The fire crackled in the hearth of the mountain estate, shadows moving like ghosts across the stone walls. Outside, snow blanketed the forest, but inside the house, heat pulsed from two bodies tangled between sheets.
Cassian couldn't keep his hands off her. Not even after everything.
Night after night, he came to her—sometimes silent, sometimes growling her name like a curse. He'd press her down into silk sheets, make her scream into the pillows, kiss her like he hated her for being the one thing he couldn't forget. And every night, Alina let him.
She didn't stop him.
Didn't flinch when he pinned her wrists, didn't fight when he made her body betray her. And worst of all—she wanted it. She needed it.
Even now, with him sleeping beside her, his chest rising and falling steadily, she watched him with a mix of hunger and confusion. The man who had taken everything from her… the man she betrayed. Yet here he was, curled around her like a storm still brewing, never truly calm.
But there was something new in the air.
A presence.
Cassian had noticed it first—a subtle disruption in the perimeter, as if their fortress wasn't as sealed as they believed. The guards hadn't seen anything. The tech hadn't been tripped. But Cassian felt it. Something was off.
"You're tense," Alina murmured one night after he returned from hours of silence, his jaw locked, his fists bruised.
He looked down at her from the edge of the bed. His eyes were darker than usual—stormclouds instead of smoke. "Something's coming."
She sat up slowly. "You think someone found us?"
"I know someone did," he said coldly. "And it wasn't your father."
Alina's breath caught. "Then who?"
Cassian didn't answer. He just walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
That was two days ago. Since then, the tension inside the house had thickened like smoke. He spoke less. Slept less. And when he touched her, it was harder. Wilder. Like he was trying to forget something through her skin.
Until tonight.
Tonight, it broke.
He stood by the window, shirtless, muscles coiled like a predator, staring into the dark woods. Snow fell steadily behind the glass, but his focus was razor sharp.
"I saw him," Cassian said.
Alina blinked from the bed. "Who?"
Cassian turned slowly. His voice was quiet. Deadly. "The one behind your father. The one even he feared. The man who ordered the hit on your mother. The one who wanted you silenced."
Alina's blood turned to ice. "You're lying."
"I don't lie," he snapped.
She stood, pulling a robe over her bare skin. "Then who is he?"
Cassian's eyes burned. "An old name. One I should've killed years ago. Marco Bellanti."
Alina staggered. "I thought he was in exile."
"So did I."
She pressed a hand to her chest, heart thudding. "Why now? Why come after us now?"
Cassian moved toward her, slow and lethal, like a shadow coming alive. "Because you're not just a pawn anymore. You're mine." His voice dipped. "And that makes you a target."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already on her.
His hands gripped her waist, his mouth crashing down on hers. Not gentle. Not sweet. It was war—teeth and tongues, rough breaths and bruising fingers. He lifted her effortlessly, robe falling open, and carried her back to the bed like she weighed nothing.
"Cassian—" she gasped.
"No more talking," he growled. "Not tonight."
Their bodies met like fire and gasoline, every touch rougher, every kiss deeper. His fingers dug into her thighs, pulling her closer. She cried out his name, nails clawing down his back, and he didn't stop—didn't even slow.
Because they both knew the truth: the world was hunting them now. There was no safety. No future. Only this.
Only each other.
And when it was over, when they were breathless and slick with sweat, Cassian held her tighter than ever before.
Alina ran her fingers along the scar on his chest. "What will you do?"
Cassian didn't hesitate. "Kill him."
"And after that?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have an after.
---
The next morning, a message arrived.
Hand-delivered by one of his most trusted men, sealed in wax. Cassian tore it open and read the contents with a dark, twisted calm.
"What is it?" Alina asked.
Cassian handed it to her.
The letter read:
"You were never the only one watching her.
She belongs to no one—not even you.
Come find me, if you dare."
—M.B.
Alina's hands trembled. "He knows where we are."
"No," Cassian corrected, already heading toward the weapons room. "He knows where you are."
She followed him. "Cassian—wait—"
He turned so fast she flinched. His face was unreadable, voice like broken glass. "You're not leaving the estate. Not without me. From now on, every step you take is mine."
Something in her chest ached.
She knew he wasn't just trying to protect her. He was afraid of losing her again—even if he couldn't say it. Even if he buried it beneath layers of violence and control.
"I won't run," she whispered.
Cassian stared at her for a long time. Then: "No. You won't."
But even he knew—this wasn't over.
There was a phantom behind the curtain. And the real game hadn't even begun.