An unexpected twist
2080 Words
MIRABELLA
The backseat of the monster Cassian Windsor calls a car is more luxurious than anything my butt has ever touched, but it’s too bad I don’t have the time to appreciate it.
I dive for the door handle and yank, but it doesn’t budge. My eyes dart to the driver, whose neck is as thick as my thigh, and even though I know it’s reckless as hell, I lunge forward and grab his shoulder. “Turn around! I have to go back!”
He doesn’t flinch. Might as well be made of stone. I tug harder, but unless I stab him in the neck, and maybe not even then, it’s obvious he’s not doing a thing without Cassian’s say-so.
Cassian on the other hand hasn’t moved from his side of the backseat. Reality clicks into place. I’m not getting out unless he allows it. I try the window just to be sure. Locked.
“Child safety locks?” I mutter, even though I know the answer.
He dips his head. “Among other things. You’re in here for the duration. Looking for this?”
My backpack lands in my lap. I resist tearing it open to check for my cash and ID. No need to tip my hand yet.
“Look, mister, it’s clear you have money. Plenty of women out there will do whatever you want without causing half the legal trouble I would. Just drop me at the next intersection, and I promise you’ll never see me again.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Your father and I were best friends. Grew up together. College. Then we both landed at the CIA, figured we’d see the world, do something important. But our fathers had other plans. They wanted early retirement, so instead of climbing higher in Langley, we came back to take over the family empire. We build advanced defense systems, if you’re curious.”
Of course you do, I think sourly.
He keeps going, undeterred by my silence. “Five months ago, Adrian died in a hang-gliding accident. But before he left…it’s eerie. Almost like he knew. He gave me a letter, told me it might be the most important piece of mail he’d ever received. We planned to go over it when he got back. A week later, his wife returned alone. Adrian was dead. I put the letter aside to handle…complications with his death. And his widow.”
Complications? Isn’t death pretty final? The way he spits out ‘widow’ makes me wonder about her.
“A couple months later, I remembered the letter. Want to know what it said?”
What a jerk. Of course I want to know, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. I turn to the window, cheek pressed to the glass.
Several blocks flash by before he relents.
“It was from your mother.”
“What?” I whip around.
He doesn’t look smug, only tired, like the grief for his friend is carved into him. For the first time, I see him as he claims to be. I see him as a man who lost his best friend, then got the shock of a lifetime.
Before he can say more, the car slows. Out the window, I see the country. A wide flat strip of land, a low building clad in metal, a control tower. Near it is a massive white jet labeled ‘The Windsor Jet.’ When he said he built advanced defense systems, I definitely didn’t picture him having a behemoth that could haul hundreds across continents.
“That yours?” I try not to gape.
It is. But we’re not stopping.”
I drop my hand from the door latch. “What do you mean?”
For now, I shelve the kidnapping, the dead father I never knew, this mysterious letter, and stare as we drive past the building onto the airstrip. A hatch lowers at the plane’s rear. Cassian’s driver guides the car up the ramp. The hatch shuts behind us with a boom.
The door locks click open. Free. Sort of.
“After you.” Cassian gestures. His driver holds the door.
Clutching my borrowed jacket, I gather myself. Even the inside of this plane is in better shape than me, decked out in a cheap corset and painful heels.
“I need to change.” I’m proud my voice sounds normal.
Cassian’s eyes soften. He nods to his driver. “We’ll wait upstairs. Through that door, up the stairs. Come when you’re ready.”
The second I’m alone, I swap the stripper outfit for my comfiest clothes. I put on jeans, a tank top, and a flannel buttoned high. I look like a drifter, but at least I’m covered. I check my backpack. My cash is there. So is Adrian’s watch. I click it around my wrist, feel instantly steadier. Ready to face Cassian Windsor.
Plotting as I sling my pack over my shoulder, I head for the stairs. I need money. Cassian has it. If I can get enough, I’ll buy a ticket, vanish, start fresh. I know how. I’ve done it before.
At the top, Cassian waits. He introduces me to his driver.
“Mirabella, this is Kieran Malik. Kieran, Adrian’s daughter, Mirabella.”
“Sorry for your loss,” rumbles Kieran. His voice is deep. Batman deep. He bows his head, impossibly polite. I take his hand.
“Thank you.”
Cassian waves him off. “Let’s sit. I want to get home. It’s an hour to Briarcrest.”
“An hour? You brought a plane for that?”
“It would’ve taken six to drive. And it’s already taken nine weeks and a legion of detectives to find you.”
With no other options, I trail him to cream leather seats facing each other, a sleek table between. Cassian sits, gestures for me to do the same.
“Nice watch,” he drawls.
“Thanks. It’s all my dad left my mom, besides me.” I see no use in lying. If he tracked me to Rustbrook, then he probably knows everything already.
“Where’s the letter?”
“At home. I’ll give it to you there.”
He opens a leather portfolio, slides out a thick stack of cash banded in crisp white. “I want to make a deal with you, Mirabella.”
My eyes balloon. I’ve never seen this much money up close.
He pushes it to me. “That’s fifteen thousand dollars. Every month you stay with me, you get another. In cash. If you finish high school under my roof, you’ll get two hundred and fifty grand for college. Graduate college? Even more.”
“What’s the catch?” My fingers itch, but I sit on them.
“You don’t run. You live under my guardianship. Treat my sons as brothers. That’s it. The life Adrian would’ve wanted for you.”
“And for you?” I challenge.
Cassian grimaces. “Nothing. You’re a beautiful girl, Mirabella, but you’re a girl. I’m forty-four, with three sons and a very satisfying girlfriend. I promise you—”
I cut him off, gagging. “Enough, Windsor.”
His laugh is strained, then sobers. “You’ve lost your family. But you’re not alone anymore. You’re a Windsor now.”
***
As we land, my face is pressed to the window, and I only see runway lights. Once we stop, we skip the car in the plane, and Kieran drives us in a sleek black sedan. The window cracks open, and salt air floods in.
Briarcrest. Makes sense. Six hours from Rustbrook, coastal, matching Cassian’s company. Not that it matters. What matters is the cash in my pack. Fifteen grand. Unreal.
There’s always a catch. And I’m very sure eventually, it’ll rear up. But until then? I’ll smile, play nice.
And the sons. Three. How bad could they be? I’ve survived worse. My mom’s boyfriend once tried to feel me up at ten, then taught me to punch after I broke my hand on his ribs. Handy for the next creep.
Thirty minutes later, we slow at a gate. There’s a beep, a whir, and we’re through. The car stops, and the locks click open.
“We’re home,” Cassian says.
I don’t correct him. No such thing.
Outside, Kieran helps me out. Two cars sit by a massive garage. There’s a black SUV and a cherry red pickup. Cassian follows my gaze.
“There were two Range Rovers. Kaden traded his for the truck. Probably more space for his dates.”
It’s not disapproval that’s in his voice. If anything, it’s resignation. Must be one of his sons. Something in his voice pricks my instincts. Something’s off.
“You’ll ride with the boys to school for now. Until I get you a car.” His eyes narrow. “You do have a license under your own name, right?”
I nod.
“Good.”
“You’re buying me a car?”
“Easier. My sons aren’t…quick to warm up to strangers. But you have to go to school.”
My guard spikes. Should’ve fought harder back in Rustbrook.
Then I see it. The Windsor estate.
It’s not a house, it’s a palace. Two stories that sprawl so wide I can’t see the ends. Windows everywhere. Maybe the architect was allergic to walls.
“You…live here?”
“We live here. It’s your home now too.”
Never. Squalor doesn’t lie. Palaces do.
Inside is worse, gleaming marble, endless ceiling, stairs that curve up to a balcony. The chandelier alone could crush me to powder. Everything screams wealth.
Cassian watches me like he knows I’m seconds from bolting. “It’s different, I know. But you’ll get used to it. You’ll like it here.”
“Don’t make promises. Not to me, Mr Windsor.”
“Call me Cassian. And I intend to keep any promise I make to you, Mirabella. Just like I kept every promise to your father.”
Something cracks in me. “You really cared about Adrian, huh?”
“He was my best friend. I trusted him with my life.”
Must be nice. I miss Mom so hard my throat burns.
“So who runs this place? A butler? Housekeeper?”
“I have staff. So be rest assured you won’t be scrubbing floors.”
I nod once, taking it all in. Then eyeing him warily, I ask, “Where’s my letter?”
His voice gentles. “It’s late. We’ll talk tomorrow. I just want you to get some sleep.”
He’s right. It’s been forever since I slept well. “Where’s my room?”
“I’ll show you—”
I hear footsteps above us, and approval flashes in his eyes. “Here they are. Tristan is at college, but I asked the others to meet you. They don’t always listen—”
Still don’t. Two dark figures appear at the railing.
My jaw drops. I force it shut. They don’t spare me a glance. I won’t let them see I’m rattled, even though I’m more than rattled. I’m intimidated.
And something else. Something that steals my breath.
A shiver races down my spine, blooming into heat. Not normal.
They’re staring at me now, and it feels like it’s only us in the room.
The Windsor boys don’t look anything like the pampered heirs I was expecting. If anything, they look they like they could break me in half. And even though they’re identical, somehow, they don’t look alike. What differentiates them is their haircut. The one of the left is in a buzz cut, while the other has long dark hair tied in a low ponytail. Their eyes are an arresting green. Sharp and dark like shards of broken emerald glass, but there’s something predatory in the way they watch me, like I’m gum at the bottom of their shoes. Both are over six feet, broad shouldered, powerful with danger emanating from them.
The one on the right’s jaw flexes, eyes burning. He’s furious.
And I’m…coming apart.
No way. No way the goddess screwed up this badly.
The other’s brows knit, mouth twisting into a dark frown.
But their hostility doesn’t drown out the thunder in my chest. My wolf stirs, claws at the surface, desperate to claim.
Seventeen years, and she’s hidden. But now?
Now there’s no denying the word that ricochets through my head, even with their anger and my fear.
Mates. Not one, but two.
- Writer
