A Lamb Dressed as a Healer

Cassian’s POV

She doesn’t flinch.

Not at the gunshot. Not at the body crumpling to the floor. Not even when the blood splatters against her pale skin, staining her like a mark of initiation.

Interesting.

I lean back, studying her. The woman sent to fix me.

From the moment her name crossed my desk, I was hooked.

Reina Vale.

I wasn’t supposed to notice her. She was just another applicant, another name on a list of so-called professionals meant to oversee my recovery. But something about her stopped me. Held me.

And I don’t ignore my instincts.

It didn’t take long for my men to dig into her past—every alias, every address, every secret she thought was buried. It didn’t take long for me to discover the truth.

She was sent here to spy on me.

A lamb dressed as a healer, walking willingly into the wolf’s den.

How fucking adorable.

Did she think I wouldn’t know? That I wouldn’t recognize a setup when I saw one? That I haven’t seen her kind before—liars who pretend to be innocent, who smile while plotting their betrayal?

But Reina… She's different.

She doesn’t cower. She doesn’t flinch.

She walked into my home like she belonged here. Sat across from me like she wasn’t standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for me to decide whether to push her or pull her down with me.

And that’s what makes her so fun.

Because I don’t want to kill her.

No—death would be mercy. I want to break her.

I want to unravel her carefully built lies, peel back every layer of defiance until she’s on her knees, begging for the very thing she was sent here to destroy.

Me.

I want to hear my name fall from her lips—not in fear, not in duty, but in surrender.

And she will surrender.

It’s only a matter of time.

I studied her carefully as she remained still beside me, like a creature that knows it has wandered too close to something dangerous. But she doesn’t run.

That, more than anything, captures my attention.

Most people crumble under pressure. They stammer. They avert their eyes, their fear stinking up the room. But not her.

No.

“I hope you don't mind, Miss Vale,” I drawled slowly, signaling to my men to get rid of the body.

She squares her shoulders, meets my gaze, and even dares to challenge me with a sharp little remark.

“Should I assume that’s not part of your rehabilitation plan?” Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A quiet challenge.

Bold.

I let the silence stretch, watching the way her fingers twitch at her sides. She’s trying to stay in control, but her body betrays her—just slightly. A tell.

She isn’t as unaffected as she pretends to be.

Good.

I don’t trust people without fear.

And yet, she doesn’t cower. Doesn’t scramble for the nearest exit.

That makes her a wildcard. A risk. Or a game.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You’re interesting, Dottoressa.”

She doesn’t reply.

I wonder if it’s because she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing or because she knows she’s already walking a razor-thin line.

Either way, I find myself… intrigued.

I glance at Paulo. “See that Miss Vale is shown to her room so she can clean up.”

“Oh and Paulo?” I added, after a slight hesitation, my voice calm, almost lazy. “See that Miss Vale is given a proper tour of the estate afterwards.”

A calculated move.

If she’s here to spy on me—to collect information—I might as well show her what I want her to see.

Paulo nods. “Of course, Mr. Morelli.”

My gaze flicks back to her, searching. Waiting.

She meets my stare head-on.

Ah.

So she’s not just bold—she’s reckless.

That little flicker of defiance in her eyes is a mistake.

I tilt my head slightly. “It would be unfortunate if you got lost.”

She inclines her head slightly—respectful, but not submissive.

Another mistake.

She thinks she can play this game, but she has no idea who she’s up against.

Paulo gestures for her to follow him, and this time, she does turn away. Her steps are steady, her back straight.

But I see it.

The tension in her shoulders. The way she keeps her hands at her sides, as if resisting the urge to wipe the blood from her skin.

She’s rattled. She just won’t let me see it.

Amusement flickers in my chest, dark and unexpected.

I haven’t been this entertained in a long time.

As the door swings shut behind her, I glance at the blood pooling on my floor, at the lifeless body being dragged away.

Then, I exhale slowly.

Reina Vale.

What an unexpected surprise.

I think I’ll enjoy breaking her.

****

Reina’s POV

As soon as I stepped away from Cassian Morelli’s presence, I didn’t let my guard slip.

I followed Paulo as he led me through the vast mansion, his voice clipped and professional as he pointed out the places I had permission to be in. The dining hall. The medical wing. The lounge. And, of course, my room.

He stopped outside a heavy wooden door, his hand resting on the knob, but instead of opening it, he turned and gestured toward the door across the hall.

“That’s Mr. Morelli’s room,” he said, his voice smooth, unreadable. His gaze flickered over me, assessing. “In case he needs you to do… certain things in the middle of the night.”

My throat tightened.

I forced down the lump of unease that settled in my chest and nodded, keeping my face impassive.

Paulo didn’t smirk. Didn’t leer. He simply turned, opened my door, and stepped aside. The movement was sharp, efficient—just like him.

“I suggest you settle in quickly,” he said before pivoting on his heel and stalking down the hall, leaving me standing in the doorway.

I watched him go, my mind already working. If I had any chance of getting the information I needed, I’d have to make friends with the right people. And Paulo… Paulo was definitely one of them.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, my knees gave out.

I slumped to the floor, my chest rising and falling in erratic bursts as the reality of what I’d just witnessed slammed into me.

Someone had died.

Right in front of me.

A gunshot. A body hitting the ground. Blood splattered against my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling the quiet sobs that wracked through me.

This was what men like Cassian Morelli did.

They took lives as easily as they took their next breath. Without hesitation. Without remorse.

I had trained myself to wear a brave face, to never let anyone see me break—but alone? Alone, the tears always came.

I sat on the cold floor, my head buried between my knees, letting the quiet sobs escape.

Only when the shaking subsided did I finally drag myself to my feet.

I found the bathroom and scrubbed myself raw, the phantom sensation of blood still clinging to my skin long after it was gone.

Then, needing more—needing something—I filled the bathtub, the steaming water swallowing me whole as I sank beneath the surface.

The silence wrapped around me, heavy and suffocating. I must have lost track of time, because when I opened my eyes, the bathroom was dim, the air thick with fading steam.

Panic shot through me as I grabbed my phone.

Shit.

7:04 PM.

I was supposed to check on Mr Morelli.

Cursing, I scrambled out of the tub, water sloshing over the edge. My towel—where was my damn towel?

My heart pounded as I rushed into the bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the floor.

I hadn’t unpacked. My luggage was still by the bed.

I hurried toward it, reaching for the zipper—

And stopped cold.

A presence.

A shift in the air, thick and charged.

I turned slowly, my breath lodging in my throat.

Cassian Morelli sat by the window, his wheelchair positioned close to my bed. His gaze—dark, heavy, owning—dragged over me, lingering on every bare inch of my wet, exposed skin.

I stood frozen, water dripping from my hair, my pulse hammering in my ears.

A slow, deliberate smirk curled on his lips.

"Now this," he murmured, his voice smooth as velvet, laced with something wicked, "is a sight worth killing for."