Chapter Four — Cassian
729 Words
he didn’t fight.
That’s what kept circling in my head.
She didn’t scream, didn’t argue, didn’t even flinch when I pushed the contract across the table like it was a death sentence.
She just… signed it.
I stood by the window of my penthouse office, watching the security footage play on mute. Ivy Monroe. Pale, fragile, wide-eyed. Sitting at the edge of the guest bedroom in the Mayfair townhouse like she was afraid to breathe too loud.
And she should be.
She was in my house. My name was about to be stitched to hers in every headline. And as much as she thought this was about saving her family, she had no iSdea what she was walking into.
This wasn’t a marriage.
This was retribution.
I hit pause. Her face froze on the screen — soft, blank, unreadable.
She looked just like her mother.
I turned away before I could stare too long. There was no room for softness in this. No room for second-guessing.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
A message from Elena.
“Tell me this is a joke. You’re not seriously marrying her.”
I deleted it without replying.
I owed Elena nothing. Least of all an explanation.
The door opened without a knock — the only person in my life who ever got away with that.
My mother stepped inside, red lips tight, heels sharper than her tone.
“Well?” she asked. “Has she cried yet?”
I didn’t answer.
She dropped into the armchair across from my desk, smoothing her skirt. “I saw the photos from the courthouse. You could’ve at least pretended to be happy.”
“I’m not an actor.”
“No, you’re a Wolfe,” she said coolly. “Which means you follow through. No matter how bitter the taste.”
I turned back to the window. “She’s not like I expected.”
“Of course not,” my mother said. “Because you thought you’d break her in one day.”
I said nothing.
She walked over, placed a hand on my shoulder. “Cassian, this is what we agreed. Ivy’s mother owes me a blood-deep debt. That girl is collateral. Nothing more.”
Collateral.
I wanted to believe that.
I wanted to keep believing it when I saw Ivy curled on the edge of that bed, still wearing the same dress, her shoulders shaking.
But something twisted in me.
Because I didn’t want to be my father.
I drove to the townhouse that night. Alone.
No driver. No warnings.
I told myself it was to set expectations. Lay down the law. But when I walked into the hallway and saw the sliver of light under her door, I hesitated.
She was still awake.
Of course she was.
I knocked once.
Silence.
Then: “Come in.”
Her voice was so quiet it almost didn’t sound like permission. But I pushed the door open anyway.
She sat on the bed, a sweater draped over her knees, her hair pulled into a messy bun that made her look far too young for the decision she’d just made.
She didn’t stand. Didn’t look scared.
Just tired.
I stepped inside. “You’ll be fitted for a dress tomorrow morning.”
“I figured,” she said softly.
I waited, but she didn’t say anything else.
“You’ll be given a new phone, new credit card, new rules. You’ll attend events when I say, speak when appropriate, and leave when I signal. We’re not going to pretend this is romantic.”
She looked up then. Her eyes weren’t glassy anymore.
They were sharp.
“I don’t expect romance, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Cassian,” I said before I could stop myself.
She blinked. “What?”
I exhaled slowly. “In public, it’s Cassian. Or husband. Whatever sells the illusion.”
A flicker of something crossed her face. Not anger. Not fear.
Disgust?
No.
Pity.
She stood then — slowly, like she was testing the ground beneath her — and walked toward me. Her gaze didn’t drop. It held mine like she had nothing left to lose.
“I’ll play the part,” she said. “I’ll follow the rules. But don’t mistake obedience for weakness.”
I stared at her.
And for the first time since this whole thing began, I didn’t know what to say.
- Writer
