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.

The moment the elevator doors closed, isolating Cassandra from the security team and the basement, the adrenaline abandoned her.

Her vision blurred. The floor seemed to tilt violently to the left.

Her grip on the wheelchair controller slipped. Her head lolled forward, her chin hitting her chest.

Before she could slump out of the chair, an arm, hard as iron, hooked under her knees and another around her back. Kade. He had moved with the speed of a striking cobra.

Cassandra slumped against him, her head falling onto his chest. Through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, she felt the solid wall of muscle and the heat radiating from him. It was overwhelming.

"I've got you," he grunted, his voice vibrating through his chest against her ear.

She didn't push him away. She couldn't. Instead, her hand instinctively clutched his lapel, bunching the expensive fabric. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice faint. "Dizzy."

Kade went rigid. For five years, her touch had been a recoil, a slap, or a push. Now, she was clinging to him like he was the only anchor in a storm.

He didn't speak. He lifted her effortlessly out of the chair. The "princess carry" felt cliché, but in his arms, it felt like being carried by a fortress.

He walked down the hall to the master bedroom. He kicked the door open and carried her to the massive bed, laying her down with a surprising gentleness. He treated her like she was made of spun glass.

He frowned, his brows knitting together as he took her wrist, checking her pulse. His thumb pressed against her skin, calloused and warm.

"You pushed too hard," he muttered, more to himself than her. "You're still recovering."

He turned to the nightstand, poured a glass of water, and held it to her lips. She drank obediently, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Sleep," he commanded, his voice losing its sharp edge.

He turned to leave.

Cassandra's hand shot out. Her pinky finger hooked around his.

"Don't go," she murmured, the exhaustion slurring her words. "Just... sit. Please."

Kade froze. He looked down at their joined hands. Her finger was small, pale, wrapped around his scarred, large one. It was a tether he hadn't expected.

He let out a long, ragged breath. He pulled a heavy armchair from the corner, dragging it to the bedside. He sat down in the shadows, watching her.

"I'm here," he said gruffly.

Cassandra drifted off. It was the deepest sleep she had had in two lifetimes. She felt safe.

But the subconscious is a cruel director.

Hours later, deep in REM sleep, the memories of the warehouse resurfaced. The needle. The betrayal.

Cassandra tossed on the bed, her brow furrowed in distress.

"Dillon..." she moaned in her sleep, her voice filled with pain. "I'll kill you..."

But her face was buried in the pillow. The words were muffled.

Sitting in the dark, Kade heard only one word.

Dillon.

The air in the room froze. The tentative warmth that had built up over the last few hours shattered like ice.

Kade stood up. The chair screeched against the floor.

He stared down at her. He thought the slap, the dog, the cruelty-it was all a show. A performance to make him lower his guard. In her dreams, where the truth lived, she was still calling for him.

The pain hit him like a physical blow to the gut, followed instantly by the shield of anger.

Cassandra jolted awake at the sound of the chair. She blinked blearily into the darkness, seeing Kade's silhouette looming over her. The vibe was wrong. It was hostile again.

"Kade?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. He turned and walked out of the room, his stride long and angry. The door slammed shut with a finality that shook the walls.

Cassandra reached out into the empty air. She realized with a sinking heart that she must have talked in her sleep.

She fell back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

"Damn it," she hissed.

She didn't cry. Crying wouldn't fix this. Only blood would. Tomorrow, she would have to burn the rest of the world down to prove whose side she was on.