The estate was quiet that night.
Too quiet.
Outside, the sky churned with storm clouds, lightning flashing like warning shots across the horizon. The guards doubled shifts. Luca watched the gates. Threats lingered in the dark.
But inside, it was something else that kept Alina awake.
Cassian.
He hadn't spoken to her all day.
Hadn't touched her.
But she felt him everywhere — in the way the room seemed colder without him near, in the echo of his voice when he gave orders, in the scent of him on her skin that wouldn't fade.
They hadn't slept apart since the wedding.
Not because they were in love.
Because control demanded closeness.
And because some nights, even silence needed a body to lean against.
---
She was pacing the bedroom when he walked in.
Drenched in rain. Shirt half-unbuttoned. Blood on his knuckles.
Alina froze.
"You're hurt."
Cassian didn't look at her. "Not mine."
He dropped his holster on the dresser. Poured a drink with steady hands. Didn't speak again.
The room felt like a ticking bomb.
Alina stared at him. At his mouth. His throat. The way his chest rose and fell like he was holding something back.
Anger?
Pain?
Desire?
Maybe all of it.
"You don't talk to me anymore," she whispered.
"You're not here to talk."
She stepped closer. "Then what am I here for?"
Cassian finally looked up.
And the second their eyes locked, the room cracked in half.
---
He was on her in a blink.
Not soft. Not slow.
Just hungry.
His mouth claimed hers, teeth scraping, tongue rough. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist as if to remind her who she belonged to now.
She moaned into him — not in fear.
In need.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against her lips.
She bit his bottom lip instead.
He shoved her back against the wall. The same wall he once pinned her to in a warehouse. A memory she swore she hated — but now, her body betrayed her.
It craved him.
"You think I want you," he whispered, voice dripping with venom and heat. "You think I still want the woman who ruined everything."
"Then why are you hard?" she breathed.
His eyes flared.
Clothes ripped.
Buttons scattered.
The air filled with the sound of her breath hitching, his belt unfastening, her name dragged from his mouth like a curse and a confession.
He lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Their mouths never broke.
Every thrust was a punishment.
Every kiss a battle.
She raked her nails down his back. He bit her shoulder.
They were chaos.
Fire and gasoline.
---
Later — tangled in sweat and silk, hearts thudding like drums — Alina stared at the ceiling.
Cassian lay beside her, silent, arm draped over his eyes.
She turned to him.
"I feel like I'm losing who I was."
"You were never sure who that was," he muttered.
"I am now."
Cassian didn't speak.
So she whispered the thing that scared her most.
"I think I feel something for you."
He moved his arm, finally meeting her eyes.
Something dangerous shimmered there.
"You don't love me, Alina."
She didn't blink. "No."
"But you're starting to," he said quietly.
She swallowed. "Would it matter if I did?"
Cassian rolled onto his side, hand sliding up her thigh, voice soft but sharp.
"No."
Then he leaned in, brushing his lips along her jaw.
"But it would make everything more painful."
---
The next morning, the tragedy struck again.
A message carved into one of the Vale vehicles outside the estate.
Five words, in dried blood.
"The bride will burn next."
Cassian read it with dead eyes.
Alina stood behind him, frozen.
"What does it mean?"
"It means," Cassian said flatly, "they want to see if I'll break."
She stepped closer. "Will you?"
His jaw flexed.
"No."
But his voice cracked.
Just a little.
And Alina knew something then.
For all his control, Cassian hadn't just made her his contract wife.
He had made her his last weakness.
And in a world like his, that was more dangerous than love itself.