Chapter 5

Cassandra's pov

  

  The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and heavy, impossible to take back once they'd slipped out. I could see the shock plain on Nia’s face, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as if she’d just seen a ghost or heard I’d lost my mind.

  

  “That is not a good idea, Cassandra,” she said, her voice tight with disbelief. “You’re already shattered, and the last thing you need is to go collecting more heartbreak like it’s some damn hobby.”

  

  I stood, pacing the small living room like a caged animal, the restless energy thrumming under my skin fierce and relentless. My hoodie slipped off one shoulder, but I didn’t care. I was burning up inside with adrenaline and purpose.

  

  “This isn’t about heartbreak,” I snapped, trying to keep my voice steady but failing. I stopped pacing and turned, locking eyes with her. “This is about revenge. I’m not doing this to fall in love again. I’m doing this to ruin him. Evan lied to me, months of lies. Made me feel like I was the only one, like I mattered. But all along, he was planning his escape. Like I was some summer fling he needed to hide away. He gets to move on, looking like the innocent one? Not on my life.”

  

  I strode over to the wardrobe, flinging open the doors with a flair that surprised even me. Clothes tumbled out, casuals, workwear, dresses I hadn’t worn in years, each one a reminder of who I used to be, or who I wanted to be. My fingers combed through them with fierce determination, yanking hangers to the side.

  

  Nia sat watching, arms crossed tightly. “So what’s the plan? You’re going to play dress-up and march to his uncle’s mansion, all, ‘Hi there, I’m here to seduce you, hope you like silk and eyeliner’? Do you even have a plan, or is this just heartbreak in heels and lipstick?”

  

  I froze, the sleek black dress still dangling from my hand. Slowly, I turned to her, eyes wide. “You’re not… completely shutting me down?”

  

  She rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. “Don’t give me that look. Honestly, I’d rather you do something than sit here, drinking tea and crying over that stupid, cheating rich boy.”

  

  My lips twitched into a half-smile. “You’re kind of terrible.”

  

  “I’m a realist. You’re dramatic.” She leaned in, voice dropping. “If you’re serious about this insane plan, fine. But you want to seduce an arrogant billionaire? You need a strategy, not just lipstick and false hope.”

  

  _ _ _

  

  Darius's pov

  

  DARIUS THORN ESTATE

  

  The storm outside raged like a beast unleashed. The wind howled through the trees and around the corners of Blackthorn Manor, wild and untamed, a fierce cry that echoed against the ancient stone walls. Rain hammered against the tall, curved windows with relentless force, each drop a sharp, steady drumbeat. It was as if nature itself was trying to send a warning, a message I was only beginning to understand.

  

  But inside this vast, old house, everything was unnervingly still. The silence felt heavy, almost unnatural, as though the walls themselves held their breath.

  

  I sat alone in my study, a room cloaked in shadows and steeped in history. The ceilings stretched far above me, towering, cavernous, making the space feel even more empty, more grandiose, and more isolating than ever. The stern faces of my ancestors stared down from their portraits, their eyes frozen in judgment. Shelves upon shelves of ancient, leather-bound books filled the walls, some holding secrets and knowledge too dangerous, too volatile, for most mortals to comprehend. This room embodied strength and control, just like I did.

  

  Beside me, on a small, polished table, a glass of dark brown whiskey waited, aged, expensive, and shimmering faintly in the flickering firelight. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm, amber glows that danced across the surface of the drink. Yet I did not reach for it.

  

  I sat motionless, rigid, tense, sinking into a large leather chair with high, enclosing sides, like armor against the outside world. My dark eyes fixated on the flames as they flickered and twisted over the stone hearth. I did not blink. I did not speak.

  

  The only movement came from my hand. My long fingers tapped once against the armrest, an unconscious tick, like trying to suppress something buried deep within, refusing to rise.

  

  Cassandra.

  

  The name slipped from my lips like a curse, the syllables bitter and harsh on my tongue.

  

  I should never have stopped the car.

  

  I don’t even understand why I did. One moment, we were driving through the city’s grim lower district, dark, dangerous, unforgiving, and the next, something inside me screamed to look. To stop. To see.

  

  And there she was.

  

  Collapsed on the pavement. Unconscious. Fragile.

  

  Human.

  

  The very thought made my stomach twist. The scent hit me like a blow, a sharp, confusing punch. Sweet, rich, earthy, mortal. Humans always smelled off to me, alien in their fragility and fleeting presence. But hers... hers was different. There was something ancient beneath the warmth, something raw and primal I could not place. It made my senses recoil and yet, inexplicably, it pulled me in.

  

  I was supposed to keep driving. I always kept driving.

  

  But something, some wild, inexplicable compulsion, forced me to open the door and step out into the storm.

  

  Mistake number one.

  

  Mistake number two was letting my driver lift her limp, fragile body and place her in the backseat of my car.

  

  I should have stopped it right there.

  

  Ordered her taken to the nearest hospital or dumped somewhere and forgotten. That would have been the rational choice. The safe choice.

  

  But I hadn’t done anything safe in years.

  

  I should have listened to the real instincts, my instincts. The primal ones honed over centuries of blood, war, and hierarchy. Those instincts told me humans were beneath me, fragile, manipulative creatures, easily broken and always disappointing. They had no place in my world. Especially women. The last time I had trusted one, the cost was almost irreversible.

  

  And yet, here I was.

  

  Haunted by the soft echo of a name I never should have learned.

  

  Cassandra.

  

  I murmured it again, this time with a note of anger tangled with confusion.

  

  I leaned forward and finally grasped the glass of whiskey, knocking it back in a single, harsh motion. The burn grounded me, but the relief was fleeting. My mind, my wolf, remained unsettled, restless.

  

  She had glared at me when she woke.

  

  Unafraid. Defiant.

  

  I had expected tears. Fear. Gratitude, maybe.

  

  Instead, I got fire.

  

  She challenged me with her eyes.

  

  No one challenges Darius Thorn.

  

  Certainly not some ordinary woman whose scent offends my very nature. She should not have mattered. She shouldn’t even have registered.

  

  But she did.

  

  I ran a hand through my dark hair, letting my head fall back against the chair. My eyes closed for a moment. My muscles tensed at the memory of her voice, soft, yet edged with ice. She hadn’t flinched when I insulted her. She hadn’t begged. She stood her ground, like someone with nothing left to lose. And somehow, that made her more dangerous.

  

  I cursed under my breath in a guttural language older than English, a wolf’s language, long dead to the modern world.

  

  “I should’ve left you on the street,” I muttered.