The bathroom was a palace of marble and gold, but I felt like I was suffocating.
I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the feeling of that man's hand on my ankle. But more than that, I was trying to wash away the confusion.
Fiancée.
I looked at the diamond ring on my finger. It was heavy, a shackle disguised as jewelry.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly I wasn't nineteen. I was ten. I remembered scraping my knee in the garden. I remembered running to Cassian's study. I remembered him sighing, putting down his pen, and putting a band-aid on it with those large, rough hands. He had been my guardian. My protector. The only authority I had ever known.
And now?
Now I had to walk into that bedroom and lie down next to him. Not as a child seeking comfort, but as a woman he was parading as his property. The shift made my stomach twist with a mixture of nausea and a dark, confusing heat I didn't want to name.
I steeled myself, wrapped the plush robe tight around my body like armor, and opened the door.
The suite was dim. Cassian was already in bed.
He was propped up against the headboard, reading a file. He wasn't wearing a shirt.
I froze in the doorway. My eyes betrayed me, tracing the landscape of his chest—the hard muscle, the jagged scar across his ribs, the tattoo of a serpent on his bicep.
He looked up. His gaze didn't feel fatherly. It felt heavy. Physical.
"Stop hovering, Elena. You're letting the cold in."
I scurried to the empty side of the bed, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I slid under the black silk sheets, clinging to the very edge of the mattress.
"This is wrong," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Cassian didn't look up from his tablet. "Survival often is."
"No, I mean..." I turned my head, looking at his profile. The same sharp jawline I had looked up to my entire life. "You raised me, Cassian. You taught me algebra. You... you used to check under my bed for monsters."
He went still. His finger hovered over the screen.
Slowly, he turned to face me. The shadows hid his eyes, but his voice was tight.
"I didn't raise you to be my daughter, Elena. I raised you to be a weapon against your father. Do not confuse the two."
"I'm not the one confused," I shot back, emboldened by the darkness. "You're the one who put this ring on my finger. You're the one insisting we share a bed."
He set the tablet down on the nightstand with a sharp clack. He turned off the lamp, plunging us into darkness.
"I am doing what is necessary to keep you alive," he said, his voice coming from the void. "Now go to sleep. And stay on your side."
I turned my back to him, curling into a tight ball. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. It was familiar—the same scent of sandalwood and gun oil that had always permeated the house—but now it felt dangerous.
I squeezed my eyes shut. He is just Cassian, I told myself. He is just Cassian.
But my brain wouldn't listen. The nightmares came quickly.
Bang. Bang.
"No!"
I gasped, jerking awake. I was drowning in panic, thrashing against the sheets.
"Elena."
A heavy arm clamped around my waist.
Reflexively, I scrambled backward, seeking safety. My back hit a wall of solid, warm muscle. Cassian.
He didn't pull away. He pulled me in. He hauled me against his chest, trapping me between his arms.
"Shh," he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep. "You're safe. I've got you."
For a second, I was a child again, and he was the protector. I melted into him, my trembling body seeking his strength. I turned in his arms, burying my face in his bare shoulder, breathing him in.
"I saw him," I choked out. "The man with the crowbar."
"He's dead," Cassian murmured, his hand coming up to stroke my hair. It was a soothing, rhythmic motion. "I killed him."
I clung to him, my hands bunching against his skin. My leg tangled with his.
And then, the atmosphere shifted.
I froze. I suddenly realized exactly how close we were. My chest was pressed against his bare torso. My thigh was draped over his hip. The soothing hand in my hair had stilled, his fingers tangling in the strands, tightening just a fraction.
This wasn't how a guardian held a child.
I could feel the tension in his body—he was rigid, like a bowstring pulled tight. I could hear his heart rate accelerate, a heavy, thudding beat against my ear.
He knew it too.
Cassian abruptly pulled his hand away from my hair. He gripped my shoulders and physically pushed me back, creating a few inches of space between us.
"Elena," he warned, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the mattress. "Don't."
"Don't what?" I whispered, confused by the sudden rejection.
"Don't look at me like I'm your savior," he rasped. "And certainly don't look at me like I'm a man. I am the villain of your story. Remember that."
"I can't," I admitted, my voice trembling. "I don't know who you are anymore. You're the monster, but you're the only one who keeps me safe."
"That is exactly why you should run," he said harshly. "Because right now, you are in my bed. You are wearing my ring. And I am finding it very difficult to remember that I used to check under your bed for monsters."
The admission hung in the air, heavy and electrified.
He admitted it. He was struggling too. The line between 'Ward' and 'Woman' was blurring for him, and he hated himself for it.
He rolled over, turning his back to me, putting a wall of cold shoulder between us.
"Go to sleep, Elena," he commanded, his voice strained. "Before I change my mind about letting you stay."
I lay there in the dark, staring at the expanse of his back, my skin burning where he had touched me. The nightmares didn't come back. But something far more dangerous had taken their place.
************ The Next Morning
Sunlight hit my face like a slap.
I groaned, rolling over, reaching for the warmth that had been there all night. My hand hit empty sheets.
I blinked my eyes open. The other side of the bed was cold. Cassian was gone.
" up."
I jolted, sitting up. Cassian was standing by the window, fully dressed in a sharp black tuxedo. He looked impeccable, dangerous, and utterly detached. The vulnerable man from the middle of the night was gone.
"We leave in twenty minutes," he said, checking his Rolex. He pointed to a garment bag hanging on the closet door. "That is for you."
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "What is it?"
"Your armor," he said.
I climbed out of bed and unzipped the bag. Inside was a dress that made my breath catch. It was emerald green silk, floor-length, with a slit that went dangerously high up the thigh and a back that plunged low. It was elegant, expensive, and incredibly revealing.
"I can't wear this," I said, holding it up. "Cassian, it... it shows everything."
He walked over to me, stopping just inches away. He reached out, taking the fabric between his fingers.
"That is the point," he said, his eyes scanning my face. "Tonight, you are not a victim. You are a prize. You need to look like something men would start a war over."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Wear the dress, Elena. Play the part. And remember what I told you."
"Don't speak," I recited.
"Don't speak," he agreed. "And don't leave my side."
He turned and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.
"Oh, and Elena?"
"Yes?"
He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes flashing with a dark amusement.
"You kick in your sleep."