Cassie pushed herself off the bathroom floor. Her legs still trembled.
She walked to the marble vanity and gripped the edges of the sink. She stared at her reflection. The angry red fake scars stared back. Right now, this ugly disguise was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She turned on the faucet, carefully cupped cold water, and splashed it onto the right side of her face, strictly avoiding the edges of the special-effects makeup.
She stripped off the suffocating wedding dress and pulled on a thick silk robe hanging on the door.
Cassie unlocked the bathroom door and pushed it open a fraction. She peeked out.
The master bedroom was empty. The bed untouched.
A massive wave of relief washed over her. The tight knot in her stomach uncoiled.
She walked to the velvet sofa near the window and curled into a tight ball. The foreign scent of cedar and expensive cologne clung to the fabric. Her mind raced with the terrifying events of the night. Her eyes stayed wide open, staring at the ceiling until the dark sky outside turned a pale, hazy blue.
Sharp morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, stinging her dry eyes.
Cassie sat up. Her muscles ached from the awkward sleeping position. The terror of the previous night was fading, replaced by a cold, calculating calm. Dane hadn't shown disgust. He'd looked at her with intense, searching scrutiny, like he was confirming something. If he wasn't going to kill her, she could use his power. This morning would be her first test.
She walked back to the mirror and carefully pressed down the edges of her fake scars, ensuring they were seamless.
She took a deep breath and walked toward the bedroom door.
She pushed the heavy mahogany door open and stepped into the hallway.
The sheer scale of Frederick Manor hit her. Vaulted ceilings, priceless oil paintings, thick carpets stretching out before her. The excessive luxury made her stomach churn. She kept her back straight, eyes scanning for threats.
As she reached the top of the grand spiral staircase, a man in a tailored suit appeared. Bradshaw, the butler.
His eyes swept over her scarred face. His expression remained blank, but the coldness in his gaze was unmistakable.
Cassie gave him a stiff nod and walked past.
She descended the stairs and followed the faint clinking of silverware into the dining room.
A massive crystal chandelier hung over a long, polished dining table. The morning light reflecting off the glass made her squint.
Dane sat at the head of the table, dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms.
He lifted his gaze from his tablet. His dark eyes locked onto her scarred face.
Cassie didn't flinch. She walked straight to the chair on his right, pulled it out, and sat down.
A maid stepped forward with a silver platter. As the maid set the plate down, Cassie caught the flicker of pity and fear in the woman's eyes before she quickly masked it. Cassie ignored her. She picked up her knife and fork.
She cut into the fried egg and brought a piece to her mouth. Her movements were slow, precise, perfectly elegant.
Dane watched her. A brief flash of approval crossed his dark eyes.
Cassie set her silverware down. The metal clinked against the porcelain. She looked directly into Dane's eyes.
"I am not the daughter they promised you." Her voice was flat.
Dane picked up his cup of black coffee. He took a slow sip. His face didn't even twitch.
The total lack of reaction made the hairs on the back of Cassie's neck stand up.
Dane lowered the cup. "What do you want?" His deep voice echoed off the high walls.
Cassie's eyes narrowed.
"I want absolute freedom. And I want your protection." Her tone was hard, uncompromising.
Dane placed the coffee cup on the saucer.
He pushed his chair back and stood. He walked slowly around the table until he was standing directly behind her.
He placed both hands on the back of her chair.
Cassie's entire body went rigid. Every muscle in her back locked tight.
Dane leaned down. His chest brushed against the back of the chair. His mouth was right next to her ear.
"Done," he whispered.
Cassie's breath hitched. The immediate, effortless agreement shocked her system. Her fingers gripped her napkin tightly under the table.
"I have only one condition," Dane continued, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold and lethal. "Do not betray me."
Cassie didn't hesitate. She nodded once, sharply.
Dane straightened and walked back to his seat. The crushing pressure in the air dissipated slightly.
Cassie picked up her glass of milk and took a long sip. The cold liquid helped cool the burning anxiety in her chest. She needed to push her luck while he was agreeable.
"I need to go back to the Gilmore house," Cassie said, setting the glass down. "I need to take back my trust fund."
She laid her financial demands bare, expecting him to scoff.
Dane raised a single dark eyebrow.
"Take the Rolls-Royce." He glanced at the bodyguard standing by the door. "Send two of our best men with her. If the Gilmores try anything, report to me immediately. Do not let her out of your sight."
Cassie's heart gave a hard thump. The casual display of wealth and absolute backing sent a chill down her spine. He was giving her too much power, too easily.
Dane stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked out of the dining room toward his study.
The moment his broad back disappeared around the corner, Cassie let out a long, shaky exhale. Her lungs burned.
Thirty minutes later, Cassie walked out of the manor's front doors.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce idled on the circular driveway. A driver in a sharp uniform opened the rear door.
Cassie slid into the luxurious backseat. The buttery soft leather yielded under her weight.
She stared out the tinted window. Her eyes were cold, calculating.
The heavy door slammed shut. The engine purred to life.
Cassie leaned her head back against the headrest. The faces of her adoptive family flashed behind her eyelids. Her pulse began to thrum with a dark, heavy rhythm.
The car glided out of the Manhattan streets. Glass skyscrapers faded into the distance.
Cassie's jaw clenched tight. Her eyes grew colder with every mile.
The car merged onto the highway, heading straight for Long Island.
Familiar, tree-lined streets began to pass by the window. The sight triggered a sharp ache in her chest.
Cassie's hands curled into fists in her lap. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms.
Up ahead, the massive wrought-iron gates of the Gilmore estate came into view. The pretentious family crest mounted on the stone pillar made her stomach roll.
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her lips.
The Rolls-Royce pulled smoothly up to the front steps. The tires crunched against the gravel and stopped.
Cassie took a deep breath, filling her lungs, forcing her heart rate to steady.
The driver opened her door. The crisp morning wind hit her face, rustling the fabric of her expensive dress.
Cassie stepped out. Her high heels clicked sharply against the pavement. She adjusted her posture, pulling her shoulders back.
She looked up at the massive wooden front doors. The fear that used to choke her on these steps was completely gone. Now, there was only a burning, violent need for destruction.
