Bound By His Curse

CHAPTER 4

SERAPHINA POV:

The days following that night in his study were filled with a strange, heavy kind of silence—different from the cold emptiness I had grown used to. Cassian avoided me more than ever, if that was even possible. He left the house before dawn and returned long after I had retreated to my rooms, his schedule rearranged so we never accidentally crossed paths in the hall or the garden. But even with all his effort to stay away, I noticed the small, undeniable changes.

He no longer walked with that stiff, pained hunch to his shoulders. His hands didn’t clench into tight fists at his sides anymore, and the sharp, fleeting twinges of agony that used to cross his face were gone completely. I knew why. Every time he got too tired, or too stressed, or pushed himself too hard at work, the pain would creep back in—and somehow, without either of us planning it, he would end up near me. He would find some excuse to walk past the library where I read, or pause by the garden gate while I watered the roses, standing just close enough that our shadows touched, or the breeze carried my scent to him. And within minutes, the tension would drain out of him, and he would walk away again, without a single word, without acknowledging me at all.

It was an unspoken arrangement, one we both pretended didn’t exist. He refused to admit he needed me, and I didn’t dare point it out, too afraid he would shut me out completely if I did.

Then came the night of the annual Valemont Charity Gala—the biggest, most high-profile event of the year, the one Cassian was required to host, and the one I was contractually obligated to attend as his wife.

I spent hours getting ready, just as I had been told. The maids dressed me in a soft, silver-blue gown, simple and elegant, with no sparkles or loud details, exactly the kind of thing that let me blend into the background. My hair was pulled back loosely, and I wore only the small silver locket around my neck—my only piece of jewelry. I looked like what I was: a quiet, obedient wife, there only to stand beside him and look pretty.

When I met Cassian at the entrance of the mansion, my breath caught. He stood tall and imposing in a sharp black tuxedo, looking every bit the powerful, untouchable billionaire everyone feared. But as he turned to look at me, I saw something different in his dark eyes—no coldness, no indifference, just a quiet, guarded kind of acknowledgement.

“Stay close to me tonight,” was all he said, his voice low and steady. “Don’t wander off. And whatever happens… trust me.”

I nodded, though I didn’t understand what he meant until we arrived at the grand ballroom.

The room was packed with the richest, most influential people in the city—politicians, celebrities, business tycoons, all dressed in glittering finery, all whispering and staring as we walked in. But I barely noticed them. My eyes locked onto the figure standing near the center of the room, smiling sweetly, surrounded by a circle of admirers, her emerald green gown shining brighter than every diamond in the place.

Arabella.

She had come. Uninvited, unannounced, just to ruin my night.

The moment she saw us, she excused herself from her group and glided straight over, her smile wide and perfect, but her eyes burning with cold hatred as they landed on me before shifting to Cassian, softening instantly into a look of adoration I knew she had practiced for years.

“Cassian,” she purred, reaching out to touch his arm like they were old friends, like I wasn’t even standing right there beside him. “It is so wonderful to see you again. I’ve been dying to speak to you ever since… well, ever since my sister had the great fortune to marry you.”

She threw a quick, mocking glance at me, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. “I still can’t believe how lucky she is. Seraphina has always been so… quiet. So plain. So unremarkable. I honestly never imagined she would be the one to capture your attention. If I had known you preferred such simple, boring things… I would have toned myself down years ago.”

The people around us fell silent, watching with eager curiosity. Everyone knew Arabella had been the expected bride, everyone knew she had wanted Cassian for years. This was exactly the kind of drama she loved—humiliating me, making herself look like the better choice, showing everyone that even though I was the wife, I was nothing compared to her.

I felt my face heat up, shame and anger curling tight in my chest. I wanted to look away, to step back, to hide like I always did. But then I remembered Cassian’s words: Stay close. Trust me.

Before I could say anything, Cassian moved. He shifted slightly, stepping between me and Arabella, shaking her hand off his arm like she was something dirty, his face cold and hard as ice, the kind of expression that made grown men run for cover.

“Miss De Lune,” he said, his voice deep and sharp, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear clearly. “My wife’s qualities are exactly what I chose. Her kindness, her quiet strength, her grace—things you would not understand, and certainly things you do not possess. I suggest you remember your place, and remember that you are a guest here. My wife is the only woman who matters in this room.”

Arabella’s smile froze on her face, her eyes widening in shock and humiliation. She opened her mouth to reply, but Cassian had already turned his back on her, turning to me instead, offering me his arm, his expression softening just a fraction, only for me.

“Shall we, Mrs. Valemont?”

I took his arm, my heart racing, warmth flooding through me I couldn’t explain. As we walked away, leaving Arabella standing alone and fuming behind us, I looked up at him, surprised.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me, but his voice was quiet when he answered. “No one speaks to my wife like that. Not even your sister.”

We spent the next hour greeting guests, shaking hands, making polite small talk—everything I was supposed to do. But as the night went on, I felt Cassian’s arm under my hand tense up more and more. His steps slowed, his breathing grew heavier, and I saw that familiar pained glint return to his dark eyes, sharp and desperate. The curse was acting up again—too many people, too much noise, too much stress, all of it feeding the darkness inside him.

He pulled me toward a quiet balcony at the side of the room, away from the crowd, his hand gripping my wrist tight, his fingers trembling. The moment the door closed behind us, he stumbled, leaning heavily against the stone railing, his head bowed, a low, ragged groan escaping him.

“It’s coming back,” he gritted out, his voice raw. “Too much… it’s too much.”

I didn’t hesitate. I stepped close, pressing my hands gently against his chest, right over the place where the curse burned the hottest, just like I had done in his study. I stood close enough that our bodies almost touched, my presence wrapping around him, soft and steady.

“Breathe,” I whispered, so quiet only he could hear. “Let it go.”

Just like before, the change was instant. His whole body relaxed, the shaking stopped, the pain vanished from his face, his head lifting to look down at me, his dark eyes searching mine, wide and intense. We stood there for a long moment, alone on the balcony, the music and laughter of the party far behind us, the cool night air wrapping around us. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t step back. He stayed right there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, close enough that I could see every detail of his face, every crack in the cold mask he wore for the world.

“Why do you do this?” he asked, his voice low, rough, and honest. “You have every reason to hate me. I forced you into this marriage. I treat you like a stranger. I gave you nothing but rules and coldness. Why do you help me?”

I looked up at him, my heart beating fast, saying the words I had realized ever since that first night in his study.

“Because I know what it’s like to be alone in pain,” I said softly. “Because even if this marriage started as a contract… we are bound together now. Whether by debt, or by curse… or by something else neither of us understands yet.”

He stared at me for what felt like forever, his eyes dark and deep, filled with so many things—gratitude, confusion, fear, and something else I couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek, so gentle it made my breath catch.

“We have rules,” he said, but his voice wasn’t cold anymore. It was soft. Almost tender. “But… from now on. There’s one more rule. You don’t have to hide who you are around me. And you don’t have to be invisible anymore.”

He pulled his hand away, turning back toward the ballroom, but as he opened the door to lead me back inside, his hand rested firmly on the small of my back, warm and steady, keeping me close.

I knew then that nothing would ever be the same again. The contract was still there. The curse was still there. The secrets and the danger were still there. But now, there was also us. A quiet, fragile, unspoken bond that was growing stronger every single day.

And I had a feeling that before this year was over, the fake marriage we had both been forced into would become the most real thing either of us had ever known.