Bound by Bloodline

Chapter 1 (continued)

Day 1 – 12:03 p.m.

The silence after the shutters locked was absolute. No hum of generators yet, no wind against glass, just the soft, wet sound of snow piling against steel.

Cassian pushed off the fireplace and walked toward her. Slow. Unhurried. Like a man who already owned the room and was deciding what to break first.

Evie didn’t step back. She never stepped back.

He stopped a foot away. Close enough that she had to tilt her head to hold his stare. Close enough that she could see the faint white line of an old burn scar disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

“You’re shorter than the photos,” he said.

“You’ve seen photos of me?”

“Whole dossier. Page twelve: ‘Subject has personal space issues. Use to unsettle.’”

Her smile sharpened. “Page thirteen: ‘Subject bites when cornered.’”

A flicker of something (amusement? respect?) crossed his face and vanished.

He reached past her, picked up the tablet the lawyer had left, and flicked through the will again. Then he tossed it onto a leather armchair like it was junk mail.

“Four point two billion,” he said, almost to himself. “And the old man’s last laugh is making us breed like animals on camera.”

Evie’s stomach flipped, but her voice stayed arctic. “I’m not f*****g you for money.”

“Same.” He looked around the hall (vaulted ceilings, mounted elk heads, a grandfather clock ticking down the seconds of their sentence). “But I’m also not freezing to death in an unheated wing because princess needs her own bathroom.”

He started walking. Long strides toward the main staircase.

Evie followed because she refused to be left behind, heels clicking on the marble like gunshots.

“Where are you going?”

“To find the only bedroom that isn’t a meat locker. You coming, or do you want to pretend you have a choice?”

She hated him already. Hated the calm certainty in his shoulders, hated the way he didn’t ask, hated the way her pulse spiked when he glanced back at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

They climbed the wide oak stairs. Portraits of dead Harts glared down at them (great-grandfathers in hunting tweeds, great-aunts dripping diamonds). Every ancestor looked like they’d approved of this exact moment.

At the landing, Cassian turned left without hesitation. He’d clearly memorized the floor plan too.

The master wing was at the end of a long corridor lined with locked doors. He pushed the double doors open and stopped.

One room. One bed.

A massive four-poster carved from dark walnut, draped in charcoal linens. A fireplace already laid but cold. Floor-to-ceiling windows now sealed behind steel. One dresser. One armchair. One bathroom the size of her old Manhattan apartment.

And a single red light blinking in the corner of the ceiling.

Camera one. Of hundreds.

Cassian stared at it for a long second, then looked at her.

“Guess we’re giving them a show sooner or later,” he said.

Evie walked past him, dropped her Birkin on the chair, and started unbuttoning her coat.

“Then let’s set some ground rules before the popcorn comes out.”

She let the cashmere slide off her shoulders and pool on the floor. Underneath: charcoal silk blouse, pencil skirt, the kind of armor that cost more than most people’s rent.

Cassian’s eyes tracked every movement. Not hungry (calculating).

“Rule one,” she said, stepping out of her heels, “you don’t touch me unless I say so.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I want to touch you?”

“You will,” she said with ice-cold certainty. “They always do.”

Something dark flashed across his face. He took one step closer, towering over her.

“Rule two,” he said, voice low. “You try to drug me, stab me, or lock me out in the snow, I will tie you to that bed and leave you there until spring. Clear?”

Her breath caught (not fear, something worse).

“Crystal,” she whispered.

He held her stare for another heartbeat, then turned and walked into the bathroom. Door shut. Lock clicked.

Evie stood in the sudden silence, pulse hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat.

She looked at the bed. One pillow indent already from some staff member testing the mattress. One blanket.

Then she looked at the camera’s red eye.

And smiled, slow and lethal.

Let the games begin.