Tangled: The Series: Cassandra Novels & Stories

Caleb Kensington was in turmoil. His usually suave look was distorted, his curly, black hair ruffled by his long, strong fingers, and his shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned. “If my wife could see me now, she would surely faint from shock,” he mused. “If only I knew where she was,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that night.

The thick silence enveloped them both like a fog, but no one dared to speak. Blaze just stared at her while a string of thoughts ran through his head. Tessy, the perfect good girl and younger sister to his best friend, Elias, was a drug dealer. Of all things to be, a girl who dealt with all sorts of people using drugs.

Alexander waited for Cassandra to take off her bra and panties because the party dress the girl was wearing had been removed. Cassandra sighed. Should he use the same trick as Alexander. Throws her bra in Alexander's face and attacks him· But the bra doesn't matter

POV CASSANDRA "I... my name is Cassie, the new maid of the palace. I just wanted to know if you need anything else..."** — My words came out in stutters, laden with nervousness, as my heart raced so loudly that I could almost hear it.

“We don’t have time for sarcasm.” Footsteps echoed up metal stairs. And then— She appeared. Tall. Dark hair. Eyes like steel. A necklace with an unfamiliar symbol around her throat. Cassandra. She stopped five steps from the top, staring at Alexander… at the motionless girl in his arms. “Oh,” she whispered. “She’s taken the purge.” Alexander stepped forward. “Can you save her?” Cassandra frowned — not at Lena, but at Alexander. “You,” she said slowly. “You’re the one she chose.”

her eyes swept over Hazel again, “… clothes like that.” Every word was like an icy needle piercing Hazel’s skin. “I… I have to go,” Hazel finally murmured, turning to head back to the room, to safety. “Wait.” The command came with the same tone as Diego’s—authoritative, with the full expectation of being obeyed. Hazel froze. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” the woman said, her tone slightly softer now, but even more dangerous. “I am Cassandra Vanguard. Diego’s fiancée.”

If cassandra really was working with someone then we needed to know who that person was. Turning around, I saw Alexander approaching with our twins, Liam and Sarah, trailing behind him. My heart lifted at the sight of them. “Mama!” Sarah called out, her tiny feet barely touching the ground as she ran towards me. I knelt down, gathering her and Liam into my arms. Their innocent eyes and joyful laughter were a balm to the worry gnawing at my mind. Alexander smiled, though concern subtly edged his features. “What did she want?” I stood up, still holding Liam’s hand, and met Alexander’s eyes. “Catherine believes that Cassandra did not work alone.”

just to destroy her. He was the one blocking Travis. He was the one hiding the evidence. If Travis didn't know that Ramesh was the one with the scent of the crime on him, he would keep looking in the wrong corners. "What should I do now?" she whispered to the empty cell. "Tomorrow is my final judgment. I don't have time." Meanwhile, in the upper levels of the fortress, Cassandra had just finished her rounds at the clinic. She was exhausted. Her hands still felt like they smelled of copper and antiseptic from treating Sky and setting up the blood line for Caspian.

Cass trails, like she can't seem to remember Sandra's name. "Seriously? You don't know who I am?" Sandra let's out a fake laugh. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to?" Asks Cass in a clueless tone, I bite my lip to muffle my laughter but my chest shakes. Sandra's face looks red, she's pissed. "Jace didn't tell you about me?" She forces a smile. "Maybe you're not worth telling." The confidence in Cassandra's tone is quite impressive. "Uh, rude." She gives an awkward laugh, "and a little bitchy." She mutters underneath her tone but we heard her loud and clear.

CASSANDRA The whisper swells, each day a little more, like a dark tide rising in the heart of the damp walls that never recedes, crawling through the narrow corridors, hissing between the twisted bars, slipping into the breathless whispers of the cafeteria, until it saturates the very air, so that we no longer speak only of the princess who has fallen from her pedestal, but of me, Cassandra, the one who does not bend, the one already called the bite, the one who laughs when the blood spurts and pain becomes spectacle.