Cassandra Fights Back

Cassandra woke burning.

Her skin was on fire, her head pounding with a dull, relentless ache. She tried to sit up, but the room spun around her. She collapsed back onto the pillow, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

What's happening to me?

She pressed her palm to her forehead. Scorching. She tried to remember when she'd last eaten. When she'd last slept properly. But the days had blurred together—the aunt's poison, the doubts, the fear.

She'd been fighting so hard. And her body had finally given up.

---

Dante found her on the bathroom floor.

She'd tried to make it to the sink, but her legs had given out halfway. She was curled on the cold tiles, shivering despite the heat radiating from her skin.

"Cassandra!" Dante dropped to his knees beside her, his hands cupping her face. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice weak. "I just—I couldn't—"

He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. His hands were shaking. She could feel the tremor in his touch.

"Don't move," he commanded. "I'm calling a doctor."

"Dante—"

"Don't argue with me."

She didn't have the strength to argue. She just lay there, watching him pace the room, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was sharp, urgent.

"I need a doctor. Now. My fiancée is sick."

---

The doctor arrived within the hour.

He was a calm, older man with steady hands and a reassuring voice. He examined Cassandra, checking her pulse, her temperature, her eyes.

"Severe exhaustion," he said finally. "Combined with extreme stress and emotional trauma." He looked at Dante. "Her immune system is compromised. She's been fighting too hard, for too long. Her body is finally forcing her to rest."

Dante's jaw tightened. "What does she need?"

"Rest. Hydration. A break from anything that causes her stress." The doctor's eyes flicked to Cassandra. "No drama. No conflict. She needs peace, Mr. Moretti."

Dante nodded slowly. "She'll have it."

---

The aunt appeared at the door, her face painted with false concern.

"I heard she was ill. I've come to help."

Dante stepped in front of her, blocking her view. "No."

"No?"

"You've done enough." His voice was cold, deadly. "This is your doing. Your poison. Your games."

The aunt's smile faltered. "I only wanted to help—"

"Stay away from her." Dante stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Or I'll forget you're family."

The aunt's face paled. She nodded once and retreated.

---

Cassandra was too weak to fight.

She lay in bed, her body heavy, her mind foggy. The aunt's words echoed in her head.

Isabella broke him. You'll destroy him completely.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Dante. "I'm sorry I'm not stronger."

He was at her side in an instant, his hand closing around hers.

"Don't," he said fiercely. "Don't ever apologize for being human."

She looked at him, her eyes red and swollen. "I'm so tired."

"I know." He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "But you're going to rest now. You're going to recover. And when you're better, we're going to fight."

"Together?"

"Together."

---

The next morning, Cassandra woke feeling slightly better.

Her fever had broken. Her head still ached, but the fog was lifting. She forced herself to eat, to drink, to sit up. She refused to let the aunt win.

Dante was amazed by her strength.

"You're incredible," he said, his eyes soft.

She smiled weakly. "I have to be. For us."

---

Later that day, Cassandra confronted the aunt in the hallway.

She was still pale, still weak. But her eyes were fierce.

"You tried to break me," she said. "You failed."

The aunt's smile faltered. "You're still just a girl playing dress-up."

"I'm the woman he loves." Cassandra stepped closer. "And I'm not going anywhere."

The aunt laughed, but there was no humor in it. "We'll see how long that lasts."

She walked away, but Cassandra's smile didn't fade.

She'd won this round.

---

That night, Dante took Cassandra to their room.

She was still weak, but the fever had broken. She was fighting. And she was winning.

As she enters, she sees the bed sheet from the hotel—the one she'd washed, stained with her blood from her first time. A soft smile spread across her face.

"How did you get that?" she asked. "I thought we left it at the hotel."

Dante shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "We did. I called the manager. Asked him to keep it safe until I could come get it."

Her eyes widened. "You kept it?"

"Of course I kept it." He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist. "It's the night you gave me everything. I wasn't going to let that go."

She threw her arms around him, her body pressing against his. Her face buried in his neck.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much."

He held her tight, his lips brushing her ear. "I love you too."

They lay on the bed together, the sheet beneath them soft and familiar. Dante pulled her close, his fingers tracing her spine.

"I'm going to make this right," he said quietly. "I'm going to protect you. I'm going to give you the life you deserve."

Cassandra looked up at him. "I already have it. I have you."

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. She melted into him, her body curling against his.

"I don't need anything else," she whispered. "Just you."