Chapter 2
1654 Words
The silence in the room didn’t just return; it settled over us like dust.
I stood near the door, my arms folded tightly over the heavy corset of my dress, watching Cassian.
He didn't look like a man who had just tied his life to another person.
With slow, agonizingly deliberate movements, he unbuttoned his cuffs, letting the heavy gold links clink against the marble-topped bedside table.
Next, he reached for a sleek, matte-black pack resting beside a heavy silver lighter.
I watched his long fingers the ones that had so precisely slid a ring onto my hand only hours ago tap the bottom of the pack.
A single, slim cigarette slid out. He caught it between his lips.
My throat tightened before he even struck the match.
"I..." I started, my voice sounding thin and scratchy in the cavernous room. I cleared my throat, trying to inject some steel into it.
"I can't stand the smell of smoke. It makes me—"
*Flick.*
The sharp, metallic strike of the lighter cut me off before the word *cough* could even leave my mouth.
A small, amber flame flared, casting sharp shadows across the hollows of his cheekbones and the icy blue-green of his eyes.
He didn't look at me as he leaned into the heat.
The tip of the cigarette glowed a fierce, angry orange, and a thin, curling ribbon of gray smoke drifted toward the high ceiling.
He took a slow drag, exhaled, and only then did his gaze slide over to me.
It was a cold, indifferent look that made me feel smaller than the dust motes dancing in the shaft of fading evening light.
"Then I suggest you don't take up the habit," he said smoothly.
His voice was quiet, but it carried the absolute authority of a man who had never been told *no* in his entire life.
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms through the lace of my sleeves.
The smell of rich, expensive tobacco immediately began to choke out the delicate scent of the bridal lilies in my bouquet.
It was a hostile takeover of the air itself.
"What do we do now?" I asked, my voice flat.
I couldn't stand just standing there like a mannequin he had purchased and put in the corner.
I needed to know what the rules of this prison were.
Cassian didn't answer right away. He walked over to the charcoal-gray velvet couch, his movements fluid and entirely unbothered by my tension.
He sat down, draping one arm lazily along the backrest, the cigarette held loosely between his fingers.
Then, he leaned his head back against the cushion and stared at the ceiling.
He didn't say a word. He didn't look in my direction.
He simply excluded me from the room entirely, treating me like an inconvenient piece of furniture his mother had forced him to keep.
The minutes stretched.
The only sound was the faint, rhythmic hiss of his quiet breathing and the occasional, soft crackle of the burning paper.
My ribs were aching.
The corset of my wedding gown was designed for a ceremony, not for sitting, and certainly not for standing awkwardly in the middle of a hostile bedroom for half an hour.
The heavy silk train felt like a lead weight dragging me down.
I stared at his profile, anger finally warming the cold fear in my chest.
"Is this the plan?" I asked, taking a step forward, the heavy satin of my skirt rustling loudly.
"We just sit in silence until the sun comes up? Are you trying to freeze me out on night one?"
Cassian slowly turned his head.
His eyes, partially shielded by a stray lock of dark brown hair, locked onto mine.
He blew a slow, mocking cloud of smoke in my direction.
"You're free to do whatever you like, Athanasia," he said, his voice dripping with dry indifference.
"Sleep. Walk the halls. Scream into a pillow. Just do it quietly."
"I can't even get out of this dress by myself," I snapped, the frustration finally slipping through my carefully constructed mask.
"There are fifty buttons down the back."
Cassian’s gaze traveled slowly down the length of my gown, tracing the fitted bodice down to the massive swell of the skirt, before returning to my face.
A small, infuriating smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"An oversight," he murmured, tapping his ash into a crystal tray on the side table.
"But I’m sure a girl as resourceful as you can find a way to manage. Or would you like me to call one of the maids back?"
The thought of summoning the staff to watch my new husband refuse to touch me made my stomach churn. It would be all over the estate by morning.
"No," I said, my voice hardening. "I'll manage."
I turned my back on him, walking over to the grand, ornate vanity mirror in the corner of the room.
I began to yank the heavy diamond pins from my hair, throwing them onto the marble vanity top with sharp, angry clicks.
In the glass, I could see his reflection.
He was still watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable through the haze of smoke.
He wasn't indifferent not entirely. There was a quiet, calculating light in his eyes, like a cat watching a bird fluttering against the bars of a cage.
I met his gaze in the mirror, refusing to look away first.
"Don't look at me like that," I muttered, unclasping the heavy diamond necklace that felt like a collar.
"You chose this contract just as much as my father did."
"I chose a business partner," Cassian replied, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a sudden, warning edge. "Not a headache.”
"A headache?" I repeated, a sharp, humorless laugh slipping past my lips.
I spun around to face him, the half-unpinned veil dragging heavily against my shoulder.
"We have known each other for twenty years, Cassian. Our families have shared dinners, holidays, and deals. And in two decades, you haven’t managed to change even a fraction. You’re the exact same cold, arrogant jerk you’ve always been."
Cassian didn’t flinch. His expression remained utterly vacant, carved from the same unyielding ice he had worn since we were children. He didn't offer a defense, because to him, my anger wasn't a threat it was barely an annoyance.
He took one last, slow drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing a hot, lethal orange in the dimming light of the bedroom.
"Twenty years," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "And yet, you still haven't learned when to keep your mouth shut."
He stood up from the couch. The sudden movement was incredibly fluid, like a predator deciding it was finally tired of watching its prey flutter. He tossed the half-burned cigarette into the crystal tray, stubbing it out with a slow, brutal twist of his thumb.
Then, he started toward me.
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to take a step back, but the vanity was pressed hard against my lower back.
"Tell me, Athanasia," he said, his footsteps completely silent on the thick Persian rug.
"What exactly did you expect from tonight? A gentle husband? Soft whispers in the dark?"
He stopped inches from me, his towering frame completely eclipsing the light from the window.
The scent of expensive tobacco and cedarwood rolled off him, thick and intoxicating.
"Should I play the part?" he whispered, his eyes dark, glittering with a sudden, vicious intensity.
"Should I strip you out of all this expensive silk and f**k you until you bleed, just to prove to you what kind of contract you actually signed?"
Before I could even process the crude, brutal words, his hand shot out.
His fingers wrapped around my waist, his grip like iron, and he yanked me flush against his chest.
The sudden impact knocked the air from my lungs.
The stiff corset of my gown dug into my ribs, but his hold was unyielding.
"Let go of me!" I gasped, my hands slamming against his chest to push him away.
He didn't. Instead, his other hand gripped the delicate, sheer lace collar at my throat.
*Rip.*
The sound of the expensive, custom-made French lace tearing was deafening in the quiet room.
He pulled with a savage, effortless strength.
The tiny, pearl-shaped buttons along the collar and down the bodice didn't just unfasten they exploded outward, scattering across the polished marble floor with a rapid, metallic chatter.
The heavy, stiff satin of the gown parted down the front, shredded past the waist.
Beneath the heavy structure of the wedding dress, I wasn't wearing standard bridal lingerie.
Knowing how suffocating the gown would be, I had worn a delicate, bone-white silk corset slip minimalist, thin, and entirely vulnerable without the armored layers of the dress protecting it.
The cool air of the room hit my bare collarbones and the exposed silk of the slip, making me shiver violently.
The sheer violation of the act snapped something inside me.
Adrenaline surged through my veins.
With a desperate, feral burst of strength, I brought my heel down hard on his leather shoe and shoved my forearm directly against his throat.
The sudden resistance caught him off guard. His grip loosened just enough for me to twist out of his hold.
I stumbled backward, my feet tangling in the shredded, heavy train of the gown.
I grabbed the torn fabric of my bodice, pulling it tightly over my chest, my breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
My heart was hammering so violently I could feel it in my teeth.
"You animal!" I spat, my voice shaking with raw, unadulterated fury.
"You absolute psycho! Touch me like that again and I swear to God I will kill you in your sleep!”
- Writer
