Cassius walked into the living room. His leather shoes cracked against the marble floor like gunshots. He marched straight toward the woman standing in the center of the room.
Ayleen looked up.
Cassius's gaze swept over her and abruptly halted. Was this the miserable woman from the street? The disdain in his dark eyes instantly ignited into a frigid, calculated fury. So, she had been Matilda's planted pawn all along, even back then. When she saw his razor-sharp jawline and those dead, pitch-black eyes, her pupils blew wide open. Her blood turned to ice.
It was the man from the SUV.
And instantly, the memory of the dark VIP suite crashed into her brain. The broad shoulders. The terrifying grip. The smell of cigars.
It was him. The monster who had torn her apart.
Ayleen stumbled backward in pure terror. Her calves hit the edge of the sofa, and she nearly collapsed. Her face went completely white.
Cassius stopped three feet away. His eyes dragged over her cheap, soaked clothes like she was a disease. A cruel smirk twisted his lips.
He snatched a thick file from Adrian and hurled it directly at Ayleen. The heavy binder slammed onto the glass coffee table with a loud crack.
"Sign the prenup and the NDA," Cassius ordered. His voice left zero room for negotiation.
Ayleen's hands shook violently as she picked up the papers. She flipped to the first page.
The terms were brutal. She would have zero access to his wealth. She would leave with nothing. She was forbidden from speaking about the marriage to anyone.
But the final clause made her stomach turn: The wife will act as a prop in public and will not interfere with the husband's private affairs, including his romantic partners.
Ayleen bit her lip. "I didn't want this. Matilda forced me. I don't want your money-"
Cassius's hand shot out. He grabbed her jaw, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise the bone.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Save the pathetic acting. You're exactly like that old witch. Greedy and disgusting."
He sneered. "I know your family is bankrupt. You sold your body to buy your father out of prison. Don't pretend you have morals."
Tears burned in Ayleen's eyes. The humiliation was suffocating. She grabbed his wrist, trying to pry his fingers off her face, but his grip was iron.
"In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes," Cassius whispered maliciously. "Keep your cheap tricks to yourself, or I will make you wish you were dead."
He shoved her face away.
Cassius pulled a white silk handkerchief from his pocket. He meticulously wiped the fingers that had touched her skin, then dropped the silk into the trash can.
Ayleen fell onto the sofa. She gasped for air. A bright red handprint bloomed on her jaw.
If she didn't sign, her father would die in jail.
She picked up the pen. Her hand trembled as she signed her name on the dotted lines.
Cassius snatched the papers. He looked at Mr. Allen. "Throw her in the back guest room on the first floor."
Mr. Allen stepped forward. "Miss, please."
Ayleen grabbed her suitcase. She kept her head down and followed the butler.
As she reached the hallway, Cassius's voice rang out, loud and cruel.
"I am bringing someone home tonight. Stay in your room. Don't let me see your face."
Ayleen's spine snapped straight. She knew exactly what that meant. It was the ultimate degradation.
"Understood," she whispered. She practically ran down the hall to escape him.
Cassius watched her go. He expected to feel victorious. Instead, a heavy, irritating weight settled in his chest.
He walked to the bar, poured a glass of neat whiskey, and downed it in one swallow to burn the feeling away.
Ayleen was shoved into a damp, dark room near the laundry quarters. It had a bed and a closet. It was a cell.
She locked the door, slid down the wood, and buried her face in her knees. She cried silently into the dark.
Hours later, the roar of a sports car engine echoed outside her window.
Cassius had brought the woman home. The real hell had just begun.
