Page 29 of Cruel Deception
The venue doesn’t change—but the lighting dims, music swells, and trays of champagne begin to appear like magic.
The priest vanishes. A pianist replaces him. The room begins to hum with conversation, laughter—forced, careful, hollow.
The wedding has become a reception.
A celebration I have no part in.
Cassian doesn’t leave my side, but he doesn’t speak either. He just watches—every move I make, every breath. My fingers tremble as I accept a glass of champagne from a tray. I don’t drink it.
Then I see him. My father. Near a marble pillar, alone.
And furious.
He storms toward me, his smile gone, his suit rumpled from clenched fists. “You idiot,” he hisses through gritted teeth, dragging me slightly aside. “Why Cassian? You could’ve walked away, run, anything but marry that psychopath.”
Why was he so furious that I married Cassian instead of Luca?
What difference did it make? The marriage contract was my decision. I went to the Morettis myself, I signed the papers to honor my grandfather’s wish—not his. No one forced me.
So why did he care?
Unless... he stood to gain something. Not from me. Not from the Morettis. From Luca.
I step back, my gown’s train catching under my heel, my voice sharp. “Walk away? With a bomb under the altar? You think I had a choice?”
“You always have a choice,” he snaps, his eyes blazing. “Luca was the plan. He’s controlled, predictable. Cassian’s a loose cannon—you’ve ruined everything.”
“Everything?” I scoff, anger flaring. “What do you gain from Luca, huh? Money? Power? Did you sell Mom to the Morettis too, or was that just your side hustle?”
His face purples, a vein pulsing at his temple. “You ungrateful bitch,” he snarls, and his hand cracks across my cheek, the slap echoing in the hall. Pain blooms, hot and sharp, my vision swimming as I stumble, clutching my face. Gasps ripple through the crowd, heads turning, but no one dares intervene.
Before I can speak, a shadow looms.
Cassian materializes, his presence a storm, his eyes locked on my father with a predator’s focus. “You touched my wife,” he says, his voice a low, chilling promise, each word dripping with unhinged menace.
The crowd parts, sensing blood.
My father staggers back, his bravado crumbling. “She’s my daughter,” he stammers. “I—”
Cassian grabs him by the collar, yanking him close, his knuckles white. “She’s mine now,” he growls, his scar twitching with rage.
In a blur, he slams my father against the pillar, the marble cracking under the force.
The crowd freezes, glasses clinking as hands pause mid-sip.
Cassian’s fist connects with my father’s jaw, a sickening crunch, blood spraying onto the velvet drapes.
Another punch, then another, each blow deliberate, brutal, my father’s face swelling, his gasps wet and desperate.
“Cassian, stop,” I whisper, my voice trembling, but he doesn’t hear me, his eyes wild, unhinged, a man possessed.
He drags my father to the center of the hall, forcing him to his knees before the crowd. A knife appears in Cassian’s hand, its blade glinting, and he presses it to my father’s throat, a thin red line blooming.
“Apologize,” Cassian orders, his voice a deadly calm. “To her. Now.”
My father chokes, blood dribbling from his lips. “I’m... sorry,” he rasps, his eyes darting to me, fear and humiliation in them.
Cassian leans down, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Touch her again, Grayson, and I’ll carve your heart out and feed it to your men.” He shoves my father to the floor, the man collapsing in a heap, gasping, broken.
