She didn't sleep.
Not even for a breath.
The bedroom was dark, quiet, far too still for someone who had just stared their nightmares dead in the eye.
Eden sat curled in the corner like a secret, wrapped tightly in Cassian's silk robe as if it could protect her from the truth clawing through her chest. It smelled like him amber, leather, danger.
He was still asleep.
Naked. Peaceful.
A lie in its most perfect form.
She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest like it was a countdown. To what, she didn't know. Her thoughts spun, unspooling fast and frantic tapes, hidden doors, secrets hidden in plain sight. The black door. The whispers. The warnings.
Don't fall in love with Cassian Roth. Or you'll never leave alive.
Too late.
She was already in the fire. One foot burned. The other was dancing.
"You're not in bed," his voice murmured suddenly, sleep-thick but knowing.
Her head jerked toward him. His eyes were closed. His mouth curved.
"You're awake."
"I was waiting for you."
A bitter breath slipped through her lips. "You record women."
His golden eyes blinked open, calm as ever. Sharp like broken mirrors.
"And you break into locked rooms."
She stood slowly. The robe clung to her. Her self-respect was hanging on by a thread, fraying with every second.
"Why?"
"Because I can," he said, calm and unapologetic, like that was all the explanation she deserved.
"Do they know?"
"They don't ask."
Her breath caught. "That's not consent."
His smile was slow. Dangerous. Like a wolf licking his teeth.
"You didn't stop me."
Her voice cracked. "That's not the same."
Cassian rose. Naked. Unapologetic. Every inch of him carved like sin with no repentance.
He walked toward her. Heat pulsed with every step.
"You let me blindfold you," he said softly. "Let me own your body. You begged for more."
"You didn't tell me you were filming it."
He stopped, inches from her, a storm in a silk robe.
"And you didn't tell me you were digging through
my secrets."
Touché.
He cornered her.
Literally.
The wall pressed against her back as his arms caged her in. She could feel the heat radiating off him, feel the chaos behind that golden stare.
"You found Marla's tapes."
Her throat dried out like sand.
"I did."
"And now what?"
"I want answers."
"No," he said, his voice dipping into something primal. "You want to feel righteous. Like this is my crime. But we both know better."
She tried to step past him.
But his hand grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head.
He leaned in, close enough for her pulse to stutter.
His mouth dragged the side of her throat slow, deliberate, like he was marking her without leaving a trace.
"I make women feel things they swore they never would."
"Maybe that's the problem."
"No," he murmured, dragging his tongue over her pulse, slow and deliberate. "That's the gift."
They didn't fight fair.
She kissed him like she wanted vengeance.
He kissed her like he wanted blood.
Cassian lifted her with ease and slammed her against the bedroom door. Her legs locked around him on instinct. Her body a traitor.
His mouth devoured hers wild, fierce, and familiar.
The robe slipped off her shoulders with one tug, pooling at her feet.
She gasped, but it melted into a moan when his fingers pushed inside her, bold and unforgiving.
"You're angry," he breathed against her lips.
She bit his mouth. Hard.
"You're terrified."
She nodded. Barely breathing.
"And you still want me."
That part made her whimper.
Because it was true.
The Countertop.
He dragged her into the kitchen, bent her over the cold marble like she was something to be devoured, and drove into her without mercy.
No asking. No apologies.
Just flesh slamming against flesh. Fingers clawing for balance. Her name falling from his lips like a prayer that forgot its god.
She gasped when he yanked her head back by the hair.
"Say it."
"No."
"Say it, Eden."
His thrusts grew violent. Deeper.
"I.."
"Say you belong to me."
Tears burned her eyes. Her body trembled.
"I don't know who I belong to anymore."
He paused. Just for a second.
And then he finished inside her. Slowly. Like a declaration.
"Then let me teach you."
Later.
She sat on the couch wrapped in one of his oversized shirts. Bare legs. Bare soul.
He sat across from her like a painting of guilt, beautiful, expensive, and fake.
"I want to know what happened to Marla," she said.
His jaw tightened.
"She loved the attention," he said.
"That's not what I asked."
He met her eyes. The silence between them grew strong.
Then he said, "She was weak".
"What does that mean?"
"It means she fell in love before she was ready for what it meant."
Eden's pulse stuttered.
"And what does it mean, Cassian?"
He leaned in, inches from her face.
"Love with me doesn't come with flowers, Eden. It comes with blood. Secrets. Obsession. Control."
"Is that what you want from me?"
"No," he said, eyes dark. "That's what I've already taken."
That Afternoon.
She left the penthouse. Her skin still stung from his touch. Her heart even more.
She wandered into a little bookstore on Fifth. Dusty. Quiet. Safe.
Until a voice curled behind her. Low. British and sharp.
"You're Eden Monroe."
She turned.
The woman was tall. Mid-to-late thirties. Raven black hair. Red lipstick like a warning sign.
"I am."
The woman stepped closer.
"Cassian doesn't love people. He uses them."
"Do I know you?"
"You know of me."
She pulled out a photograph.
Marla.
Tied to a chair.
Bruised.
Eyes hollowed by something worse than fear.
"This is what happens when you think you're special."
Eden's stomach twisted.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the one who got out alive."
They sat at a café nearby.
The woman stirred her tea with trembling fingers.
Her name was Sienna.
She met Cassian five years ago. Same charm. Same games. Different ending.
"He doesn't want love," she said. "He wants control. Always has."
"Then why me?" Eden asked.
Sienna met her gaze.
"Because you let him."
"I didn't know."
"You do now."
She slid a card across the table.
A number was written on it.
"Call this when you're ready to leave. I'll help."
Eden stared at it.
"I'm not leaving."
Sienna leaned in.
"You will. Either walking or crawling. But you will."
That Night.
Cassian stood in the penthouse, waiting like a shadow in a tailored shirt.
"How was the bookstore?" he asked.
She froze.
"You followed me."
"No," he said. "But I follow everything."
"I saw Sienna."
His jaw ticked.
"She said you hurt Marla."
"She said a lot of things."
"Are they true?"
He walked over. Put his hands on her waist.
"Would it change how I feel about you?"
She looked up at him. Her voice shook.
"No."
"Then don't let it change how you feel about me."
He turned on the Shower.
He pulled her in. Clothes still on.
Water clung to her blouse as he kissed her like he needed to forget everything else.
She kissed him back like breaking apart didn't scare her anymore.
His hands pinned hers against the tile, firm, unrelenting.
His mouth trailed down her chest, her ribs, and her thighs like he was learning her by heart.
"I don't want soft," she gasped.
"Good," he growled.
He sank to his knees like she was the only thing that had ever made sense, mouth and hands full of reverence and need.
She unraveled against the wall breath hitching, legs trembling, drenched in sweat and something deeper.
And he didn't stop.
He stood. Tore her blouse open. Ripped lace from her thighs like paper.
Entered her again hard, ruthless, and silently.
When she cummed again, he still didn't stop.
He just whispered against her throat,
"You taste like a lie."