Cristian kept his arm wrapped tight around Cassidy's shoulders as he guided her back into the master bedroom.

He pressed his hand against her lower back, forcing her to sit on the edge of the mattress. He turned and walked into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a dry, white towel.

He dropped to one knee on the floor in front of her. He lifted her right foot and began to gently wipe the dirt and dust from her sole with the towel.

Cassidy gasped. She tried to pull her foot back, her toes curling in shock. Heat rushed up her neck and burned her cheeks. "Cristian, I can wash them myself."

He ignored her protest. His grip on her ankle was firm and unyielding. He meticulously cleaned both feet before standing up and tossing the towel toward the laundry hamper.

He sat down next to her. The mattress dipped under his heavy frame, sliding her slightly closer to him.

Cristian turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto hers, intense and entirely focused. "Besides Hayden, do you have any other questions?"

Cassidy's heart skipped a beat. Her stomach fluttered. She knew this was the opening she needed.

She looked down at her hands. Her thumbnail dug into the side of her index finger, a nervous habit she could not break. A violent war raged in her head.

If she stayed a contract wife, she could be replaced tomorrow. If they had a child, the bond would be permanent.

Cassidy sucked in a deep breath of air. She forced her hands to stop fidgeting. She lifted her chin and looked straight into his dark eyes.

She gathered every ounce of courage she possessed. Her voice shook, but the words were clear. "Cristian, I want to have a baby."

The air in the bedroom vanished. The silence was so absolute she could hear the hum of the air conditioning unit.

Cristian froze. The fingers resting on his thigh twitched and curled into a loose fist. A flash of pure shock crossed his face.

He clearly had not expected his quiet, compliant wife to drop a bomb like this.

Cassidy watched his silence. The light in her eyes died. Panic seized her throat. She started to backtrack instantly.

"I mean, it was just a thought," she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush. "If you think it is not the right time, we can forget I said anything."

She tried to stand up, desperate to escape the suffocating tension.

Cristian's large hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her wrist like a vice.

He yanked her backward. Cassidy lost her balance and crashed hard against his solid chest.

Cristian twisted his body, pinning her flat against the soft mattress. He hovered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. His eyes were dark, swirling with a dangerous, predatory heat.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "If we have a child, you are permanently tied to the George family. There is no walking away."

Cassidy stared up at his handsome face. She did not hesitate. She nodded her head. It was exactly what she wanted.

Cristian's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. The shock in his eyes melted away, replaced by a deep, terrifyingly intense satisfaction.

He lowered his head until his lips brushed against her ear. "Alright. As you wish, Mrs. George."

The sound of her title on his lips sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Cristian's mouth crashed down on hers. It was a punishing, bruising kiss, demanding everything she had. He was punishing her for trying to run away a second ago.

Cassidy closed her eyes. She reached up, her hands gripping his wide shoulders, kissing him back with equal desperation.

He tore the buttons of her pajama top open. The fabric gave way, and the cool air hit her skin before his burning hands replaced it.

This was not their usual routine. This was raw, desperate, and completely consuming.

Hours later, the sky outside began to lighten. Cassidy lay exhausted, her head resting on Cristian's arm. She fell asleep with a small, secure smile on her lips.

Cristian lay awake in the dark. He stared at her sleeping face. His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. His eyes were dark and unreadable, swirling with a heavy, unspoken possessiveness that he himself had not fully realized yet.

The morning sun sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, landing directly on Cassidy's face. She blinked her eyes open.

She groaned, her lower back screaming in protest as she tried to sit up. The space beside her was empty and cool to the touch. On the nightstand, a glass of water sat next to a piece of heavy cardstock.

Cassidy picked up the note. The handwriting was sharp and aggressive. "I have an early M&A meeting. Left for the office. Eat breakfast."

Cassidy stared at the note. A genuine smile broke across her face. The memories of last night's intensity washed away the lingering anxiety from the past few days.

She forced herself out of bed, showered, and put on a tailored beige pantsuit. She ordered a car and headed to the art gallery she managed in Chelsea.

Sitting in the back of the black SUV, Cassidy pulled out her phone. She opened Instagram to check the gallery's official page.

A red notification dot hovered over her personal account's message icon. It was a new friend request.

Cassidy tapped it. The profile picture showed a woman in designer sunglasses posing in front of the Eiffel Tower. The name was impossible to miss: Hayden Blevins.

The smile vanished from Cassidy's face. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Her heart kicked into a faster rhythm.

The attack was coming faster than she thought. Cassidy took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and tapped "Accept."

Cristian had given her the ultimate reassurance last night. She refused to show fear to the enemy.

She arrived at the gallery and threw herself into preparing the upcoming autumn modern art exhibition.

Just before noon, Eleanor, the gallery manager, walked into Cassidy's office. She looked nervous.

"Cassidy," Eleanor whispered, leaning over the desk. "There is a woman out there in a full Chanel couture suit. She is demanding to speak to the curator."

Cassidy's stomach tightened. She put down the exhibition catalog and stood up. She followed Eleanor out into the main viewing area.

Standing in the center of the room was a tall woman in blood-red Louboutin heels. She was facing a large abstract painting.

Hearing their footsteps, the woman turned around. She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing a stunning, aggressively beautiful face.

It was Hayden Blevins.

Cassidy stopped walking for a fraction of a second. She forced her facial muscles to relax into a perfect, professional smile and walked forward.

Hayden's eyes scanned Cassidy from head to toe. A brief flash of disdain crossed her features before she plastered on a bright, fake smile.

Hayden held out her hand. "Hi, Cassidy. I am Hayden. Cristian's old friend."

She emphasized the words "old friend," letting them hang in the air like a threat.

Cassidy reached out and shook her hand. Her grip was firm. "Hello, Miss Blevins. Welcome to my gallery."

She deliberately used "Miss Blevins." It was polite, cold, and established a massive boundary.

Hayden pulled her hand back. She looked around the room with exaggerated interest. "It is a cute little place. Very... quaint. A bit small, though."

The insult was clear. She was calling Cassidy's life's work insignificant compared to the George empire.

Cassidy did not flinch. "The value of art is not in its size, Miss Blevins. It is in its ability to move people. Much like relationships."

Hayden's smile cracked. Her eyes narrowed. She clearly did not expect the quiet trophy wife to fire back.

Hayden quickly recovered, tossing her perfect blonde waves over her shoulder. "We should sit down. There is a coffee shop next door. Let's chat."

Eleanor looked at Cassidy, her eyes wide with concern. Cassidy gave her a tiny nod to tell her it was fine.

"Sure," Cassidy said. She wanted to see exactly what kind of poison this woman was trying to serve.

Cassidy and Hayden walked out of the gallery and into the high-end boutique coffee shop on the corner.

Hayden marched straight to the back, demanding the most private booth from the waiter.

They sat down. Hayden ordered a black Americano. Cassidy ordered a decaf latte. The stark difference in their orders hung between them.

The waiter left. Hayden leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She stared directly into Cassidy's eyes.

"Time flies," Hayden said, her voice dripping with fake nostalgia. "I never thought Cristian would actually marry someone outside our circle."

Cassidy picked up her spoon and slowly stirred the foam in her cup. "Life is unpredictable."

Hayden let out a sharp laugh. She leaned back and started talking. She talked about the Ivy League. She talked about the parties. She talked about how Cristian used to get into fistfights just because someone looked at her the wrong way.

She was trying to paint a picture of an unbreakable bond, trying to make Cassidy feel like an intruder in her own marriage.

Cassidy sat perfectly still. She listened. She did not frown. She did not cry. She just nodded slightly.

Her heart beat a little faster, but Cristian's voice from last night echoed in her head: "Recycling garbage." That single phrase was her armor.

Hayden saw that her words were not working. Her jaw tightened in frustration. She reached into her Birkin bag and pulled out a black velvet box.

She slid the box across the table until it hit Cassidy's saucer. She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eye. "A little welcome gift. Since I will be staying in New York permanently."

Cassidy did not touch the box. She stared at it. "What is this?"

Hayden reached over and flipped the lid open.

Inside, resting on white satin, was a massive, flawless Paraiba tourmaline necklace. The neon blue-green stone was blinding.

It was not a gift. It was a weapon. It was a multi-million dollar display of dominance and wealth.

"I hope we can be friends," Hayden said, her tone dripping with condescension.

Cassidy understood the trap instantly. If she refused it, she looked insecure and petty. If she accepted it, she was bowing down to Hayden's superiority.

Cassidy's brain worked furiously. She looked at the stone, then looked up at Hayden.

She reached out and snapped the velvet box shut. She pulled it toward her side of the table and smiled brightly. "Thank you, Miss Blevins. This is stunning," Cassidy said, her voice light and perfectly polite. "But it is far too grand for my simple style. Perhaps I will donate it to the gallery's next charity auction in your name? It would surely raise a significant amount for a good cause."

Hayden's mouth fell open. The fake smile shattered completely. She stared at Cassidy in absolute shock.

Cassidy checked her watch. She stood up. "I have to get back to the gallery. Enjoy your coffee."

She picked up the velvet box, holding it loosely in her hand like a piece of trash, and walked out of the shop.

She left Hayden sitting alone in the booth, her hands shaking with rage next to her cooling black coffee.

That evening, Cassidy walked into the penthouse. She was exhausted. Fighting a psychological war took a physical toll.

She walked straight into the master closet. She tossed the velvet box onto the corner of her vanity table, not even bothering to open it again.

She stripped off her suit, grabbed a silk robe, and walked into the bathroom. She turned the faucet on high, letting the hot water fill the massive tub. She added a few drops of rose oil.

The loud rushing of the water echoed off the tile walls, completely masking the sound of the front door opening in the hallway.