Chapter 9
Aria didn't sleep that night.
The moment Cassian left her room, the silence he left behind was louder than his words.
"If you refuse… I'll make sure you never see the outside world again."
It had echoed in her head on a loop—like a haunting song with no end. She sat frozen on the edge of her bed for hours, unmoving, her fingers clutching the hem of her cotton nightdress, knuckles white, skin pale, lips dry.
The walls of the penthouse didn't feel like luxury anymore. They felt like a gilded prison. And she, the prisoner, didn't even remember what crime she had committed.
The golden lamp on her bedside table flickered against the softness of her skin, but there was nothing soft inside her tonight. She felt raw. Peeled open. Shivering not from the cold—but from what she didn't understand. Or what she did, and couldn't accept.
Cassian Cole was many things.
A businessman.
An orphan.
Her captor.
And now… a man who'd said something that made her entire body tremble, not in desire—but in dread.
He hadn't touched her. Not yet. But the threat was heavier than touch.
The next morning came like a blur. Her maid tried to bring her breakfast, but Aria didn't speak. Didn't eat. Madison had tried calling once… but Aria hadn't answered. There was nothing to say. No words big enough for what she was sinking into.
And she didn't cry. Not once. The tears felt too far away, too betrayed to come.
⸻
Cassian's POV
He didn't regret saying it.
He never regretted things.
Regret was for men who had hearts to carry weight. He didn't. He never did. His mother died before he ever knew love. His father's name meant nothing. His enemies created him—and the Devereux family? They were going to pay with interest.
He sat across from Jaxon in the home office, the quiet of the penthouse humming like tension between them. Jaxon hadn't said a word all morning, but Cassian didn't care. Not until—
"You didn't have to threaten her like that," Jaxon finally muttered, not looking up from his coffee mug.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, emotionless as ever. "I didn't hurt her."
"No. But words are weapons too. She looked like a ghost last night, Cass."
Silence.
Cassian turned his head slightly, eyes cold.
"She's not your concern."
Jaxon stood, staring him down now. "She's a human being."
Cassian's jaw clenched, but his voice remained flat. "She's a deal. And we don't lose deals."
Jaxon wanted to say more. But what was the point? This version of Cassian had been crafted for years—sharp, cold, untouchable. Still, something in his friend's eyes hinted he wasn't fully proud of what he was becoming.
⸻
Aria's POV – Day Three
The air was different.
Heavy.
Aria had barely eaten in three days. Her body was weak, but her mind was worse. It was caged in thoughts that refused to stop spinning.
Why her?
Why this?
She had dreamt of freedom every single night locked away in that mansion. But not like this. Not through a contract. Not through a man who barely looked at her. A man who spoke like she was a thing to be used and returned—or not.
She wandered to the balcony of the room Cassian had assigned her. The skyline was beautiful. Too beautiful. It made her want to scream. How could the world be this perfect when she was this broken?
She gripped the railing tightly and looked down.
Far down.
But no. She wasn't that girl. Not yet.
She would survive.
Even if she had to do it in silence.
⸻
Cassian's POV – Day Seven
He had stayed away from her for a week.
Not because he wanted to—but because he needed her to feel it. The weight of her silence. The consequence of delay.
But now?
Now it was time.
He stood in front of her door, straightening the cuff of his black shirt before knocking once. Then he didn't wait.
He entered.
She was sitting near the window, legs tucked under her, her eyes staring out at the grey skyline. She didn't turn. Not even when the door clicked shut behind him.
"You're eating again," he said, simply.
She didn't answer.
"I said," he repeated, "you're eating again."
Finally, she turned her head. Her eyes were sunken, dark shadows beneath them. Her lips chapped. Her voice hoarse.
"I had no choice."
He took two steps forward, hands in his pockets. "Good."
She looked at him now. Really looked.
And in her stare was the pain of a thousand untold things. "Why are you doing this to me?"
He didn't flinch. "Because I can."
Silence.
"And because your father made a deal."
"You could've taken money. You could've taken land. You took me."
Cassian walked toward her slowly. Deliberately.
"Because taking you hurts him more."
The truth was cold. Sharp. And she felt it cut through her like a knife.
"I hate you," she whispered.
He stared at her. "You're allowed to."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked to the door. But just before stepping out—
"Be ready tomorrow."
"For what?"
His eyes met hers.
"I'm collecting what's mine."
Then he left.
And the door closed with the sound of fate sealing itself.