Beneath His Vows

Chapter Two — Cassian

She looked like glass.

Thin wrists, pale face, wide eyes that hadn’t stopped blinking since she walked into the room. Most women would have begged, cried, made a scene.

She didn’t.

She just sat there — small, quiet, trembling — like a candle someone had forgotten to blow out.

But it wasn’t pity I felt. It was fury.

Because behind that frightened stare, I saw her mother.

And I remembered everything.

The way my father’s voice broke in that courtroom. The way the papers called us liars. The day my mother stopped smiling.

Her mother had stood in our house, polishing silver like she belonged. And when things fell apart — when my world was reduced to ashes — she vanished. No apology. No justice.

And now? Now her daughter was sitting in front of me, asking why.

Like she didn’t already know.

“I don’t want your tears,” I said, sharper than I intended. “I want your signature.”

She jumped slightly, her fingers twitching against the edge of the desk.

“I’m not crying.”

Her voice was soft but steady. Almost defiant.

Interesting.

“You will,” I said, standing. “You’re not marrying me for love. You’re marrying me because I told you to. Remember that.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You will,” I said simply, crossing the room to pour myself a drink. “You don’t have a choice.”

I took a slow sip, watching her from the corner of my eye. She looked at the papers like they were written in another language. Part of me wanted her to fight back — to throw the contract in my face, to scream. That would have made it easier to hate her.

But she just sat there. Not pleading. Not moving.

Accepting.

“Sign it,” I said again, this time quieter. “And I’ll make sure your father doesn’t die in a concrete cell.”

She looked up at me, and for the briefest moment, her eyes didn’t look scared.

They looked… furious.

But then she blinked, and it was gone.

“I want one thing,” she whispered.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I want to finish school. I was two semesters away from graduating.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Control. That was the key. And she was asking me for leeway.

“No public appearances while enrolled,” I said. “You’ll attend under your maiden name. Your schedule doesn’t interfere with work. And when I call—”

“I answer,” she finished bitterly.

I didn’t deny it.

“Fine,” I said. “You’ll receive the amended clause in the morning.”

She nodded once, reached for the pen, and signed.

No hesitation.

No ceremony.

Just ink and silence.

And just like that… I owned her.