CHAPTER FOUR:HER NAME IS A KNIFE
1171 Words
Cassian had always prided himself on control.
He was a man who lived above chaos — untouchable, calculated, two moves ahead. He managed reputations for kings and criminals. Politicians groveled to him. Fortune 500 CEOs trusted him with their dirtiest secrets. And they paid handsomely to never see those secrets again.
He’d buried scandals, covered blood, rewritten legacies.
But nothing — nothing — had prepared him for Eden Haven.
Not the soft curve of her mouth.
Not the way she said sir with just enough defiance to make him want to ruin her.
Not the light in her eyes that made him feel like he was still human.
> “You should flee from me, dove. I am evil.”
And yet… she stayed.
---
She haunted him.
She appeared in his thoughts when he was alone in his suite, shirt discarded, scotch in hand.
She lingered in the corner of his vision when he tried to focus.
She was everywhere — scent, smile, softness — a temptation dressed in innocence, sent to mock him.
Worse, she was forbidden.
The daughter of Elijah Haven — the one man Cassian had reason to destroy.
The man who had once stood on a pulpit and called his mother a w***e.
The man who pretended to be holy while casting stones at a woman already bleeding.
Cassian had spent his whole life learning how to pull people apart.
But Eden made him want to burn.
---
He dreamed of her.
Not the way a man dreams of a woman.
The way a sinner dreams of salvation just before the fall.
> In the dream, she’s on her knees in his office. Not crying. Not pleading. Just watching him with those big, defiant eyes.
He reaches for her jaw. Tilts it up.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No.”
“You should be.”
She leans forward, lips brushing the inside of his wrist. “Then make me.”
He’d woken up hard, heart racing, hand clenched.
That morning, he’d nearly canceled the internship program just to get her out of the building.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
---
He watched her.
Not always — just enough. Enough to know what time she arrived. What she liked in her coffee. How she laughed with the receptionist but stiffened around men in tailored suits.
She was soft, but not weak. Bright, but not naive.
She was a contradiction.
And contradictions… made him reckless.
---
He found himself doing things he didn’t do.
He checked the security feed when she was working late.
He requested her presence in meetings she wasn’t required for.
He hovered near her cubicle longer than he needed to.
And that damn blouse.
It wasn’t revealing — not technically. But the way it hugged her waist… the way her lips parted when she was focused…
He’d memorized too much.
And then — the worst moment — when she walked in on him mid-change in his private suite.
He could’ve covered up faster. He didn’t.
He wanted her to look.
To see the scar. The damage. The danger.
And still want him anyway.
She hadn’t run.
But she had flushed.
And that flush had ruined his entire day.
---
He’d tried distractions.
Late-night workouts. A meaningless hookup with a woman whose name he didn’t remember.
But he didn’t finish.
Because she wasn’t Eden.
---
At 1:37 a.m., he sat in the dark of his penthouse office, sleeves rolled up, eyes locked on her file.
> Eden Grace Haven.
Born: Albany, NY.
Graduated magna c*m laude.
Applied for the internship through the legal fellowship program.
Father: Elijah Haven.
Mother: Deceased, 2010. Cause: unconfirmed.
He stared at that line for a long time.
Unconfirmed.
He remembered the woman — barely. His mother had whispered about her once. Said she was kind. Said she deserved better than the man she married.
The puzzle pieces didn’t fit yet.
But Eden was a key.
Not just to her father. Not just to Cassian’s revenge.
To something else. Something that scared him more than hatred ever could.
---
He closed the file.
Looked at the live feed.
She was still there — in the break room, sipping chamomile like she had no idea what danger she was in.
He imagined walking in. Locking the door behind him. Pushing her back against the counter and whispering her name while his hand slid beneath that pretty skirt.
Instead, he stood.
Went to the bar.
Poured a drink.
---
✦ Cassian's Dream
3:02 a.m.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep.
But he did — head leaned back in his office chair, fingers still curled around the glass of scotch.
And when the dream came, it didn’t ask permission.
---
He was in his office. Lights dimmed. The city glowing below.
Eden stood at the window.
No blouse. Just a black lace bra. Skirt still on. Heels clicking softly on marble.
He watched her from behind his desk — silent, still, predator.
“Are you going to say something?” she asked.
His voice didn’t come.
She turned around slowly, lips parted, breath visible in the tension between them.
Her eyes weren’t afraid. They were inviting.
“Do I scare you, Mr. Blackwood?” she whispered.
He stood.
Stalked toward her.
“You should know better than to provoke monsters, Miss Haven.”
She smiled. A wicked, beautiful, dangerous smile.
> “Maybe I want to be devoured.”
That was all it took.
He had her pinned against the glass window in seconds, hand gripping her throat—not tight, just enough to make her tilt her head back, lips parted in a gasp.
Her chest rose and fell quickly as his mouth hovered inches from hers.
> “You think I want your body,” he growled. “But I want worse.”
He slid his hand up her thigh, under her skirt, fingers brushing lace and heat.
> “I want your mind. Your soul. I want to be the first thing you think of in the morning... and the last name you moan at night.”
She whimpered. Clutched his shirt.
He dragged his mouth down her neck, teeth grazing skin, tongue tasting the pulse fluttering just beneath her jaw.
> “I want to hear you beg me not to stop,” he murmured, “and then curse yourself when I finally do.”
She gasped, grinding into his hand. Her thighs trembled.
> “Please…”
He paused, lips brushing her ear.
> “Please what, dove?”
> “Please... don’t let me go.”
---
Cassian jolted awake.
Hard. Sweating. The scotch glass on the floor.
His hand was clenched into a fist. His pants unbearably tight.
He ran a hand over his jaw, chest heaving.
> You are losing control.
> You should end this. Fire her. Cut her off. Let her go.
But all he could think about… was pressing Eden against that glass again — only this time, awake.
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