Chapter 3

Cassandra's pov

  

  The rain poured down hard, cold and sharp, hitting my skin like tiny needles. I ran as fast as I could, my feet splashing through puddles on the cracked pavement. My wet blouse stuck to my arms and chest, showing the bruises that burned from Evan’s betrayal.

  

  My breath came in short, quick gasps. My heart felt heavy, full of pain and anger. I didn’t look back. Not once. The city around me was blurry grey streets, flashing lights, all melting together as I ran away from everything I once knew.

  

  Suddenly, a bright flash exploded in front of my eyes blinding white light cutting through the rain like a knife.

  

  Headlights.

  

  A car was coming straight at me.

  

  Fear squeezed my throat tight. My heart pounded loudly in my chest. I tried to cover my eyes with shaking hands, but it was too late.

  

  The ground seemed to spin beneath me, and I lost my balance and fell to the ground.

  

  But before I fell into unconsciousness, I saw him.

  

  A man stepping out of the car. Tall, with broad shoulders, holding a big black umbrella against the rain. His movements were calm and sure, like he belonged in the storm but was never touched by it.

  

  The streetlamp flickered, lighting up his face for a moment.

  

  His hair was dark and thick, a little messy from the rain. His jaw was strong and sharp, with a bit of stubble that made him look both rough and handsome.

  

  But the thing I noticed the most was his eyes. They were dark and deep, like quiet storms hidden inside. His gaze was calm but strong, pulling me in without a word.

  

  There was something about him, a silent power that didn’t need to shout to be noticed.

  

  My heart skipped a beat not from fear, but from the strange feeling his eyes gave me. I wanted to remember everything about him, the way the rain slid off his umbrella, the slow, calm way he walked toward me, but everything was fading.

  

  My eyelids felt heavy.

  

  Then, everything went black.

  

  _ _ _

  

  Cassandra’s pov

  

  I opened my eyes slowly, the soft morning light filtering through heavy curtains. A dull ache pulsed in my head, and my body felt stiff and unfamiliar beneath the crisp white sheets. I blinked, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

  

  Where was I?

  

  My heart quickened as I scanned the room, spacious, but cold and strange. The walls were painted a muted cream, decorated with a few ornate frames. One caught my attention immediately. I sat up sharply and stared.

  

  It was a photograph.

  

  In it stood three people: a man I didn’t recognize, older and dignified, with silver-streaked hair and sharp features; beside him, a young girl smiling shyly; and standing slightly apart was Evan, looking younger but unmistakable.

  

  My breath caught.

  

  Where the hell was I?

  

  My mind raced, panic rising. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood abruptly, the dizziness making me stagger. The bedpost rattled as I steadied myself. This was not my home. Not my room.

  

  Suddenly, the door creaked open.

  

  I whirled around to see a tall man stepping inside, his presence commanding even in the quiet room. Behind him, a woman in a maid’s uniform carried a tray laden with food and placed it carefully on a small table before bowing her head respectfully and retreating without a word.

  

  The man’s dark eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unreadable. His dark hair was neatly combed back, revealing a strong jawline and an expression that was both cold and serious.

  

  “I see you’re awake,” he said plainly, his voice calm but carrying an edge.

  

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued without waiting.

  

  “I don’t know why you fainted, but you look fine to me now.”

  

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick bundle of cash, letting the notes fall onto the bed beside me.

  

  “Here. Clean yourself up. Eat. Then leave.”

  

  Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.

  

  My mouth opened in disbelief, my fingers clutching the side of my clothes as anger bubbled up inside me. The way that man had spoken to me, so cold, so rude, it was like I was nothing more than a bothersome stranger, not someone who had just been through hell. Yet, as much as his words stung, something about his face tugged at the edges of my memory.

  

  I frowned, trying to place where I’d seen him before. The sharp lines of his face, the deep-set dark eyes, the way his hair was slicked back perfectly. It all felt familiar.

  

  Then it hit me like a sudden jolt.

  That was Evan’s, my boyfriend… no, ex-boyfriend… that bastard’s uncle.

  

  My mind raced back to the times Evan had shown me a photo of a man, tall, handsome in a cold, distant way, his hair streaked with silver, standing beside a young girl. Evan had talked about his uncle as if he were some untouchable figure, powerful, wealthy, and always far away, living abroad.

  

  My anger shifted into something sharper, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. From the way the man had spoken, it was clear he didn’t know who I was. That only made my lips curl into a slow, calculating smile.

  

  A plan was forming.

  

  Without hesitation, I hurried out of the room. The corridor was long and dimly lit, the polished floor gleaming faintly under the chandelier’s soft glow. At the far end, I spotted him, the man from the room, walking steadily, his steps measured, his back straight and commanding.

  

  “Hey!” I called out, my voice ringing sharp and clear across the quiet hall.

  

  He paused, then turned slowly to face me. His expression was unreadable, calm, almost stoic.

  

  “You had no right to speak to me like that back there,” I said, my voice firm despite the lingering pain in my throat.

  

  His dark eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing for a moment.

  

  “And how was I supposed to speak to you?” he finally asked, his tone even but with an edge that hinted at impatience.

  

  “For starters,” I replied, stepping closer, “you could have introduced yourself. Explained who you are and why I’m here. You don’t even know if I remember what happened last night.”

  

  The man’s face remained unchanged, calm, unreadable, like a mask.

  

  “My name is Darius,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

  

  My heart skipped. The name echoed in my mind; the very name Evan had mentioned in hushed tones. Darius Thorn, the uncle he spoke of, the man whose name had always carried a weight of mystery and distance.

  

  “And from the way you’re blabbing,” Darius added with a dry edge, “I can tell you remember everything that happened last night just fine.”