Page 38 of Cruel Deception
My breath hitches.
Forever.
I married into the Morettis to honor my grandfather’s will—nothing more. That old man never did anything without a reason. He was strategic, precise. He wanted this union for a purpose, and I still don’t know what it is. But it wasn’t supposed to be this. Not with Cassian.
“You hate me,” I say, quieter now. “You don’t even pretend otherwise. This... can’t last.”
He takes a sip of water, his knuckles sharp around the glass. Then he stands, slowly, and says with frightening calm, “You’re bound to me. Irrevocably. I’ll only be done with you after your final breath.”
His words aren’t loud, but they slice deep. He glances at me—just once—before vanishing down the hall.
I sit frozen, appetite gone. The last breath? As if I’d die before I’m free?
No.
If he won’t end this marriage, I will. One year. That’s how long I’ll give it. If nothing changes, if I’m still just a prisoner in a silk cage... I’ll leave.
I will survive Cassian Moretti.
I push the plate away and rise, walking slowly to the bedroom. The moment I lie down, the weight of his threat coils around me like cold iron.
Rain begins to pour outside, heavy and relentless, like the sky has decided to echo my mood. I pull the covers up, shivering beneath the soft sheets, and eventually drift off into uneasy sleep.
Morning.
I wake to a single missed call on my phone. Cassian is gone—not that I’m surprised. Still, some irrational part of me expected him to be there beside me. To acknowledge what happened. The silence is louder than if he’d shouted.
The missed call is from an unknown number. But there’s also a message:
Call me as soon as you see this. —Luca
My heart skips. Luca. I didn’t expect him to reach out—especially not after the wedding. After everything Cassian did.
I call him immediately, pulse ticking as the line rings.
“Miss Charlotte,” comes his voice—smooth, polished, like someone from another century. The same refined calm that always made me unsure whether he wanted to court me or crush me.
“Hi,” I breathe, unsure what to say to the man who was supposed to be my groom. “I...”
He cuts in, crisp and direct. “You do know that Cassian’s motorbike—the one you lost—means more to him than just machinery?”
I blink. “Wait... how do you know I lost it?”
“We spoke,” he says simply. “Before his betrayal.”
Of course. They were close once, weren’t they? Before Cassian shattered the engagement.
“I found it.”
I shoot up from the bed, heart pounding. “You did? How? Where?”
“Come to the estate,” he replies, ever so composed. “I’ll show you.”
“Can I come now?”
“You’re always welcome to come,” he says. “But text before you arrive. Manners, after all.”
“Thank you,” I exhale, the relief immense. That bike has been hanging over me like a noose. If I return it, maybe Cassian will finally stop holding it over my head.
