the glass, his gaze lingering a fraction longer on the nurses below before he pulled himself away. His steps were unhurried, his mind still tangled in memories he had no business revisiting.

Sophia was waiting outside now. She would probably glance at him with that cool, assessing look she always wore, then pretend not to notice if he seemed distracted. She knew better than to press when he wasn’t ready to talk.

He reached the corner of the corridor, already reaching for his coat’s inner pocket where his keys sat, when someone rounded the bend from the opposite side.

The moment was quick—too quick for him to register at first—until his shoulder brushed against theirs.

He turned, an automatic reflex.

And then he stopped.

Standing there, framed under the dim corridor light, was Christy.

Her eyes widened at once, shock blooming across her face. It was the kind of expression that belonged to someone who had just seen a ghost, and for her, maybe she had.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then she whispered, voice trembling but warm with disbelief, "Patrick? Hubby... is that you?"

The sound of that name—long buried, long avoided—hit Cassius like a blow. Patrick. A name he had discarded along with the life it belonged to.

Up close, her face was achingly familiar. The faint lines around her eyes, the tiredness in her posture, the faint scent of soap and antiseptic that clung to her. All of it sent memories crashing through him.

His heart skipped, hard and sharp, before settling into an uneven rhythm.

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Christy took a small, unsteady step forward, her hand lifting toward his face as if she needed to touch him to be sure.

He felt the air shift between them, the warmth of her presence pulling at him. For a second, he almost let her. Almost let himself remember.

But his feet moved before his thoughts caught up.

He stepped back, turned, and walked away.

Her hand fell slowly to her side. She stood rooted to the spot, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared down the hall.

For a long moment, she didn’t move.

Then she let out a shaky breath and gave a bitter little chuckle. "No... He can’t be Patrick."

Her voice was quiet, as if convincing herself. "He’s long been gone." She shook her head, eyes falling to the floor. "I guess I’ve been overworking. Need rest. Now I’m seeing things."

She forced a small, humorless laugh at her own words, but the weight in her chest didn’t lift.

Outside, Sophia’s eyes flicked toward the hospital doors as she spotted Cassius walking quickly toward the car. His pace was faster than usual, his coat shifting with each long stride.

The passenger door opened, and he slipped inside, exhaling as though trying to release something he couldn’t.

Sophia turned her head slightly, studying him. "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Cassius rested his hands on his knees for a moment, staring at the floor of the car before answering. "Christy saw me."

There was a pause. Not just in his words, but in his whole demeanor—his usual steady presence thrown off-balance.

Sophia’s brows knit slightly. "Did she recognize you?"

His mouth twitched in something that might have been a bitter smile. "Yeah." He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "But I walked away after."

The way his voice dropped at the end made it sound less like a decision and more like an admission of failure.

Sophia took in the pale cast of his face and decided against pressing further. Instead, she simply reached for the ignition. The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence as she pulled the car away from the curb.

Inside the hospital, Christy forced herself to finish her shift. She moved through her rounds with mechanical precision, answering questions, reviewing charts, offering tired smiles to patients who needed them. But her mind kept slipping back to that moment in the corridor.

When her shift finally ended, she didn’t linger. She clocked out, changed quickly, and stepped into the cool night air.

By the time she reached home, the street outside was quiet. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, slipping off her shoes.

Kendrick was in the living room, sitting on the couch with a few papers spread across the coffee table. He looked up immediately, catching the subtle strain in her expression.

"Mom," he said, standing. "Are you alright?"

She hesitated, her bag still in her hand. "I’m fine, Ken."

But the slight delay in her answer, the way her voice softened, made it clear she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

He stepped closer, concern flickering across his face. "You look like you’ve seen something... or someone."

Christy set her bag down slowly, avoiding his gaze. "It was nothing. Just a long day."

Kendrick didn’t push—not yet. Instead, he gestured toward the couch. "Sit down. I’ll make you some tea."

She managed a faint smile. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he interrupted gently.

While he moved into the kitchen, she sank into the couch, her fingers tightening slightly around each other. The sound of water filling the kettle was comforting in the background.

When Kendrick returned with a steaming mug, he set it in front of her. "Here. Chamomile. You always say it helps after night shifts."

She wrapped her hands around it, the warmth seeping into her skin. "Thank you."

He studied her for a moment, then sat beside her. "You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?"

She stared at the tea for a long moment. "It’s probably just my mind playing tricks on me."

Kendrick frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"