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2025-03-24 13:49:23Life With Bain
Cassie woke up every morning in a bed that was too big, too soft, and too cold.
Alone.
Bain was never there. She was grateful for it. She slept before he came to bed and by the time she woke up in the morning, he was gone.
His sandalwood scent and rumpled bedside was proof that he had lain there.
But every time she stepped into the dining hall, there he was, with a newspaper in his hand, almost as if he was waiting for her before he had breakfast.
She was still at loss as to why they had to stay in the same room. They could pretend to be the perfect couple to outsiders, but why did they have to stay in the same room?
It had been weeks since the wedding, and she was still adjusting to her new reality.
Bain had laid down rules from the day of the wedding. He had strictly reminded her of her place in his world; his wife in name only, and his possession in every other sense of the word.
Her existence had given "trophy wife" a new meaning, a perfect face for the public and a slave indoors, eitherways a symbol of power.
Bain was hardly ever around, but she saw him in the mornings at breakfast, every day. It was like a ritual now.
They would sit across from each other at the long dining table, with a desert of cold mahogany between them.
The air was always filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and the sound of silver clinking against porcelain.
Her once voracious appetite was non-existent. She could only nibble on her food, and she was losing weight fast.
Bain, on the other hand, would eat with the precision of a man who controlled every aspect of his life, even his chewing.
Sometimes, she would catch him glancing at her, but his expression never gave anything away.
It pissed her. How could one be so emotional, yet controlled?
But there were some rare moments, where he let his guard slip just a bit. Like the time he nicely asked if she was comfortable in her room; his voice was softer.
Or the time he tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun; his grip was gentle, lingering for just a second too long.
Cathie had to admit, Bain was a complicated man. More complicated than she wanted him to be.
It would have been easier if he were just a monster. Her hate and anger would be totally justified, but he wasn't. If anything, he treated people kindly, and his employees respected him; not out of fear, but loyalty.
He knew all their names. In her lone, tour round the mansion, she had counted at least 26 people, and he knew all their names, including the cleaning staff.
He also asked about their health, welfare and family, he offered help and solutions where needed.
Like Mr. Thomas the butler's right knee pain, or Mrs. Persephone's blind son's health, or was it the Dungee'schildren's education?
She was by his side one day when he offered his condolences to the gardener on his wife's death. He gave him a long leave from work and offered to cover all burial costs, no stringsattached.
The gardener's eyes filled with gratitude, and Bain just gave him a nod before walking away, his face as stoic as ever.
Those moments confused her the most. How could he be so heartless and cold to her, yet so kind to others?
Had she ever wronged him before? No. She didn't even know the man. She had never even met him prior to the charity ball.
It must have been from a past life. Fate must be playing a cruel game here.
Life in the Bain Blackwoods Mansion was like living in a beautiful cage. The mansion could rival any prison. Security was airtight, bain made sure of that.
Guards were stationed at every entrance, cameras monitored every hallway and passwords were required to access everysingle room.
On another lone tour round the mansion, she came across Bain's office and tried to sneak in, but a calm, robotic voice demanded for a password that she didn't have.
Brian never said anything, but she was sure he knew, because he stared at her longer than usual the next day at breakfast with a smirk on his lips.
There were moments she thought of escaping, but the humiliation of her five failed attempts was still fresh and she decided to give it a rest.
Each one ended the same way, with her being bundled back to the mansion by Bain's guards.
He never punished her or raised his voice, but his cold, disappointed gaze was worse. He made her feel like nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.
Kathy couldn't stop herself from observing Bain. He was a mystery she wanted to solve, even if she hated herself for it.
She knew she had to know and understand him to either find peace in her new prison, or escape it.
She understood from her glimpses of him walking that hecommanded respect effortlessly. His posture was almost always rigid, and his face had intense expression.
But it was other moments that left her questioning everything. Like the time she found him standing in the garden in front of a bed of yellow hibiscus; her favorite, with a soft look acrosshis face and a haunted look in his eyes.
She truly wondered what could possibly haunt a man like Bain Blackwood. Despite all this, one thing was clear.
She hated him.
She hated him for buying her, for imprisoning her, for taking away her freedom, for marrying her, for separating her from everything she knew.
She couldn't deny the way her heart would stop her when she caught him staring at her. But she convinced herself it must have been curiosity mixed with fear.
She couldn't possibly be attracted to him. That would be madness. He was her captor, her husband, her enemy.
She felt fear too, fear of what she was feeling. Fear of the man she shared a bed with.
Fear of Ryder and Elijah. Fear of her future.
Cassie stilled herself, forcing the turbulence of emotions away. She couldn't afford to be weak.
Not here. Not now.
She was a prisoner. Nothing more. If she was to change it, she had to know her enemy.
She had to find his weak spot. Bain Blackwood was the enemy. No matter how human he seemed.
She had to find his weak spot. No matter how much her heart betrayed her. She was Cassoupia Thompson. She would survive. Even if it meant hurting her heart and keeping her distance, she must survive.
Bab terbaru
The mafia’s captive The child of light
The Pyrenees fortress was restless.The wind had changed direction.Even the mountains held their breath.Inside the main war chamber, Petrov stared at a burning map of their last targets—Zurich’s dismantled occult-finance front and the charred Cairo ritual site. The Hollow King had lost two major arms. But the soul of Valeria’s darkness still thrived.Bain stood with Vulture, Sokolov, and Elias. Seraphina knelt at the rune-slab, whispering incantations of protection into the stone. Her voice trembled with exhaustion, but her magic was fierce.Behind them, Cassie approached slowly, her hand resting on her rounded stomach. Cassian trailed her, silent as ever, watching everything.Then, as the wind slammed against the ancient walls, Cassian blinked slowly… and looked up at his mother.“Mommy,” he said, “he’s almost here.”Cassie paused. “Who is?”Cassian placed his tiny hand on her stomach. “My brother.”Her breath caught.Bain turned toward them at once, eyes narrowing. “Cassian—what d
The mafia’s captive The four crowns
The fire crackled in the war chamber of Bain’s alpine fortress. Runes burned faintly along the walls—wards reinforced by Vulture’s hand and blessed with Petrov’s own blood. At the center of the chamber stood a round obsidian table, recently carved with a symbol that matched the mural Seraphina and Malthea uncovered: a circle of thorns enclosing four crowns.Cassian sat on a high stool beside his mother. Though just three, the boy watched everything.Elias, now eleven, stood near the window, eyes narrowed toward the mountains as if listening to something no one else could hear.“They’re moving,” he murmured. “Underneath.”Cassie turned toward him. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”Elias hesitated, then said, “The ones she made hollow… they’re walking below the dirt. Like ants.”Sokolov’s expression hardened. “We’ve seen nothing on the satellites.”“You won’t,” Elias replied. “They don’t cast shadows anymore.”Petrov muttered something in Russian under his breath.Bain’s jaw flexed. “We’r
The mafia’s captive Eye of the storm
Snow fell silently over Zurich’s financial district, coating the rooftops of glass towers in a deceptive calm. But below the surface, beneath an unmarked corporate vault known as Eidolon Trust, dark money pulsed through the veins of Valeria’s remaining network.Bain adjusted the black gloves over his tattooed knuckles, standing beside Vulture on the rooftop across the street.“She used this place to launder cult funds and finance Hollow experiments across Europe,” Vulture muttered. “Encrypted accounts. Biometrically sealed. Guarded by mercenaries that don’t know who they’re working for.”“Not for long,” Bain said, nodding to the earpiece. “On my mark.”Inside, the main elevator opened with a ding. A woman in a red coat—one of Vulture’s plants—stepped out, heels clicking sharply.Two guards turned to stop her.She smiled.And slit their throats in a heartbeat.Bain and Vulture moved in seconds later, their team sweeping through the vault with suppressors and thermite. Security cameras
The mafia’s captive Trial of souls
Vulture moved like a ghost between stone pillars, the ancient monastery looming above him like a skeleton of forgotten gods. The locals called it Crkva Tišine—the Church of Silence. No records of its origin remained. It had no clergy, no congregation—only stories of rituals performed in blood and gold under hollow skies.And now, a lead.He descended into the catacombs with only a single lantern and a blade laced with silver and wolfsbane. The Hollow King’s sigils had been sighted here, freshly carved into the skin of a drowned priest who had washed ashore two weeks prior. If Valeria was planning something global, this place was likely a nexus.At the heart of the tombs, Vulture found what he came for.A shrine.Built not for worship… but for storage. Inside, buried under layers of ash and time, lay blueprints. Not of buildings—but of rituals. Ones that turned bodies into conduits. Ones that siphoned the essence of saints and sinners alike.At the center was a diagram of a boy.Labele
The mafia’s captive Beneath the Basilica
The hidden lab was buried beneath what used to be a basilica outside of Prague — a ruined cathedral now overrun with rot and overgrowth. Bain stepped inside first, weapon drawn, Vulture at his side. The air was electric, humming with leftover magic that clung like wet spider silk to the walls.Petrov and Sokolov followed, weapons slung low, eyes sharp. They weren’t here for a gunfight. They were here for the final puzzle piece.“We found it,” Sokolov muttered as he passed under a rusted arch that had once read Sanctum Vita.“No,” Bain whispered. “We found her cradle.”The underground tunnel twisted downward, reeking of iron and old sorrow. As they descended into the heart of the lab, the temperature dropped. Runes pulsed softly along the walls — not just science, but sorcery. This was no ordinary trafficking lab or research site.This was where the Hollow King’s children were born.They entered a chamber flanked with rows of broken cribs and surgical chairs. Some still had restraints.
The mafia’s captive Ashes of war
It began in a shadow-draped alley behind the gutted cathedral of Vienna—once a center of Hollow experiments, now a ruin surrounded by silence.Bain and Vulture stood side by side, dressed in black, the sigils of the Thorned Circle engraved beneath their coats. Across from them, a woman emerged—pale, veiled, lips stitched shut.Her name was Mother Throe, a defected priestess of the Hollow cult.She held a small scroll bound in scarlet twine.Vulture tilted his head. “You know the price if this is a trick.”Mother Throe didn’t speak. Instead, she unrolled the scroll with trembling fingers and showed them a name—Cardinal Saur, one of the last living architects of Valeria’s war, hidden beneath a monastery in Prague.“He guards the third mirror,” Bain said. “The one tied to Cassian.”Mother Throe nodded once, then backed into the shadows.She didn’t need payment. Her eyes—wet with blood—had already seen what Valeria would do to traitors.Bain tucked the scroll into his coat. “Let’s burn a
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