LOGINThird Person's POVLeaving the Royal Court Hotel, Cassian drove to the West Side.The bakery was hidden in an unremarkable alley with a small storefront. Warm yellow light spilled from the window, looking exceptionally quiet against the late autumn night.The owner was a human woman in her fifties, her hair pulled into a loose bun and her apron dusted with flour.When Cassian pushed the door open, the wind chimes let out a delicate cluster of tinkles.He stayed inside for nearly three hours.Flour, eggs, matcha powder, heavy cream—the most basic ingredients were weighed, stirred, and sifted repeatedly in his hands.He learned slowly, every step taken with a near-obsessive caution.The owner stood by, correcting the angle of his wrist or the rhythm of his whisking.Green matcha powder stained his cuffs, batter clung to his fingertips, and a smudge of cream caught the hem of his shirt.He was making a matcha truffle cake.It was Trista's favorite.As the cake base baked, he leaned again
Third Person's POVThe ballroom fell into a brief silence.Workers continued dismantling the floral wall, removing blocks of foam to reveal the cold, white surface behind them. The lingering scent of red roses was scattered by the air conditioning, only to gather again in the corners.Cassian stood still.His gaze stayed on that single white rose in the bud vase for a long time.He didn't speak.He just looked at that white flower as if it were something he couldn't reach—and didn't dare touch again.Fred had talked until his throat was dry. He threw his hands up. "Just pick a color. I'll have them swap it out."Cassian's gaze pulled away from the vase. "Use white roses."His voice was light, like a petal falling onto the surface of a pond, not even disturbing the ripples.Fred glanced at him but didn't ask questions.He turned and gestured to the staff. "You heard him. All white. Not a single other color allowed."The workers began hauling in new materials. Bundles of white roses wer
Third Person's POVVictoria lifted her chin from the steering wheel and nudged Trista's shoulder. Her voice carried a hint of awe, like she was witnessing a prophecy come true in real-time. "Insane. You called it. You actually called it."Trista didn't say a word.She silently pulled her gaze back and pressed the button for the window.The dark glass slid up slowly, sealing out the salty stench of the docks, the biting late-October wind, and the two figures rushing away into the distance.She hadn't guessed.She just remembered.In her past life, the Fernandez family had been exactly like this from start to finish.Greed is an instinct carved into the marrow; a second lifetime doesn't change that.November 7th.The day before Trista's birthday.In years past, the temperature in Los Angeles would have already started to drop by this time, but the atmosphere at the Silverlight estate was always warm.For as long as Trista could remember, every birthday had been spent with Cassian.Durin
Third Person's POVGeorge's fingers trembled as he pulled out his phone.He didn't dial immediately.Silence stretched through the cramped tin shack, broken only by the wind rattling the roof and the distant moan of a foghorn from the harbor. His Adam's apple bobbed once, his voice thin as wind-blown smoke. "Angela.""What now?""That sixty million Samantha took with her..."He spoke with difficulty, each word weighed down. "Most of it was scammed away by that classmate of hers. The portion she gave us... besides buying this house, the rest of it..."His voice trailed off into a whisper."The rest was used by you to pay off your brother's gambling debts."Angela's body stiffened for a split second."She doesn't even have enough in her account right now for an economy class ticket," George said, eyes downcast, unable to look at her. "How do you expect her to get back?"The shack went deathly quiet for five seconds.Then, Angela collapsed onto the sewage-stained ground.She didn't cry.
Third Person's POVThe show was over, and the seafood was bagged.Victoria swiped her card and linked arms with Trista. The two disappeared around the corner of the pier, laughing and chatting.The second their figures were swallowed by the passing trucks, the strainer in Angela's hand hit the wet ground with a heavy clack, splashing murky water all over her boots.Angela didn't care. She grabbed George's wrist—her nails digging into his skin—and dragged him into the back room, a cramped space cluttered with foam boxes and nylon ropes.The tin roof rattled under the wind, and the air was thick with the stench of stagnant water and fish scales."The last time I told you to message your sister about coming back to L.A., what did she say?" Angela's voice was a low, feverish hiss.Her pupils contracted—a tell-tale sign of a wolf's greed being set on fire.George ducked his head, his back pressed against the cold metal wall. His voice was thin, like his throat was being squeezed. "Samantha
Third Person's POVMidnight. A private club on the West Side.Cassian sat alone in a dimly lit booth, drinking steadily. Fred pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked in.Cassian flicked his eyes up for a second, then slid a glass of neat whiskey across the table.Fred didn't touch the glass. He just stared at the fading red marks on Cassian's cheek. "Wynn said you had a fallout with the family—the kind the whole city hears about. What happened?"Cassian said nothing. He just tilted his head back and drained his glass.Fred snatched the empty glass out of his hand, his brow furrowed. "Is this still about Trista?"Cassian leaned back into the leather sofa, letting out a self-deprecating sigh.He did want to break away from those two arrogant old men for her.He'd even thought about walking away from everything Ironthorn owned just to be near her.He'd hoped, in some small, humble way, that she might look at him again—give them a chance to start over.But reality was colder than his d
Third Person's POVTrista didn't even flinch.She tilted her head back, meeting Cassian's eyes—gold orbs that looked like they'd frozen over. "What did you expect? Did you honestly think you could screw her over and break her heart, then expect me to go back to the way I was? Just some devoted litt
Third Person's POVTrista gave her head a sharp shake to clear the lingering haze, though her voice remained steady, draped in the rigid etiquette of a high-born Luna. "Wilmot, Alaina. Happy New Year."She offered a slight, formal bow to Cassian's parents before stepping to his side, her gaze fixed
Third Person's POVThe two men stood in the dimly lit living room, locked in a silent standoff.Cassian's voice was low, laced with a misplaced certainty. "She wouldn't do that."Fred actually laughed—a sharp, mocking sound. "Then you really should've seen her tonight. While you were playing house
Third Person's POV"If I had just given in when Howard forced me away... or if I hadn't been so soft-hearted during those dark years of abuse and chose not to bring this little life into the world, he wouldn't have to suffer like this now, living in the shadows."Cassian soothed her in a low voice.







