The air was thick with smoke, every breath a battle. Cassandra's lungs burned, but she kept moving because Julian's hand was still wrapped around hers—and somehow, that was enough to keep her alive.
Flames licked the walls as they left the drawing room behind. The estate that had once been filled with music, chandeliers, and whispers of gossip now screamed like a living thing. Every creak of wood was a warning. Every shadow might hold a gun.
Julian led the way, his coat torn and his face smeared with soot, but his eyes—those eyes—still blazed with the same determination that had made her fall to her knees in fear and awe. They turned a corner—only to find two masked men blocking the hall, rifles raised.
"Stay behind me," Julian said.
Cassandra almost laughed, despite the terror clawing at her throat. "Where else am I supposed to go? Into the fire?"
He smirked—actually smirked—before lunging forward. The first man barely had time to react before Julian slammed him into the wall, the rifle clattering to the floor. The second took aim, but Cassandra didn't think. Her hand closed around a candlestick from a toppled table, and she swung it as hard as she could.
The crash rang through the hall as the man staggered, swearing. Cassandra stood frozen, candlestick trembling in her hand, her heart pounding louder than the fire.
Julian dispatched the first man, then turned to her, wide-eyed. "Did you just—"
"Yes!" she snapped, her voice high and shaky. "Don't look at me like I'm fragile. You said together, remember?"
For a moment, even with smoke filling their lungs and enemies lying unconscious at their feet, he grinned. "Remind me never to hand you silverware at dinner."
"Julian!"
"All right, all right," he muttered, scooping up the rifle and tossing it aside. "Let's move before more come."
They pushed onward, weaving through firelit halls. Somewhere above, the ceiling groaned, timbers cracking as the flames ate deeper into the estate. Cassandra's legs ached, her throat felt raw, but every time she faltered, Julian's hand tugged her forward.
At last, they burst into the ballroom. The glass ceiling had shattered, letting in the storm. Snow and ash fell together, spinning down like twisted confetti. The grand piano lay overturned, keys broken and scattered across the marble floor.
And waiting for them—three more masked intruders.
Julian cursed under his breath. "Of course."
Cassandra tightened her grip on the candlestick. "Together," she said, her voice steadier now.
Julian gave her a look that was half admiration, half warning. "If we live through this, remind me to scold you properly."
She lifted her chin. "If we live through this, I might actually let you."
Before she could blink, they were in motion. Julian darted forward, fast and ruthless, knocking one man to the ground. Cassandra swung her candlestick again, surprising herself with the strength in her arms. One of the intruders grabbed her wrist, yanking her close—but she kicked his shin with all the force of her fear and fury. He howled, releasing her.
"Nicely done," Julian growled as he ducked a swing and countered with a punch that sent the third attacker sprawling.
Cassandra's chest heaved as silence settled over the ballroom again, broken only by fire and storm.
Julian turned to her, and this time there was no smirk. His face was hard, shadowed, but his eyes… his eyes were soft.
"You're incredible," he said, almost like it surprised him.
Cassandra's laugh was half a sob. "I'm terrified."
"You should be." He stepped closer, brushing soot from her cheek with the back of his hand. "But that doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. And it makes me… unwilling to ever let you out of my sight again."
Her breath caught. The fire roared around them, the estate crumbling, but in that instant the world shrank to just the two of them.
"Julian…" she whispered.
His hand lingered against her face, thumb trembling as though he were holding back everything he wanted to say. "When we get out of here, Cassandra, I'm telling you everything. No more secrets. No more lies."
Her lips parted, her heart racing so wildly it drowned out the storm. "And if I'm not ready for the truth?"
Julian's gaze burned into hers. "Then I'll wait. But I won't let you go."
A crash overhead snapped them apart—the ceiling above the ballroom giving way. Snow and fire rained down, shards of glass and chunks of burning wood exploding against the marble floor.
Julian grabbed her again, dragging her toward the back doors. The great oak panels were already splintered, the iron handles glowing with heat. He kicked hard, once, twice—until the doors burst open into the storm.
The night swallowed them, snow slamming against their faces, the firelight casting monstrous shadows across the estate behind them.
Cassandra gasped, shivering as the cold wrapped around her. But she didn't look back. She only held on tighter to Julian, who stood beside her, chest heaving, his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. The Ashford estate burned. The storm raged. But in the heart of it, two figures stood together.
And as the fire devoured everything she thought she knew, Cassandra realized something startling. The real danger wasn't outside. It was standing right beside her. Because Julian Ashford wasn't just the man she thought he was. He was something more. Something terrifying. Something she couldn't live without.