Page 23 of Cruel Deception
I step out, gripping my duffel, but a guard in a crisp suit rushes forward, taking it with a deferential nod.
Luca’s already issuing orders to his men, his voice low and urgent—mafia business, no doubt. “If you need anything, Miss Charlotte,” he says, glancing at me, “don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Alright,” I say, my voice small.
“He’ll show you to your room,” Luca adds, nodding to the guard. “You’ll stay there until we’re married.” He strides off, flanked by two hulking men, their conversation a murmur of deals and blood.
The guard leads me through the mansion’s labyrinth, past crystal chandeliers and ancestral portraits, to a sleek door with a biometric lock.
He scans my fingerprint, the lock clicking open, and sets my bag inside. “Here, miss,” he says, then leaves with a nod.
“Thank you,” I call after him, stepping into the room.
It’s elegant—ivory walls, a four-poster bed draped in silk, a balcony overlooking manicured gardens—but understated, not ostentatious.
I drop my bag, letting the quiet beauty sink in, when a shadow shifts in the corner.
My heart lurches, a scream catching in my throat as pain flares in my chest, my surgery scars protesting.
I clutch my ribs, panting, and meet Cassian’s gaze. He’s sprawled in an armchair like a king on a throne, his black suit unbuttoned, his blue eyes glinting with predatory calm. “God, you scared me,” I gasp, my voice shaky.
He says nothing, just watches, his silence a weapon sharper than words.
“Tell Luca you’re not marrying him,” he says finally, his voice low, cold, a command carved in ice.
“What?” I stammer, my pulse racing.
“You heard me,” he says, unmoving, his presence filling the room like smoke.
“Why would I do that?” My voice trembles, but I lift my chin, defiant.
“Because you’re mine.” His words are a claim, unyielding, possessive. “You’ll wear my ring. You’ll be my wife—want it or not.”
I shake my head, fear and anger warring in my chest. “You hate me, Cassian. I’m not marrying you. And if it’s about the bike, I’m still trying to find it.”
His face darkens, a mystery deepening in his eyes.
“Luca will help me find my mother,” I say, pressing my advantage. “He’s not... like you.”
His fist clenches, a subtle twitch, but his expression stays carved in stone.
Is he angry? Jealous?
He rises, all slow menace, and stalks toward me.
I retreat instinctively, my heart hammering, until my back hits the wall, the cool plaster a shock against my skin. He’s inches away, his scent—cedar, leather, danger—wrapping around me, my body betraying me with a flush of heat I can’t control.
My eyes dart to the slightly ajar door, panic spiking. If Luca walks in now...
I try to sidestep, but Cassian’s hand slams against the wall beside my head, caging me.
His other hand grips my waist, pinning me, his touch electric, terrifying. “Cassian, please,” I whisper, not sure if I’m begging him to stop—or begging him to mean something else.
His finger brushes my lips, silencing me, his eyes burning into mine. “You’re not scared of me,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet threat. “You’re scared of Luca seeing us like this.”
“I can’t be your wife,” I say, my voice steadier now, defiance cutting through fear. “Whatever you feel, it’s not mutual.”
He smirks, dark and wicked, his lips hovering over mine, so close I feel his breath, warm and sweet, fanning my face.
