Bound By A Broken Night novel Chapter 4

"What’s your problem?” I lunged forward instinctively, fury surging as juice dripped down my clothes—but an arm shot out and stopped me before I could reach her.

“You’re the problem,” the customer snapped back.

The disdain in her eyes was sharp and deliberate, as if she had been waiting for this moment. I didn’t recognize her at all—I was certain we’d never met—but the hatred she wore was unmistakable.

“You’re an eyesore,” she sneered, her lips curling in disgust.

Then she turned to my manager, her voice rising, cutting, merciless.

“Why would you even hire a thief like her? She seduced her sister’s boyfriend and slept with him. What a shameless bitch.”

The words slammed into me one after another, leaving no room to breathe.

That was when it clicked.

Now I understood why she had been glaring at me since earlier, why her entire group had watched my every move as I served them. They knew who I was. Or rather—they knew the version of me the world believed in, like the other customers who showed me the same disgust.

They are all self-proclaimed protectors of Mirriam and Ashton’s love story.

And I was the villain they all loved to hate.

I stood there, frozen, utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say to rebuke her—nothing that wouldn’t sound like another lie in their ears. How could I blame them, when everyone had already decided who I was?

To them, I wasn’t a victim. I was the woman who ruined a perfect romance.

One night. One mistake. And it was a sentence I seemed doomed to serve for the rest of my life.

"Aren’t you ashamed to still show your face in Bay City?”

The woman seated at one of the café tables sneered openly, her voice loud enough to draw every eye in the room.

“The Knowles family gave you a roof over your head. Mr. and Mrs. Knowles took you in, gave you their name, and Miss Mirriam treated you like a sister—despite the fact that you’re only their maid’s daughter.”

Her words were sharp, deliberate, each one meant to wound.

“And this is how you repay them?” she continued venomously. “With betrayal? You’re not even worthy to breathe the same air they breathe, or step on the ground they walk on.”

I stood frozen at the center of the café, unable to move, unable to lift my head. My feet felt rooted to the floor, my throat locked tight as I avoided every gaze turned in my direction. The silence around me was heavy, judgmental—thick with unspoken agreement.

I felt sick.

Not just from the humiliation—but from the lie they all believed so easily.

I wasn’t adopted by the Knowles. I wasn’t a charity case born of their compassion.

I am a Knowles.

The daughter my father never wanted the world to know about.

The living proof of his betrayal to his wife.

And yet, in their eyes, I was nothing more than an ungrateful outsider who had bitten the hand that fed her.

I swallowed hard, the truth burning in my chest—unseen, unheard, and unwanted.

"Let me handle this, Cassidy. Go to the staff room.”

My manager’s voice left no room for argument, and I obeyed immediately, turning away before anyone could see how badly my hands were shaking.

For almost a month now, these assaults had become a cruel routine—ever since my first day working here. Whispers, glares, thrown insults… and lately, thrown drinks. I was endlessly grateful for my manager’s patience, and for the few coworkers who quietly stood by me, but this couldn’t keep happening. I could endure a lot—but not forever.

Inside the staff room, the door closed softly behind me.

I walked straight to the large mirror mounted on the wall. The reflection staring back at me was pitiful.

My hair hung in damp, tangled strands, still dripping with sticky juice. It clung to my cheeks, my neck. My uniform was soaked from collar to hem, the fabric darkened and heavy, right down to my shoes.

I barely recognized myself. The misery etched into my reflection only deepened the ache in my chest, making it harder to breathe.

Is this my punishment? I wondered bitterly. For a mistake—one I had been a victim of as much as Mirriam and Ashton?

The girl in the mirror didn’t look like a seductress, a villainess. She looked tired. Broken.

"Cassidy.”

I flinched when my manager barged into the staff room.

“This can’t keep happening,” he said bluntly. “The café will suffer.”

There was no anger in his tone—just exhaustion, the weight of a problem he had tried to shield me from for as long as he could.

“I understand, sir.”

I bowed my head instinctively and swallowed hard. Somewhere along the way—since the scandal broke—I had developed the habit of lowering my gaze, of folding in on myself as if constantly bracing for punishment. As if submission might soften the blow.

Silence settled between us. I heard him sigh.

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