The Letter With No Name

The rain hadn’t let up in days.

It wasn’t the kind that passed quickly;washing dust from rooftops and leaving behind blue skies. No, this was the quiet, stubborn sort. The kind that sat heavy on the ground and turned air into mist. The kind that soaked through shoes, clothes, even skin. The kind Anais Vale had learned to live with.

She stood in the kitchen of the cottage she’d rented two years ago-barefoot, arms crossed, sweater draped like a second skin. Outside, the storm whispered against the windows. Inside, the silence pressed close, like a secret waiting to be told.

The kettle hissed softly. She poured the water into a chipped mug and dropped in a teabag. Her hand lingered on the string, fingers trembling just enough to make the paper tag dance.

She wasn’t looking at the tea.

She was looking at the envelope.

It lay untouched on the table. Thick, cream-colored parchment. Sealed with red wax, like something out of another century. No name. No return address. Just two words, centered perfectly in the middle.

Anais Vale.

Nothing else.

She hadn’t seen his handwriting in three years. Didn’t need to.

Cassian Vale didn’t sign his name. He never had to.

The first time she saw it, it had been on a legal contract slid across a marble table. Back then, she’d still thought the worst thing in the world was loneliness. She hadn’t understood what it meant to belong to someone in ink.

She sat down slowly.

Her tea cooled untouched.

She stared at the envelope until the edges blurred, until her pulse grew louder than the rain. Then she opened it.

Inside was a single letter, printed on heavy paper. No emotion. No introduction. Just precision.

You left early.

The contract was for five years.

You’ve completed three.

You are still legally my wife.

Return by the 20th or I will proceed as agreed.

This is not an invitation.

This is a requirement.

—C. Vale

No greeting. No signature. Just the letter and the weight it carried. Anais read it once. Then again.

The 20th was four days away.

She leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back until it met the wood. She didn’t cry. She’d already cried everything out of her. There was nothing left but stillness.

Cassian had found her.

And he was calling her back.

Not for love. Not even for revenge.

Just for control.

That night, she barely slept.

She lay curled in bed, listening to the old radiator knock softly through the walls. Her fingers traced the edges of the letter in the dark. She’d left without permission. But could you really ask permission to run?

Three years ago, she’d slipped away while he was overseas. No goodbye. No confrontation. Just a note and silence. She knew it wouldn’t be enough. But she also knew if she tried to explain it to him face-to-face, she wouldn’t survive it.

Not emotionally. Maybe not physically.

Because Cassian Vale didn’t argue.

He dismantled.

The next morning, Anais packed a bag.

She moved like someone preparing for a funeral. She folded the black dress she never wore. The grey coat she’d saved for job interviews. Everything about her life here had been small, temporary. A life built on borrowed time.

She wrote a letter to her landlord, left rent for the next two months. No forwarding address. No number.

No need.

By noon, she was at the train station.

By nightfall, she was in a car—one she hadn’t called—driving through the glowing streets of the city she swore she’d never see again.

The driver didn’t speak. Just tapped his fingers once against the steering wheel when she slid into the back seat. She recognized the rhythm. Cassian’s security always did that.

A code. A signal.

She looked out the window. The buildings rushed past in a blur of glass and steel. It felt like being pulled underwater—no sound, no breath, just pressure.

She hadn’t realized how much quieter her life had become until the noise came back.

The car pulled up in front of the penthouse building.

She didn’t move.

The driver opened the door.

Anais stepped out.

The doorman didn’t ask for her name. He just nodded once, held the glass door open, and pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator ride was silent.

Her heart wasn’t.

She hated how familiar it all was. The soft gold lights. The scent of citrus and leather. The gentle chime of the 25th floor. Her hand shook as she stepped into the hallway, but her steps didn’t.

Not anymore.

She paused in front of the door.

Then knocked once.

There was a long pause.

Then the door opened.

And there he was.

Cassian Vale.

Unchanged.

And yet, entirely different.

He didn’t say a word.

He just stood there in his usual black, tailored to a kind of quiet cruelty. His tie was undone, collar loosened like he’d just come from war—or was going to one. His eyes were the same gray-blue she remembered, sharp enough to wound and cold enough not to care.

But there were new things, too.

Lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A stiffness in his left shoulder. A small tremor in his fingers—so faint she almost missed it.

Almost.

“Anais,” he said finally.

Her name, in that voice, struck something she thought she’d buried.

She swallowed. “You found me.”

“I never lost you.”

Of course not.

Cassian didn’t lose people.

He just waited for them to realize they had nowhere else to go.

She stepped inside.

The apartment was identical. Pristine. Museum-like. The only signs of life were a half-drunk glass of whiskey on the table and a photo of his late mother on the bookshelf. Nothing of her. Nothing of them.

“How long do I have to stay?” she asked, setting her bag down by the door.

He turned to face her fully. “Two years. No more, no less.”

Anais blinked. “You’re serious.”

Cassian arched a brow. “You broke a legal contract. One you signed in exchange for immunity.”

Immunity.

The word dropped like a stone.

She remembered it too well. The fire. The chaos. The headlines. Her name buried under aliases. Her face scrubbed from the internet. The night Cassian offered her a way out—but at a cost she couldn’t measure until it was too late.

“Why now?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he poured himself another drink, hand steady this time.

“Because things are moving fast,” he said finally. “And I need a wife again.”

Her stomach turned.

He wasn’t pretending. Not even a little.

“I see,” she said.

“You’ll attend events. Wear the ring. Smile for the cameras. Say nothing to the press. You’ll stay in this apartment and behave as a partner would. In return, I’ll keep my end of the original agreement. Protection. Privacy. Money. And once the term ends—freedom.”

She stared at him.

“You think that’s what I want? Freedom?”

Cassian sipped his drink. “No. I think that’s what you always ran from.”

He said it so casually. Like a man who hadn’t been abandoned, just briefly inconvenienced.

Anais didn’t answer. She walked to the window, arms crossed against the cold.

Below, the city sparkled.

Above, the sky was black.

Behind her, Cassian Vale—her husband—stood like a question she never finished answering.

And for the first time in three years, she didn’t know whether she was safer running…

…or staying.