Chapter2
1083 Words
Liora
The front door stood open by three inches.
I pushed past Mum and flicked on every light in the hallway. My bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as I checked the living room, the kitchen, and the small bathroom. Nothing moved. Nothing was missing. The lock itself looked untouched, yet the door had opened.
Mum hovered behind me, her voice thin. “Maybe the wind—”
“There is no wind tonight.” I shut the door, locked it twice, and then dragged the heavy wooden chair from the kitchen and jammed it under the handle. My hands shook so hard the chair legs scraped loudly.
We stood in silence listening. The house creaked the way old houses always do. Outside, a dog barked once and then went quiet.
I unfolded the note again under the kitchen light.
Open it, Liora. Or the next time the man in black visits your parents, he won’t leave a letter.
The handwriting was precise and almost elegant. No signature. No demand beyond the threat itself. I crumpled it and shoved it into the pocket of my sleep shorts.
"Go to bed, Mum. I’ll stay up a while.”
She protested, but the exhaustion on her face won. I waited until her bedroom door closed, then sat on the bottom stairs with my phone in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. Sleep never came. Every small sound jerked my head up. By the time grey light slipped through the curtains, my eyes burned and my neck ached.
Dad found me still on the stairs when he came down for early baking. He took one look at the chair under the door and the knife on my lap and said nothing. He only squeezed my shoulder once, then went to start the ovens.
At seven-thirty, a black car that was not a limousine pulled up outside. Two men in dark suits stepped out. One of them was the bulky figure from the library. He stood by the gate. The other walked up the path and knocked politely.
I opened the door before Dad could reach it.
“Miss Hale, Mr. Marcus Voss requests your presence. The car will take you.”
I glanced back at my parents. Mum’s hand covered her mouth. Dad’s jaw was tight, but he gave me the smallest nod. I had already made the decision. Delaying only puts them in more danger.
I changed into the only decent dress I owned, navy blue, and a little too formal for morning, then climbed into the back seat. The bulky man never looked at me. The car smelled of leather and cold air-conditioning. We drove in silence through streets that grew cleaner and quieter until the buildings turned into high walls and private gates.
The Voss estate sat behind black iron and perfect hedges. The butler opened the car door. I followed him across marble floors that reflected the morning light like water. He stopped at a set of double doors and announced me.
Marcus Voss stood by the window of a study that could have swallowed our entire bakery. He turned when I entered. The same white suit. The same calm authority.
“You made the right choice, Liora.”
I kept my voice steady. “I want the threats to stop. Today. The man followed my parents, the fake bills, and the letters—all of it.”
He inclined his head once. “Already done. From this moment your family is under my protection.”
“And marriage?”
“Three weeks from now. Quiet ceremony. Legal papers only. Cassian has been informed.”
My stomach tightened. “He agreed?”
Marcus’s mouth curved without humor. “Cassian does what is required of him. He understands the value of this arrangement even if he does not yet appreciate the bride.”
The words landed like cold water. I had expected resistance or at least curiosity from the man I was about to marry. Apparently, I was simply another item on a list.
Marcus walked to the desk and slid a folder toward me. “Read and sign. Your parents will receive a monthly sum large enough to expand the bakery and hire proper help. Your student loans will disappear. In return, you become Mrs. Cassian Voss, and you remain so for a minimum of five years. After that we can revisit the terms if both parties agree.”
I opened the folder. The language was dense but clear. No love required. No public romance demanded beyond the occasional appearance. Separate bedrooms if desired. Complete discretion about the reasons for the marriage.
My pen hovered. The image of Mum’s red eyes and Dad’s slumped shoulders pushed the tip down onto the paper. I signed every page.
Marcus collected the folder. “Good. Cassian will meet you tomorrow evening for dinner. Private. No press. He prefers to assess his new acquisitions personally.”
Acquisitions.
I swallowed the flash of anger and nodded.
The same car took me home. The bulky man was gone from the gate. When I stepped into the bakery, the air smelled of cinnamon and yeast instead of fear. Mum hugged me too tightly. Dad pressed a warm roll into my hand and told me to eat.
That night the chair stayed under the front door anyway.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and tried to picture the man who would become my husband in three weeks. Cold. Dangerous. Heartless according to every rumor I had ever heard. A tornado that destroyed whatever it touched.
I had agreed to walk straight into its path.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Unknown number. A single message.
*Tomorrow at 8 pm. Wear something that doesn’t look like you borrowed it from a charity shop. – C.V.*
I stared at the letters until they blurred.
Cassian Voss had finally spoken.
And somehow the four words felt more threatening than the man in black ever had.
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