Cassandra lay in the bed for a long time, her fingers brushing the spot on the duvet where Kade had knelt. The fabric still held the ghost of his body heat. It was a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in her bones since the warehouse.

She needed to assess her physical state. Slowly, painstakingly, she dragged her legs to the edge of the bed. She placed her feet on the floor. With a grunt of effort, she pushed herself up. Her knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle. She gritted her teeth, forcing her muscles to hold. She took one step, then another, using the wall for support as she made her way to the en-suite bathroom.

The lighting was harsh, clinical. She gripped the edges of the marble sink, her knuckles white, leaning her entire weight on the porcelain to keep from collapsing. She examined her reflection. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes were wide, the pupils blown. On the side of her neck, there was a faint red mark-a friction burn from where Kade's security team had restrained her at the airfield.

She turned on the faucet. The water ran ice cold. She splashed it onto her face, gasping as the shock forced her heart rate to stabilize. She needed to think. She needed to organize the chaotic timeline in her head.

Five years. She had five years of knowledge. She knew stock market crashes, political scandals, and the rise of technology that didn't exist yet. But more importantly, she knew the snakes in the grass.

Hearing a noise in the bedroom, she quickly shuffled back, her movements clumsy and desperate. She practically fell back onto the mattress, pulling the duvet up just as the heavy silence of the house seemed to press against the door.

She reached under the thick Persian rug by the nightstand. Her fingers brushed against cool metal. Her phone. Kade had confiscated it, but in his rage, he must have tossed it back, or perhaps he wanted her to see the messages.

She pressed the power button. The screen illuminated the dark room.

Forty-two unread messages. All from Dillon.

Cassie, baby, are you okay?

He's a monster. Did he hurt you?

I had to leave, his men had guns. I couldn't risk it.

I'm talking to a lawyer. We'll get you out.

I love you. Don't let him touch you.

A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. Bile rose in her throat. The words, which she once would have read with teary eyes and a fluttering heart, now looked like vomit on the screen. I couldn't risk it. That was the truth. The rest was manipulation.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button.

No.

She took a screenshot. Then another. She archived the chat, hiding it in a secure folder. This wasn't trash; it was ammunition.

A noise from the hallway made her freeze. Heavy footsteps.

She scrambled back against the pillows, her body exhausted, the adrenaline crash hitting her hard. She was physically weak, her muscles unconditioned for the stress. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, but her mind was a whirlwind.

Sleep claimed her against her will.

It wasn't a peaceful sleep. She was back in the warehouse. The needle pricked her skin. Dillon was laughing. But then the scene shifted. It was Kade, lying in a pool of blood, his chest torn open, looking at her with dying eyes. "Why didn't you stay?" he rasped.

"No..." Cassandra whimpered in her sleep, tossing her head. "Dillon... don't..."

The bedroom door clicked open.

Kade hadn't left the penthouse. He had been pacing the hallway, a glass of scotch in his hand, unable to settle the beast in his chest. He heard the whimper.

He walked into the room, silent as a ghost. He stood by the bed, looking down at his wife. She was sweating, her face twisted in distress.

Then he heard it. The name.

"Dillon... no..."

The glass in Kade's hand threatened to shatter. The sound of that name, coming from her lips while she lay in his bed, under his roof, triggered a violent snap in his psyche. The PTSD from his time in the sandbox-the betrayal of allies, the loss of men-merged with the jealousy of a husband scorned.

He didn't think. He reacted.

Kade moved. His hand shot out, not to strike, but to seize control. He gripped her shoulder hard, his fingers digging into the delicate flesh through the silk pajamas. He shook her, desperate to wake her, desperate to stop the name from polluting the air.

"Wake up," he growled, his voice thick with raw emotion.

Cassandra's eyes flew open. She was met with darkness and the terrifying pressure on her shoulder. Above her, Kade's face was a mask of torture. His eyes were wild, haunted.

"Kade..." she choked out, her hands flying up to grip his wrist.

The sound of her voice, calling him, not Dillon, pierced the fog.

Kade blinked. The red haze receded. He looked at his hand, gripping her like a vice. He looked at her eyes-fearful, yes, but also... recognizing.

He released her as if she were made of fire. He stumbled back, his hip hitting the heavy oak dresser with a thud. He looked at his own hand with revulsion, his chest heaving.

"Don't," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel grinding together. "Don't ever speak his name in this room. If you do, I will cut out his tongue and mail it to you."

Cassandra sat up, coughing, rubbing her shoulder. She looked at him, and her heart broke. Not for herself, but for him. She knew this wasn't just anger. It was trauma. She had done this to him. Her betrayal had weaponized his PTSD.

"It wasn't... I wasn't asking for him," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Kade, listen to me."

"Shut up," he snarled, turning his back on her. He couldn't look at her. If he looked at her, he would crumble. "From tomorrow, you are cut off. No phone. No internet. No leaving the building. You want to be a prisoner? Fine. I'll be the warden."

He walked to the door. This time, when he left, the sound of the electronic lock engaging was distinct. Click. Whir. Thud.

She was locked in.

Cassandra touched her shoulder. It would bruise. She didn't cry. She sat there in the dark, listening to the silence of the penthouse.

"Okay," she whispered. "Prison rules."

She reached for the bedside table and pressed the service button. It was a direct line to the household staff.

"Yes, Mrs. Mullen?" The voice of Alfred, the butler, was dry and devoid of warmth. He disliked her. Everyone on Kade's payroll disliked her.

"Alfred," Cassandra said, her voice changing. Gone was the whimper. In its place was a cool, detached tone, the voice of a woman who knew exactly how much leverage she had left. "I require clothing. A dress. Black. High collar. Cashmere."

"Sir has instructed that you are not to leave the room, Madam."

"I understand the instructions, Alfred," she said, her voice dropping a fraction, smoothing over the steel beneath. "But unless Kade prefers to have his security team drag a naked woman through the halls when he inevitably summons me, I suggest you bring the dress. It's about dignity, Alfred. Mine, and his."

There was a long pause on the other end. The threat was subtle, wrapped in logic, attacking Kade's pride, not his rules.

"I will bring it up shortly, Madam."

Cassandra released the button. She leaned back against the headboard, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

Step one: Armor up.

Step two: Break out.

The black cashmere dress fit like a second skin. The high collar elegantly concealed the developing bruises on her neck, while the long sleeves hid the goosebumps that rose from the air conditioning. She looked in the mirror. She looked severe. Dangerous. Like a widow in waiting.

She sat in the sleek, mechanized wheelchair that had been left in the corner of the room-a reminder of her "condition." She gripped the joystick controller. She hated the thing, but for now, it was her tank.

Cassandra rolled to the bedroom door and tried the handle. Locked.

She didn't bang on it. She didn't scream. She waited.

Ten minutes later, the lock disengaged with a beep. Alfred stood there, holding a tray of food. Behind him stood two massive men in dark suits. Viper, Kade's head of security, chewed gum with an air of boredom.

"Breakfast, Madam," Alfred said, moving to enter.

Cassandra maneuvered the wheelchair forward, blocking his path.

The two guards immediately stepped in, blocking the hallway with walls of muscle.

"Mrs. Mullen," Viper said, not unkindly, but firmly. "Boss said you stay in the penthouse."

Cassandra looked up at him. She didn't flinch. She didn't retreat. She held his gaze with a terrifying calmness.

"I want to go to the guest suites," she said. "The ones in the basement."

Viper paused, his gum chewing slowing down. The basement wasn't for guests. It was for holding corporate spies, threats, and people Kade hadn't decided what to do with yet.

"That's not a good idea," Viper said.

"Kade said I couldn't leave the building," Cassandra countered, her voice steady. "The basement is in the building. Unless you want to call him during his Monday morning board meeting and explain that you're bothering him because I want to take an elevator ride?"

Viper hesitated. He knew Kade's temper during board meetings. He weighed the risk.

"Fine," Viper grunted. He tapped his earpiece. "Escorting the package to B3."

The elevator ride was silent. As the numbers descended, the air grew cooler. The smell of cedarwood was replaced by the smell of ozone and damp concrete.

When the doors opened, they stepped into a corridor lined with reinforced glass cells. It was a high-tech dungeon, clean and sterile.

In the second cell, Cassandra saw them.

Dillon and Bianca.

They looked pathetic. Dillon's expensive suit was rumpled, his tie missing. He was pacing the small cell like a caged rat. Bianca was sitting on the cot, her mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks.

Cassandra rolled her wheelchair to the glass. "Open it."

The guard looked at Viper. Viper nodded.

The glass door slid open with a hiss.

Dillon spun around. When he saw Cassandra seated in the chair, his face lit up with a desperate, pathetic hope. He rushed to the bars that separated the inner cell from the anteroom.

"Cassie!" he cried, gripping the bars. "Oh, thank God! I knew you'd come! You have to get us out of here. That psycho kidnapped us! He's going to kill us!"

Bianca scrambled up, rushing to stand beside him. "Sister! Please! It's freezing in here! Tell them who we are!"

Cassandra sat silently, observing them. She felt... nothing. No love. No hate. Just the cold detachment of a surgeon looking at a tumor that needed to be excised.

She pushed the joystick, inching the chair closer.

Dillon reached his hand through the bars, trying to grab her. "Baby, give me your hand. We can sue him. We can take everything he has."

Cassandra reversed the chair smoothly, letting his hand grasp at empty air.

"Save you?" she asked, her voice tilting with genuine curiosity. "Why? So you can sell my location to the paparazzi again? Or so you can finish transferring the rest of my trust fund to your offshore account in the Caymans?"

Dillon froze. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. "What... what are you talking about? Cassie, I love you..."

Cassandra motioned for him to come closer. Dillon pressed his face against the bars, hope reigniting in his eyes. "Cassie?"

She raised her hand. It trembled slightly, weak from atrophy, but the motion was deliberate. She slapped him. It wasn't a powerful blow-it lacked the kinetic force to knock a man down-but the sound was sharp, a stinging rebuke against his cheek.

Slap.

Dillon flinched back more from shock than pain. He touched his cheek, staring at her as if the wheelchair itself had bitten him.

The room went dead silent. The guards stopped breathing. Viper stopped chewing his gum. The fragile, broken Cassandra Williams had just slapped a man.

"Let's be clear," Cassandra said, pulling a silk handkerchief from her sleeve and wiping her hand as if she had touched filth. "Kade is not a psycho. He is my husband."

Bianca let out a shrill shriek. "You're crazy! You're helping that monster hit Dillon!"

Cassandra's eyes snapped to Bianca. The temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees.

"And you," Cassandra said softly. "My dear sister. Don't think I don't know what you put in my warm milk every night since I came home from the hospital."

Bianca's face went white. All the blood drained from her lips. That was a secret. A deep, dark secret.

Viper watched Cassandra, his eyes narrowing. He saw the shift. The posture. The command. This wasn't the girl who cried over broken nails.

High above them, in the penthouse study, Kade sat behind his desk. He was watching the security feed on his monitor. The cigar in his hand had burned down to the filter, unsmoked.

He watched his wife slap her lover. He heard her call him husband.

He leaned forward, his eyes tracking every pixel of her face. Was she acting? Was this a ploy to get them released? Or...

Cassandra turned to the guard. "Turn off the heating in their cell. Since they like cold calculations so much, let them freeze for a bit."

She spun the wheelchair around, the motor whining softly, and headed out of the cell block.

Viper spoke into his lapel mic, his voice low. "Boss... the Mrs... she's different."

Cassandra waited for the elevator on the penthouse floor, her heart hammering against her ribs. The slap had felt good-too good. It was a release of five years of pent-up rage, but her hand was trembling in her lap. She clenched it into a fist to hide the reaction.

She rolled straight to the intercom on the wall near the kitchen. She pressed the button for the study.

"I want to borrow Cerberus," she said into the speaker.

There was static silence for five long seconds. Then, Kade's voice came through, distorted but unmistakably deep. "Cerberus only takes orders from me. What do you want with him?"

"I want him to visit the guests in the basement," Cassandra replied, her voice devoid of hesitation. "They seem to think their current accommodations are too comfortable. I want to add some... ambiance."

Kade stared at the monitor. He saw the set of her jaw. She wasn't asking for permission; she was stating an intent.

"Viper will bring him down," Kade said, his finger hovering over the release button. "Don't let him kill them. The paperwork is a hassle."

Five minutes later, the elevator doors in the basement opened again. This time, Cassandra wasn't alone. Beside her stood a beast of a dog-a black Doberman Pinscher with cropped ears and a tactical collar. Cerberus. Kade's personal attack dog. A weapon with fur.

Viper held the leash, looking nervous. Cerberus usually growled at everyone except Kade.

Cassandra looked at the dog. In her previous life, she had studied canine behavior extensively for a covert op involving a drug lord's kennel. She knew exactly where to touch. She reached out, her fingers pressing firmly into the pressure point behind the dog's ear, a spot that triggered a calming endorphin release.

Cerberus stiffened, then leaned into her hand, letting out a low chuff of approval.

"Good boy," she whispered.

She took the leash, looping it around the armrest of her wheelchair. Viper let go, stunned.

She rolled back to the cell. Dillon and Bianca were huddled together for warmth. When they saw the black beast trotting beside Cassandra's chair, they scrambled back against the far wall, screaming.

"Open it," Cassandra commanded.

The door slid open. Cassandra rolled inside. Cerberus sensed the fear. His hackles rose. A low, rumbling growl vibrated through the room, bouncing off the glass walls.

"Get him away!" Dillon shrieked, pushing Bianca in front of him as a human shield.

Cassandra gave the leash a fraction of slack. Cerberus lunged, snapping his jaws inches from Dillon's shin.

Dillon fell to the floor, scrambling backward crab-like. A dark stain spread across the front of his trousers. The smell of urine hit the air.

Cassandra looked down at him with pure disgust. "Look at you," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is the man I was supposed to run away with? You're not even a man. You're less than a dog."

She pulled Cerberus back to a heel. She turned to Viper.

"Strip them."

Viper blinked. "Madam?"

"Every stitch of clothing on their backs was paid for by the Williams family trust," Cassandra said. "If I am cutting ties, I am cutting them completely. I want it all back."

"Take it off!" Viper barked at his men.

The guards moved in. It was efficient and humiliating. Dillon and Bianca were stripped down to their underwear. They shivered, crying, covering themselves with their hands.

"Throw them out," Cassandra ordered.

"Madam," Viper interjected quietly. "It's a blizzard out there. Ten degrees below zero."

Cassandra turned her wheelchair toward the elevator, the dog trotting by her side. She didn't look back.

"Good. Maybe the cold will wake them up."

The scene outside the service entrance was chaotic. The heavy steel doors opened, and Dillon and Bianca were shoved out into the alley. The wind howled, carrying biting snow that stung like needles.

They landed in a snowbank, gasping as the freezing cold hit their exposed skin.

"My coat! Please!" Bianca wailed, reaching for the door.

The door slammed shut with a final, metallic thud.

Passersby on the main avenue stopped. Phones came out. Flashes went off. The heiress of the Benson family and her fiancé, half-naked in the snow, kicked out of the Mullen tower.

Inside the security room, Cassandra watched the feed. She watched them shiver. She watched them humiliated.

She felt a presence behind her. The smell of tobacco smoke.

She turned. Kade was leaning against the doorframe, a lit cigar in his hand. He was watching her with a look she had never seen before. It wasn't anger. It was fascination.

"You're crueler than I thought," he said, smoke curling from his lips.

Cassandra rolled her chair toward him. She didn't stop until she was in his personal space, looking up at him.

"The girl who would have given them a blanket is dead," she said softly. "You buried her."

Kade's eyes narrowed. He took a drag of his cigar, his gaze dropping to her lips, then back to her eyes. The tension between them crackled, electric and dangerous.

"Good riddance," he murmured.