The hotel suite felt different now. Before, it was a cage. Now, it felt like a bunker.
Cassian locked the door, throwing the deadbolt with a finality that echoed in the silence. He loosened his tie, pulling it from his neck and tossing it onto the velvet sofa. He looked exhausted, the adrenaline of the auction fading into a grim determination.
He walked over to the desk, pulled a sleek silver laptop from his bag, and set it down. He plugged in the black USB drive.
A blue light blinked.
"Elena," he said, not looking up. "Come here."
I walked over, my heels sinking into the carpet. The emerald dress felt heavy now, like a costume for a play that had just ended. I stood next to him, staring at the screen.
He typed in a decryption key. The screen flooded with folders.
Folder 1: Police Reports (2008-2009) Folder 2: Financials (Morell Estate) Folder 3: Audio Transcripts
"This is it," Cassian murmured. "The shadow history of your life."
"Open the police report," I whispered.
He clicked. A PDF opened. It was a standard missing person report. Elena Morell. Age 3. Missing from family estate. No signs of forced entry.
Cassian scrolled down.
"Look at the date," he said, pointing to the bottom of the document.
Case Status: CLOSED - INACTIVE Date: October 14, 2008.
I did the math in my head. "That's... that's two weeks after you took me."
"Standard procedure for a high-profile kidnapping is to keep the case open for years," Cassian said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The FBI keeps files open for decades. Your father's private security and the local police closed your file in fourteen days."
"Why?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Maybe they thought I was dead?"
"Keep reading."
He opened Folder 2: Financials.
It was a spreadsheet. A campaign donation log for Vittorio Morell's run for Mayor, and later, Governor.
October 1st (Day of Kidnapping): Donations spike. Sympathy vote.
October 15th (Case Closed): Vittorio launches the "Elena's Law" campaign—a tough-on-crime platform.
November: Donations triple.
"He used me," I breathed, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "He used my disappearance to win the election."
"It gets worse," Cassian warned. He hovered the mouse over Folder 3: Audio Transcripts. "Do you really want to hear this?"
I looked at the screen. I looked at Cassian. He wasn't looking at the data; he was looking at me, his eyes filled with a strange, sorrowful protectiveness. He knew what was on this tape. He had probably suspected it for years.
"Play it," I said.
He clicked.
Static filled the room. Then, a voice I recognized from television interviews. My father. Deep, charismatic, commanding.
"...found a lead in the warehouse district. We think the Vance boy has her." (That was a police captain's voice).
Then, my father's voice again. Louder. Sharper.
"Call off the dogs, Captain."
"Sir? We might be able to retrieve the child within the hour."
"I said call them off! If you find her now, the narrative dies. The sympathy dies. I need the grieving father angle to hold until the polls close in November. Let the boy keep her. Or better yet... let the trail go cold. She is worth more to this family as a ghost than she is as a liability."
The recording clicked off.
She is worth more to this family as a ghost..."
Silence.
I stared at the laptop, my vision blurring. My knees gave out.
Cassian moved instantly, catching me before I fell. He spun his chair around and pulled me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me like iron bands to hold me together.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into my hair. "I'm so sorry, Elena."
I sat there for a moment, letting the truth sink in. My father was a monster. Cassian was the shield.
But then, a cold realization hit me. A contradiction that didn't make sense.
I stiffened in Cassian's arms. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed back, creating enough space to look him in the eye.
"You knew," I accused, my voice trembling. "You suspected this whole time that if I went back to him, he would have me killed."
"Yes," Cassian admitted, his gaze unflinching. "I suspected."
"Then why?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Why did you try to kick me out yesterday? On my birthday? You gave me a gun and told me to leave! If you knew my father was hunting me, why were you going to throw me to the wolves?"
Cassian's jaw tightened. He looked away, staring at the wall over my shoulder.
"Answer me, Cassian!" I hit his chest with my fist. "You protected me for fifteen years. You built a fortress around me. Why did you suddenly decide to open the gate and let me die?"
He looked back at me, and the raw agony in his eyes stopped my heart.
"Because I was trying to save you from the one thing more dangerous than your father," he rasped.
"What could possibly be more dangerous than the man who wants me dead?"
"Me," he growled.
He grabbed my wrists, holding them against his chest so I could feel the frantic thudding of his heart.
"I didn't try to send you away because I stopped caring, Elena. I tried to send you away because I started caring too much."
My breath hitched. "What?"
"You turned nineteen," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "And I stopped seeing the child I raised. I started seeing you. I started noticing the way you looked at me. I started noticing how the house felt empty when you were in another room."
He released my wrists and cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
"I told myself to let you go because if I kept you here... I knew I would eventually do this."
His gaze dropped to my lips.
"I would cross the line," he confessed. "I would ruin you. I would turn you into a target just to keep you by my side. So yes, I tried to send you away. I tried to be noble. I tried to let you have a life, even a short one, that didn't involve being shackled to a monster like me."
"You aren't a monster," I whispered, the anger draining out of me, replaced by a scorching heat. "You're the only one who told me the truth."
"I am a selfish man, Elena," he warned, his thumb dragging across my lower lip. "I tried to let you go. But you stayed. And now that I have you in my lap... I don't think I have the strength to let you go again."
"Good," I said, looking straight into his gold eyes. "Because I don't want to go."
"You should," he groaned.
"I don't want to run from the wolves anymore, Cassian. I want to stay with the one who bites back."
Something snapped in him. The last wall of resistance crumbled.
"Then God forgive me," he snarled.
He leaned in and crushed his mouth to mine.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision
Cassian froze for a fraction of a second, his body rigid with shock. Then, he broke.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and his hand tangled in my hair, angling my head back to deepen the kiss. His mouth was hot, demanding, tasting of champagne and violence. He kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to erase the space between us. The emerald dress rode up my thigh as I shifted in his lap.
Cassian's hand slid down my back, resting on the bare skin exposed by the dress. His touch was electric. He pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against mine, both of us panting.
"Elena," he warned, his voice ragged. "Think about what you're doing. I am the villain. I am the reason you don't have a normal life."
"I don't want a normal life," I said, looking straight into his eyes. "My 'normal' father wanted me dead. You wanted me alive. You're not the villain, Cassian. You're mine."
He stared at me, his pupils blown wide. He looked like a man fighting a losing battle against his own soul.
"Then God forgive me," he snarled.
He stood up, lifting me effortlessly in his arms as if I weighed nothing. He swept the laptop off the desk with one hand, not caring as it crashed to the floor.
He carried me into the bedroom, not to the bed, but to the wall beside the heavy velvet curtains. He pressed me against the cool plaster, his body a wall of heat pinning me in place.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands roamed over the emerald silk, possessive and rough. "Tell me to stop, Elena, because I am past the point of being a gentleman."
"Don't you dare stop," I gasped, arching into him.
He groaned, a low, primal sound that vibrated through my chest. His hands found the high slit of my dress, sliding up my thigh, his rough palms scraping against my smooth skin. The contrast made me shudder.
"You are mine," he murmured, his mouth claiming mine again, harder this time, devouring me. "I bought your secrets. I bought your safety. And tonight..."
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the gold.
"Tonight, I'm taking the rest."
He carried me to the bed and laid me down on the black silk sheets. The dark fabric made my skin look pale, luminous. He stood over me for a second, ripping his tuxedo shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor like diamonds.
When he came down to me, it was like being consumed by a storm.
There was no fumbling. No awkwardness. He knew my body better than I did—he had watched me grow, guarded me, studied me. But now, he was learning me in a way he had denied himself for years.
He stripped the emerald dress away until there was nothing left but skin and moonlight.
"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice ragged. "My beautiful ruin."
His hands were everywhere—worshipping, claiming, demanding. Every touch was a brand. Every kiss was a promise of protection and a threat of obsession.
I ran my hands over the scars on his chest, tracing the history of violence he had endured to keep me safe. I pulled him down, needing to feel the weight of him, needing to know that the monster under my bed was finally in it with me.
"Cassian," I breathed his name like a prayer.
"I'm here," he rasped, settling between my legs, his weight heavy and perfect. He laced his fingers with mine, pinning my hands to the pillows above my head. "I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Elena. Forever."
"Show me," I challenged him.
And he did.
The night dissolved into a blur of friction and fire, of whispered names and broken gasps. There were no more secrets in the dark. There was only the man who had stolen me, and the woman who had finally allowed herself to be caught.
Just a man and a woman, and a twenty-million-dollar secret burning in the other room.