CHAPTER SIX(LIANA’s POV)
1161 Words
Days blurred into something that didn’t feel like time, just routine polished into ritual.
Breakfasts served in silence.
Meetings he never discussed.
Photographs taken for magazines that called us New York’s power couple.
But when the cameras were gone, the quiet stretched too long.
Sometimes, at night, I’d hear him pacing his office. His voice, low, controlled, spoke to people I never saw.
Every door in this house had a lock, and every lock had a story I wasn’t allowed to open.
One evening, I caught a glimpse of him through the half-open study door.
He stood by the fireplace, sleeves rolled again, the glow of amber light carving harsh lines along his cheekbones.
A man built of restraint.
A man who didn’t know how to be soft.
I wondered if anyone ever had been soft with him.
When he turned, our eyes met, just for a heartbeat, but the contact felt like heat. I looked away first.
⸻
The next day, I found my father’s name again, on a document lying carelessly among Cassien’s files.
It wasn’t a contract; it was a timeline.
Dates. Transactions.
And a phrase that chilled me: “Acquisition finalized through marriage.”
My blood went cold.
That night, I couldn’t sit still.
I roamed the corridors until the world outside blurred into dawn.
In the east wing, beyond his office, I found a smaller room—locked.
But through the narrow c***k of the door, I saw papers pinned to the walls.
Strings of red thread connecting photos and notes. My father’s face was among them.
Whatever this marriage was, it wasn’t about alliance.
It was revenge.
When I turned to leave, I caught my reflection in the glass pane beside the door.
For a moment, I didn’t recognize myself.
The fear was still there, but underneath it, something else had begun to rise—a quiet, burning defiance.
I wouldn’t let him destroy me, even if I didn’t yet know how to fight him.
⸻
The next morning, I joined him at breakfast for the first time since the wedding.
He looked surprised to see me.
“Good morning,” I said, carefully neutral.
He studied me like a new equation. “You’re up early.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“Something keeping you awake?”
“Your house,” I said evenly. “It hums with secrets.”
A flicker—amusement, maybe, tugged at his lips. “You should learn not to listen too closely.”
“Maybe you should learn not to hide so much.”
Our eyes met across the table, and for the first time, he didn’t look away.
The tension that passed between us wasn’t hatred. It was too alive, too charged.
He set his coffee cup down, leaned back, and said quietly, “Careful, Liana.
Curiosity can be dangerous in this house.”
“So can silence,” I murmured.
For a heartbeat, something softened in his expression.
Then it vanished, replaced by that familiar mask of control.
⸻
Later that week, the city hosted a charity gala, another opportunity for the press to photograph the illusion of our perfect union.
My mother insisted I go. Cassien, of course, was already expected.
I wore emerald satin, the color deliberately chosen by one of his assistants to “complement your eyes.” Under the chandelier lights, I looked every inch the Ravenscroft wife, composed, radiant, untouchable.
Cassien stood beside me, hand resting lightly at the small of my back.
To the world, it looked protective. I knew better. It was possession.
But when his fingers brushed the bare skin just above the fabric, a tremor ran through me that I didn’t understand.
He leaned close enough for only me to hear.
“Smile,” he murmured. “They’re watching.”
So I smiled.
Even as I whispered back, “I hope they choke on it.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. The sound was low, unexpected, human.
For one dangerous moment, our gazes met and lingered too long.
I saw something in him that wasn’t cruelty. Maybe loneliness.
Maybe longing. Whatever it was, it terrified me more than his anger ever could.
⸻
When we returned home, I escaped to the balcony again.
The night air was cold, sharp. My heels clicked against the marble, echoing softly.
Below, the city sprawled like a living thing, neon and noise, endless and indifferent.
Behind me, the door opened.
Cassien stepped out, jacket slung over one shoulder, the tattoo along his arm catching the moonlight.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.
“Why? You think I’ll run?”
His mouth twitched. “Would you?”
I met his gaze. “Would you let me?”
The question hung between us, fragile and dangerous.
His eyes moved over my face, slowly, as if memorizing it. For a second, the mask slipped. His jaw tightened, and his breath caught.
Then he looked away. “You’re not ready for the truth.”
“Then tell me what I am ready for.”
He took a step closer, and though he didn’t touch me, I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “You’re ready,” he said quietly, “to learn how this world really works.”
“And what world is that?”
“The one where love is just another form of leverage.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But part of me knew he wasn’t.
⸻
That night, when I returned to my room, I found an envelope slid under the door. No name. Just a Ravenscroft seal in dark wax.
Inside was a single photo.
My father again. This time, not smiling. His wrists in cuffs. The date, five years ago.
On the back, in Cassien’s sharp handwriting, were the words:
“You should know who you’re defending.”
The room tilted. I sank to the edge of the bed, staring at the image until my vision blurred. I didn’t know what was worse, the guilt or the quiet suspicion that maybe Cassien was right.
Because deep down, I’d always known my father wasn’t innocent. I’d just hoped the cost of his sins wouldn’t be mine to pay.
The photo slipped from my hand, landing face, up on the carpet.
That was when I heard it, a faint sound outside my door. Not footsteps. A whisper.
“Mrs. Ravenscroft?” a voice murmured.
I froze.
When I opened the door, the hallway was empty. Only a folded piece of paper lay on the floor.
I unfolded it with trembling hands.
“You’re not the only one being watched.”
No signature.
My pulse roared in my ears as I looked down the corridor, the lights flickering faintly, the shadows suddenly too deep.
And for the first time since marrying Cassien Ravenscroft, I realized the truth.
Whatever game I’d been forced into…
I wasn’t just a pawn anymore.
I was a target.
- Writer
