Page 30 of Cruel Deception
The crowd watches, silent, their faces a mix of awe and terror. Cassian turns to me, his knife vanishing, his hand extended. “Come, wife.”
I hesitate, my cheek throbbing, my heart racing. His violence terrifies me, but it’s for me, a twisted shield.
I take his hand, his grip firm, warm, and let him lead me away, the crowd parting like a sea.
I should hate him. I should run.
But I can’t tell if the shiver in my spine is from fear... or the terrifying comfort of finally having someone fight for me.
My father’s whimpers fade behind us, but the weight of Cassian’s ring presses into my finger like a live wire.
He didn’t detonate the bomb beneath the altar.
He detonated me.
As he leads me from the hall, Cassian glances down—not with affection, but with the smug satisfaction of a predator whose trap just snapped shut.
The devil owns me now.
Legally. Publicly. Irrevocably.
My enemy is now my husband.
The man who once promised that my last breath would belong to him.
The one who knows everything about me—and vowed to ruin every piece of me.
What fate awaits me in this marriage?
Chapter 7
CHARLOTTE
I expected flashing lights. Paparazzi. Maybe even a line of black cars for a family this dangerous. Instead, it’s silent.
Cassian leads me to a sleek black Aston Martin parked just beyond the hall’s private gates. No guards. No photographers. Just him.
A black Lamborghini Aventador waits, its sleek lines gleaming under a streetlamp, a beast as untamed as its owner.
I slide into the passenger seat, careful not to snag my Vera Wang gown, its ivory organza train pooling around me.
Cassian takes the driver’s seat, his jaw set, his blue eyes fixed on the road, the silence between us heavier than the bomb he threatened.
I don’t dare sit in the back—last time, he snapped,I’m not your driver, his voice a blade that still cuts.
My cheek throbs from my father’s slap and my mind races with questions. Where’s Luca? Does he know his brother stole his bride?
I glanced at his profile—handsome, sharp-edged, unreadable. His eyes didn’t flicker from the road. He didn’t speak. But his knuckles whitened around the wheel. And that terrified me more than yelling ever could.
I opened my mouth several times to say something—anything—but the words withered on my tongue, so I turn to the window, the city blurring past, a maze I can’t escape.
The car halts before a cliffside penthouse, its glass facade reflecting the sea’s dark churn, far from the Moretti mansion’s central sprawl.
My stomach drops—this isn’t the estate. I step out, the gown’s lace bodice clinging to my scars, the quiet estate unnervingly still compared to the city’s pulse.
“This isn’t the family house,” I said, voice tight.
“No,” he replied simply. “This is your new home.”
