Cassandra's POV
The rain hits me like bullets as I run down the alley behind my office building.
My heels splash through puddles. My work clothes are already soaked. Behind me, I hear shouting—the police, looking for me.
I'm not a criminal. I didn't steal anything. But who's going to believe me when all the evidence points to me?
I run until my lungs burn, until I can't hear the sirens anymore. I end up on a corner six blocks away, gasping for air.
My phone is almost dead. I have forty-seven cents in my pocket. Mom needs treatment that costs half a million dollars, and she has two weeks to live without it.
This morning, I had a job. A fiancé. A future.
Now I have nothing.
The rain pours harder. I'm shaking from cold and fear and shock. I need to think. I need a plan.
But my brain won't work. Everything is falling apart too fast.
That's when the car pulls up.
It's black and expensive, the kind of car that costs more than I make in a year. It stops right beside me, blocking the rain.
The window rolls down.
The man inside makes my breath catch. He's beautiful in a way that doesn't seem real—sharp cheekbones, dark hair, eyes that glow silver in the streetlight. He wears a black suit that probably costs thousands of dollars.
He looks at me like he knows me. Like he's been searching for me.
"Cassandra Vale," he says. His voice is smooth and dark, like smoke. "You look like someone who needs a miracle."
My heart pounds. "How do you know my name?"
"I know many things." He smiles, and it's both terrifying and perfect. "I know you've been framed. I know your mother is dying. I know you're running out of time."
I step back. "Who are you?"
"Someone who can help." He opens the car door from inside. "Get in."
"I don't get into cars with strangers."
"You don't have many options right now." His silver eyes pin me in place. "The police are searching for you. Your bank account is frozen. You have nowhere to go. No one to turn to." He tilts his head. "Except me."
"What do you want?"
"To make you an offer." He gestures to the empty seat. "Five minutes of your time. That's all I ask. If you don't like what I have to say, I'll drop you wherever you want to go."
Behind me, I hear sirens getting closer.
Ahead of me is a stranger who shouldn't know anything about me.
Every instinct screams danger. But I'm desperate, and desperation makes people do stupid things.
I get in the car.
The door closes behind me with a soft click. The inside smells like leather and something else—something dark and spicy that makes my head spin.
The stranger doesn't move. He just watches me with those impossible silver eyes.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Lucian." He says it like it's a secret. "Lucian Morningstar."
"That's not a real name."
"Isn't it?" He smiles again. "Names are powerful things, Cassandra. They define us. Shape us. Bind us."
The car starts moving, smooth and silent.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere we can talk without interruption." He pulls out a phone—sleek, black, expensive. "But first, let me make a few calls."
"Calls?"
"To fix your problems." He dials a number. "Yes, this is Lucian Morningstar. I need to make a payment for Margaret Vale's treatment at Beth Israel Medical Center. The full amount, whatever she needs. Unlimited funding. Yes, I'll hold."
My mouth falls open. "What are you—"
He holds up one finger, still on the phone. "Yes, process it immediately. Send the best specialists you have. Money is no object." He hangs up and dials again. "Detective Morrison? This is Lucian Morningstar. I'm calling about the Cassandra Vale case. I have information that might interest you. The real criminal is Marcus Chen. Check his personal accounts—you'll find the missing money there. Yes, I can provide evidence. I'll send it within the hour." He hangs up.
One more call. "Yes, I need to purchase a property. The penthouse at 450 West Broadway. Yes, the entire floor. Cash payment. I need it furnished and ready tonight." Pause. "Transfer the deed to Cassandra Vale. Yes, V-A-L-E. She's the owner, not me."
He hangs up and looks at me.
I can't breathe. "What did you just do?"
"I gave you back your life." He says it like it's simple. "Your mother will receive treatment. The police will investigate the real criminal. You have a place to live."
"Why?" My voice shakes. "Why would you do this? You don't even know me."
"But I do know you, Cassandra." He leans forward, and his eyes seem to glow brighter. "I know everything about you. Your strength. Your intelligence. Your desperation." His smile turns sharp. "And I know you're exactly what I need."
"Need for what?"
"For a job." He pulls out a folder from beside his seat. "I run a very specialized organization. We handle... unusual problems. I need someone with your skills."
"I'm a financial analyst."
"You're much more than that." He opens the folder. Inside is a contract, written in old-fashioned language on thick paper. "I'm offering you employment. Protection. Resources. Everything you need to rebuild your life and save your mother."
"In exchange for what?"
"Your loyalty. Your service. Your trust." He hands me the contract. "Read it carefully. I never deal in deception."
My hands shake as I take the paper. The words swim in front of my eyes. Employment terms. Loyalty clauses. Confidentiality agreements.
But one phrase catches my attention: The signatory pledges their service and bond in exchange for protection, provision, and power granted by the Principal.
"What does 'bond' mean?"
"Think of it as an unbreakable contract," Lucian says smoothly. "You work exclusively for me. No divided loyalties. No betrayal."
The car stops. We're in front of a building that touches the sky, all glass and steel and money.
"This is your new home," Lucian says. "If you want it."
I look at the contract. At him. At the building.
Mom has two weeks. The police think I'm a criminal. Marcus and Simone destroyed everything I built.
I have nothing left to lose.
"What happens if I say no?"
Lucian's smile fades. "I drive you back to the rain. The police arrest you. Your mother dies. Marcus wins." He pauses. "And you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been."
My hand moves before my brain catches up. I take the pen he offers.
"Where do I sign?"
He points to a line at the bottom.
I press the pen to paper and write my name.
The moment I finish, the ink turns red. Bright, blood red.
The contract begins to smoke.
"What—" I start to say, but pain cuts me off.
The paper dissolves into red smoke that flows straight into my chest. Agony explodes through every nerve, every cell, every part of me. I feel something opening inside me, something that's been sleeping for a very long time.
I scream.
Through the pain, I see Lucian's face change. His human mask slips, and underneath is something else—something beautiful and terrible and wrong.
His eyes burn silver-white. Dark wings unfold from his back. Shadows writhe around him like living things.
"What are you?" I gasp.
He smiles, and I see fangs.
"Fallen," he
whispers. "And you, Cassandra Vale, just became mine."
Everything goes black.