The car pulled up to the mansion just before sunset.
It looked less like a home and more like a fortress—four floors of cold marble, towering glass windows, and iron gates that kept the world out. Everything about it screamed power. Control. A warning that once you entered, you never left the same.
The driver opened my door, but Damien didn't wait. He was already walking up the steps, his long coat swaying behind him like a shadow. I followed, clutching the fabric of my dress with trembling fingers.
Inside, the house was silent.
Too silent.
No welcoming staff. No music. Just the click of our footsteps against marble floors and the hollow echo of emptiness. The air was cold, sterile. Every inch was spotless and lifeless—like no one had ever really lived here.
At the center of the grand foyer stood a woman in a crimson silk robe, her arms folded, blonde hair pulled into a perfect bun. She was tall, confident, with a beauty so sharp it could draw blood. Her red lips curled when she saw me.
"So this is the girl," she said, voice dripping with mockery.
Damien didn't bother introducing us. He barely glanced at her.
"Take her upstairs," he said, already turning toward the staircase. "Put her in the east wing. Away from me."
The words stung more than I expected.
I wasn't hoping for kindness. But to be dismissed so completely, so casually—it made something twist in my chest.
Cassia tilted her head and gave me a long, slow smile. "You heard the man. Let's go, little wife."
I hesitated, but she grabbed my wrist before I could react. Her grip was tighter than necessary as she led me through the halls, dragging me behind her like a disobedient child.
"You think he married you because he loves you?" she sneered once we were out of earshot. "Please. You're just a tool. A punishment. A living reminder of everything your filthy family did to his."
I blinked at her, trying to process the venom in her tone. "Why are you here?"
She laughed. "Because I belong here. Unlike you. I'm the woman he chooses. Every night. Every morning. You? You're just the headline to distract the public while he ruins your father from the inside out."
My stomach churned.
She wasn't wrong.
But it didn't stop the way my throat burned, or how small I suddenly felt in that endless hallway.
She stopped in front of a tall door and pushed it open.
"This is your room," she said, shoving me inside. "No key. No lock. You stay here until he calls for you—if he ever does."
The door slammed shut behind me.
I stood in silence, heart racing.
The room was large, but empty. A queen-sized bed. A dresser. A closet I didn't dare open. No photographs. No windows that opened. Just walls and shadows.
My feet moved on their own as I walked toward the mirror across the room.
I didn't recognize the girl staring back.
Her skin was pale. Her eyes glassy. Her shoulders hunched as if carrying a weight too heavy to bear.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands folded tightly in my lap.
I didn't know what time it was. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Eat? Wait? Cry?
But I did none of that.
Instead, I stared at the door.
Because I knew he'd come.
Maybe not tonight.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But eventually, Damien Lancaster would come for me—not to hold, not to comfort, but to remind me what I was.
A pawn.
A possession.
A weapon against my own blood.
And when he did… I'd be ready.
Because if this was hell, then I had no choice but to become fire.