Chapter Four

Cassandra’s POV

Forty minutes later, I stood at the altar.

White dress. New makeup. Fake smile. It was like none of it had ever happened. Like I hadn’t run away, like my father hadn’t ripped me from the streets and tossed me back into this nightmare.

I didn’t know what lie my father had fed them to explain my earlier outburst, but the crowd looked serene, too serene and completely untouched by the chaos. It was like the whole thing had been a hallucination.

But I could still feel the burn on my wrists. And I could feel Trovians glare like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

His eyes were dark and stormy, dangerous. A loaded gun pointed directly at me. I hesitated, just for a breath.

“Do you, Cassandra Jenkins, take Trovian Blackwood as your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asked.

I thought of running again. Just bolting and taking Emily with me. But where would we go?

Trovian’s eyes were daring me. My father was smiling. He brought his phone to his ear.

“I do,” I whispered, the words hollow in my mouth.

“You may kiss the bride.”

His hand clamped around my waist, pulling me into him like a predator seizing its prey. His mouth crashed against the mine, rough, punishing. A kiss with no soul, just fury. He devoured me, took the air from my lungs, forced me to surrender. I tried to keep up, but he overwhelmed me. There was no room for me in this. Just him, his rage, and the fury I had no choice but to swallow.

When he pulled back, I nearly collapsed. My legs buckled, but he didn’t let go. His grip was too tight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Trovian Blackwood.”

Applause. Cheers.

I didn’t hear it. I didn’t hear anything except the rasp of my breath and the cold warning in his whisper against my ear:

“That will be the last crazy stunt you pull on me.”

My spine turned to ice. I didn’t even blink. I let him guide me down the aisle, my smile a mask, stapled on like an afterthought.

Outside, sunlight painted the world in gold. It felt wrong, like it wasn’t supposed to be that way. Like this should be a celebration, not a death march.

And there he was. My father. Smiling like a damn saint.

“Congratulations,” he said, offering his hand to Trovian, completely ignoring me. Like I was a nonentity. A transaction.

Trovian didn’t take his hand. The tension crackled between them, thick and suffocating.

A tap on my arm. My mother.

“Let’s talk,” she whispered, her voice a soft plea.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to drag her into the fire she helped light. But I swallowed it. The men were watching. Trovian was watching. My father was daring me to make a scene.

I nodded. “Sure.”

She led me aside, her touch hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she should touch me and I preferred it that way. At the corner, she turned and studied my face like she could still reach the girl I used to be the one who trusted her, who thought her love was unconditional.

“I knew this dress would suit you,” she said gently. “It was made just for you.”

The bile rose in my throat. The lie tasted like acid.

“You shouldn’t have run,” she added, a soft reproach in her voice.

“I don’t need your advice,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the air. “Hope you enjoy sleeping at night knowing you sold your daughter off for peace of mind.”

Her face crumpled. The guilt was either real or feigned I couldn’t tell. For a second, I almost pitied her. Almost.

Then…

“It’s time to take my wife home,” Trovian’s voice cut through the tension, smooth and final.

I didn’t have a choice. I placed my hand in his. His grip was iron. Possessive.

The limo waited. I climbed in, the silence between us thick enough to drown in.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re a good actress. Almost made me believe you hated them.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry, my chest hollow. I stared out the window as the city blurred past, dragging me into a life I never wanted. A life I had no escape from.

The mansion was enormous. Cold. Empty. A statement of power, not warmth.

Maids bowed, their eyes lowered. They took our bags without a word. I barely blinked.

I followed him through the echoing halls, my footsteps hollow against the marble floors. Everything about this place screamed control. Everything was sharp, sterile, and devoid of comfort.

We reached his room.

The walls were grey. The airsterile. No softness. No warmth. Nothing.

I walked toward the bed. “Left side’s mine. Closet’s divided. Let’s not cross lines.”

I turned, expecting silence.

Instead, he laughed. Quiet. Dark.

“You think I plan to live like we’re strangers?”

His fingers went to his buttons.

My heart stopped.

Panic slammed into me, but then I remembered Emily. Her face. Her screams. My father’s last words.

I couldn’t run again. Not if it meant losing her.

I inhaled, my chest tight, and I reached behind me. Unzipped the dress.

It fell. The fabric crumpled around my feet, a prison of lace and satin that couldn’t shield me from what was about to happen. Cold air kissed my skin, but I didn’t see his gaze. I couldn’t. I had my gaze on the floor.

“I… can we turn off the lights?” I whispered, barely a breath.

Silence.

But I could feel his eyes on me. Like a razor slicing through every layer of skin.

I clenched my fists, bracing for whatever came next.

Don’t look at me.

No one should.