Signed to Obey

The Line

Eden’s POV

The car ride back from the gala was a silent war. No words, just the hum of the engine and the weight of Cassian’s presence beside me, like a storm cloud too stubborn to break. I kept my eyes on the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white.

My fingers twisted the hem of my dress—satin, suffocating, and not mine. Just another piece of his world I was borrowing.

I wanted to rip it off.

Not because it wasn’t beautiful. It was. But because every second I wore it, I felt like a prop. A doll dressed up for his game. And the way his hand had stayed on my back all night—firm, not warm—hadn’t helped.

It wasn’t possession. It wasn’t affection. It was control.

And I’d let it happen.

For the money. For the roof over my head. For the chance to not wake up tomorrow wondering if I’d eat.

But God, it burned.

“You’re quiet,” Cassian said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

I didn’t look at him. “Thought you liked silence.”

“When it’s intentional.”

I snorted, finally turning my head. His profile was sharp against the glow of passing streetlights—jaw set, eyes forward, like he was navigating a boardroom instead of a car.

“What, you want me to entertain you now? Should I sing? Tell a joke?”

“You were loud enough at the gala,” he said, still not looking at me. “Charming, according to Adrian Lennox.”

“Jealous?” I shot back, half-teasing, half-daring him to react.

His lips didn’t even twitch. “Hardly.”

“Then why bring it up?”

He didn’t answer. Typical. The man could dodge questions like they were bullets.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care, you sure keep track of who I talk to.”

“You’re my wife,” he said, the word flat and heavy. “People notice you. That’s the point.”

“Fake wife,” I corrected, my voice sharp. “And I wasn’t flirting with Lennox. I was just… being me.”

“You were being reckless.”

I laughed, low and bitter. “Reckless? I smiled, made small talk, and didn’t punch anyone. That’s practically sainthood for me.”

Cassian finally looked at me, his eyes cold but piercing, like he could see straight through my sarcasm to the nerves underneath.

“You don’t understand these people, Eden. They don’t play fair. One wrong word, one misstep, and they’ll tear you apart.”

“Wow,” I said, leaning forward, my voice dripping with mockery. “Is that concern I hear? Be careful, Cassian. Someone might think you give a damn.”

His jaw tightened, just enough to betray he’d heard me. But he turned back to the window, dismissing me without a word.

The rest of the ride was silent again. I hated it. Hated how he could make me feel small without even trying.

When we pulled up to the mansion, I didn’t wait for the driver to open my door. I stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, and stormed toward the entrance. The night air was cool, sharp, and I welcomed it. Anything to shake off the weight of that ballroom and his hand on my back.

Inside, the house was as suffocating as ever. I kicked off my heels at the base of the grand staircase, letting them clatter louder than necessary. If he wanted silence, I’d give him chaos.

“Eden.”

His voice stopped me mid-step. I didn’t turn, just stood there, one hand on the banister, my pulse loud in my ears.

“What?” I snapped.

“You did well tonight.”

I froze. Slowly, I turned to face him. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. The compliment—if you could call it that—felt like a chess move, not kindness.

“Don’t strain yourself,” I said, voice dry. “Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle being human.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bite back. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence filling the space like it always did.

“You think this is a game. It’s not. Those people tonight? They’re not your friends. They’re not even mine. They’re vultures waiting for a c***k in the armor.”

“And what am I?” I asked, stepping down one stair, closing the distance. “Your shield? Your prop? Or just the i***t who signed her life away for a paycheck?”

He didn’t flinch, but his gaze held mine, steady and unyielding. “You’re whatever I need you to be.”

I laughed, sharp and humorless. “That’s cute. You think you get to decide that.”

“I do,” he said simply. “That’s the deal.”

My smile vanished. I took another step down, now close enough to feel the heat of him, the faint cedar and steel of his cologne.

“Here’s the thing, Cassian. You don’t own me. You bought my time, my face, my fake smiles. But you don’t get my soul. And if you think you can just snap your fingers and make me whatever you want, you’re in for a very loud year.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, his eyes searching mine like he was looking for something he didn’t expect to find.

Then, so quiet it almost didn’t register: “Noted.”

He turned and walked away, leaving me on the stairs, my heart pounding and my hands shaking.

I hated him.

I hated how he made me feel—like I was fighting a war I didn’t even want to win.

But more than that, I hated the tiny, traitorous part of me that wondered what it would take to c***k that icy wall of his.

---

Cassian’s POV

She was a problem.

Not in the way I’d anticipated—not a liability or a scandal waiting to happen. No, Eden Monroe was a problem because she didn’t bend.

I’d chosen her for that. For her defiance, her lack of ambition, her refusal to want me. But standing there on the stairs, her eyes blazing, her voice cutting through the silence I’d spent years cultivating, I realized I might have miscalculated.

Not her. Me.

I walked into my study, the door clicking shut behind me. The room was my sanctuary—dark, orderly, untouched by chaos. But tonight, it felt smaller. Like her presence had followed me, lingering like smoke I couldn’t clear.

I poured a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the dim light. I didn’t drink often—control demanded clarity—but tonight, I needed the burn.

She’d done well at the gala. Better than I’d expected. The way she’d handled Lennox, sharp but not sloppy, had been… effective. She wasn’t polished, but she wasn’t weak. She’d walked into a room of predators and held her own, her sarcasm a blade she wielded without hesitation.

And yet, she’d pushed too far.

Not with them. With me.

“You don’t own me.”

Her words echoed, sharp and unyielding. No one spoke to me like that. Not my board. Not my parents. Not even the women who’d tried to claw their way into my life before her.

I set the glass down, untouched.

She was right, in a way. I didn’t own her. I’d bought her compliance, her presence, her name on a contract. But Eden wasn’t the kind of woman who stayed bought. She’d fight every step, test every boundary, and I’d be a fool to think I could predict her next move.

That was the problem.

I didn’t like unpredictability. I didn’t like the way she looked at me—like she saw through the armor I’d spent years forging. Like she was daring me to feel something.

I didn’t feel. Not anymore.

But standing there, inches from her on the stairs, I’d felt… something. A pull. A c***k. Not in her, but in me.

I pushed the thought away, leaning back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The gala had been a success. My parents had been there, watching from the sidelines, their approval unspoken but clear. The board would be pacified for now. Eden had played her part.

But she wasn’t just a part. She was a variable. And variables were dangerous.

My phone buzzed on the desk. A message from my assistant.

> Clarissa Milton called again. Wants to meet. Says it’s urgent.

I didn’t respond. Clarissa was a problem I’d already solved. Or so I’d thought.

I stood, moving to the window. The gardens below were dark, silent, perfectly manicured. Like everything in my life, they were controlled.

Except her.

Eden was a weed in my garden—stubborn and wild, refusing to be tamed.