The heavy layers of tulle and silk pressed down on Cassie's legs, the stiff fabric digging into her skin. She sat frozen on the edge of the king-sized bed in the Frederick Manor master bedroom, her eyes locked on the heavy oak door.

Her fingers dug into the leather mattress, knuckles bone-white.

The brass doorknob turned.

A sharp jolt shot through her chest. Her spine snapped straight. The air trapped in her lungs refused to leave.

The door pushed open.

Dane Frederick stepped into the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, his presence swallowed the space instantly. The sheer physical weight of him made Cassie's leg muscles twitch, a primal urge to bolt, but she forced herself to stay planted on the bed.

He reached behind him and pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked. The sharp metallic sound echoed in the dead silence.

Cassie's heart slammed against her ribs, erratic and painful.

Dane moved toward her. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, silent against the thick Persian rug. With every inch he closed, the air grew heavier.

Cassie bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.

He stopped right in front of her. He stood tall, looking down with dark eyes that held no warmth, cutting straight through her.

Cassie tilted her chin up, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots.

Dane raised his hand. His fingers caught the edge of her veil and flipped it back over her head.

The cold, air-conditioned air hit her face. Her special-effects makeup—the angry red burn scars covering the left side of her face—was fully exposed in the dim light.

Cassie squeezed her eyes shut. Her shoulders braced for the explosion of disgust, the shouting, the violence.

Seconds ticked by.

Silence.

No sharp intake of breath. No curse words.

Confusion pulled her eyes open.

Her gaze crashed straight into Dane's. No fear. No revulsion. His face was a mask of cold stone.

His eyes dragged slowly over the textured fake scars on her cheek. The intensity of his stare burned against her skin.

Cassie swallowed hard, her throat clicking in the quiet room. She turned her head, unable to bear the weight of his scrutiny.

Dane leaned down.

His face stopped inches from hers. Warm breath, laced with mint, brushed against her collarbone.

Cassie's eyes widened. Her chest heaved against the tight corset.

His hand clamped onto the back of her neck.

The heat of his palm seared through her skin. The fine hairs on her arms stood straight up. A violent shiver ripped down her spine.

His rough thumb moved. It pressed exactly over the small, crescent-shaped birthmark hidden just below her hairline. He rubbed the spot, slow and deliberate.

Cassie's lungs seized. She thought he was positioning his hand to snap her neck.

Something dark flickered in Dane's eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

The danger radiating from him was suffocating.

Cassie's survival instinct took over. She shoved both hands hard against his chest.

Solid iron beneath his dress shirt. Dane didn't resist the push. He let his hand drop from her neck and took a half-step back.

Cassie immediately reached up, her shaking fingers grabbing the collar of her dress and pulling it high to cover her neck. Her whole body coiled tight, radiating defense.

The corner of Dane's mouth twitched upward.

He turned his back to her and walked toward the crystal bar cart in the corner.

The moment his broad back blocked her view, the tight band around Cassie's chest loosened a fraction. She dragged in a shallow breath, her eyes darting toward the locked door, calculating the distance.

Ice cubes clinked into a heavy glass.

Dane poured a generous amount of amber liquid. He lifted the glass and downed the whiskey in one smooth swallow. The movement exposed the strong line of his throat.

Cassie's own throat felt like sandpaper.

Dane set the empty glass down with a thud. He turned his head, looking at her over his shoulder.

"Go take a shower." His voice was a low, gravelly rumble.

Cassie froze. Her hands tightened their death grip on her collar.

She opened her mouth, vocal cords tight and dry. "I need to explain. I'm not—"

Dane raised a single finger, silencing her.

"I don't care who they thought they sent," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You are the only wife I recognize."

The absolute authority in his voice hit her like a physical blow. Cassie's jaw dropped.

She pointed a trembling finger at her ruined cheek. "Are you blind? Does this not disgust you?" Her voice cracked, pitching higher.

Dane's eyes darkened. A vein pulsed at his temple, his unnervingly calm expression making the air feel heavier.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. His shadow swallowed her completely.

Cassie stopped breathing. Her back pressed hard against the headboard.

He reached out. The rough pad of his index finger traced the jagged edge of the fake scar on her cheek. The touch was gentle, but terrifyingly possessive.

Cassie's heart skipped a beat. Cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

"Skin means nothing," Dane murmured. His deep voice slipped into her ears, hypnotic and dangerous.

Cassie opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her tongue.

She caught a fleeting glimpse of something in his eyes. A deep, aching nostalgia. Her eyebrows pulled together.

Before she could process it, Dane straightened. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by ice.

He pointed a long finger toward the frosted glass bathroom door.

"Shower. Now."

The sheer force of his command left her no room to breathe, let alone fight.

Cassie slowly stood. Her legs felt like lead. She grabbed handfuls of her heavy skirt and walked toward the bathroom.

She could feel his eyes burning into her back with every step.

She stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Her hands shook violently as she twisted the lock. The deadbolt slid into place with a solid click.

Cassie pressed her back against the cold wooden door. She slid down until she hit the tile floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly drained from her system.

Cassie pushed herself off the bathroom floor. Her legs still trembled.

She walked to the marble vanity and gripped the edges of the sink. She stared at her reflection. The angry red fake scars stared back. Right now, this ugly disguise was the only thing keeping her grounded.

She turned on the faucet, carefully cupped cold water, and splashed it onto the right side of her face, strictly avoiding the edges of the special-effects makeup.

She stripped off the suffocating wedding dress and pulled on a thick silk robe hanging on the door.

Cassie unlocked the bathroom door and pushed it open a fraction. She peeked out.

The master bedroom was empty. The bed untouched.

A massive wave of relief washed over her. The tight knot in her stomach uncoiled.

She walked to the velvet sofa near the window and curled into a tight ball. The foreign scent of cedar and expensive cologne clung to the fabric. Her mind raced with the terrifying events of the night. Her eyes stayed wide open, staring at the ceiling until the dark sky outside turned a pale, hazy blue.

Sharp morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, stinging her dry eyes.

Cassie sat up. Her muscles ached from the awkward sleeping position. The terror of the previous night was fading, replaced by a cold, calculating calm. Dane hadn't shown disgust. He'd looked at her with intense, searching scrutiny, like he was confirming something. If he wasn't going to kill her, she could use his power. This morning would be her first test.

She walked back to the mirror and carefully pressed down the edges of her fake scars, ensuring they were seamless.

She took a deep breath and walked toward the bedroom door.

She pushed the heavy mahogany door open and stepped into the hallway.

The sheer scale of Frederick Manor hit her. Vaulted ceilings, priceless oil paintings, thick carpets stretching out before her. The excessive luxury made her stomach churn. She kept her back straight, eyes scanning for threats.

As she reached the top of the grand spiral staircase, a man in a tailored suit appeared. Bradshaw, the butler.

His eyes swept over her scarred face. His expression remained blank, but the coldness in his gaze was unmistakable.

Cassie gave him a stiff nod and walked past.

She descended the stairs and followed the faint clinking of silverware into the dining room.

A massive crystal chandelier hung over a long, polished dining table. The morning light reflecting off the glass made her squint.

Dane sat at the head of the table, dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms.

He lifted his gaze from his tablet. His dark eyes locked onto her scarred face.

Cassie didn't flinch. She walked straight to the chair on his right, pulled it out, and sat down.

A maid stepped forward with a silver platter. As the maid set the plate down, Cassie caught the flicker of pity and fear in the woman's eyes before she quickly masked it. Cassie ignored her. She picked up her knife and fork.

She cut into the fried egg and brought a piece to her mouth. Her movements were slow, precise, perfectly elegant.

Dane watched her. A brief flash of approval crossed his dark eyes.

Cassie set her silverware down. The metal clinked against the porcelain. She looked directly into Dane's eyes.

"I am not the daughter they promised you." Her voice was flat.

Dane picked up his cup of black coffee. He took a slow sip. His face didn't even twitch.

The total lack of reaction made the hairs on the back of Cassie's neck stand up.

Dane lowered the cup. "What do you want?" His deep voice echoed off the high walls.

Cassie's eyes narrowed.

"I want absolute freedom. And I want your protection." Her tone was hard, uncompromising.

Dane placed the coffee cup on the saucer.

He pushed his chair back and stood. He walked slowly around the table until he was standing directly behind her.

He placed both hands on the back of her chair.

Cassie's entire body went rigid. Every muscle in her back locked tight.

Dane leaned down. His chest brushed against the back of the chair. His mouth was right next to her ear.

"Done," he whispered.

Cassie's breath hitched. The immediate, effortless agreement shocked her system. Her fingers gripped her napkin tightly under the table.

"I have only one condition," Dane continued, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold and lethal. "Do not betray me."

Cassie didn't hesitate. She nodded once, sharply.

Dane straightened and walked back to his seat. The crushing pressure in the air dissipated slightly.

Cassie picked up her glass of milk and took a long sip. The cold liquid helped cool the burning anxiety in her chest. She needed to push her luck while he was agreeable.

"I need to go back to the Gilmore house," Cassie said, setting the glass down. "I need to take back my trust fund."

She laid her financial demands bare, expecting him to scoff.

Dane raised a single dark eyebrow.

"Take the Rolls-Royce." He glanced at the bodyguard standing by the door. "Send two of our best men with her. If the Gilmores try anything, report to me immediately. Do not let her out of your sight."

Cassie's heart gave a hard thump. The casual display of wealth and absolute backing sent a chill down her spine. He was giving her too much power, too easily.

Dane stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked out of the dining room toward his study.

The moment his broad back disappeared around the corner, Cassie let out a long, shaky exhale. Her lungs burned.

Thirty minutes later, Cassie walked out of the manor's front doors.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce idled on the circular driveway. A driver in a sharp uniform opened the rear door.

Cassie slid into the luxurious backseat. The buttery soft leather yielded under her weight.

She stared out the tinted window. Her eyes were cold, calculating.

The heavy door slammed shut. The engine purred to life.

Cassie leaned her head back against the headrest. The faces of her adoptive family flashed behind her eyelids. Her pulse began to thrum with a dark, heavy rhythm.

The car glided out of the Manhattan streets. Glass skyscrapers faded into the distance.

Cassie's jaw clenched tight. Her eyes grew colder with every mile.

The car merged onto the highway, heading straight for Long Island.

Familiar, tree-lined streets began to pass by the window. The sight triggered a sharp ache in her chest.

Cassie's hands curled into fists in her lap. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms.

Up ahead, the massive wrought-iron gates of the Gilmore estate came into view. The pretentious family crest mounted on the stone pillar made her stomach roll.

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

The Rolls-Royce pulled smoothly up to the front steps. The tires crunched against the gravel and stopped.

Cassie took a deep breath, filling her lungs, forcing her heart rate to steady.

The driver opened her door. The crisp morning wind hit her face, rustling the fabric of her expensive dress.

Cassie stepped out. Her high heels clicked sharply against the pavement. She adjusted her posture, pulling her shoulders back.

She looked up at the massive wooden front doors. The fear that used to choke her on these steps was completely gone. Now, there was only a burning, violent need for destruction.

Cassie stepped onto the stone stairs. Her heels struck the granite with a sharp, heavy rhythm.

She reached the top and pressed her finger hard against the brass doorbell.

The melodic chime echoed through the thick wooden door. A few seconds later, it swung open.

A young maid stood in the doorway. Her eyes landed on Cassie's scarred face. The girl gasped loudly, stumbling backward, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Cassie didn't blink. She walked straight past the terrified girl into the grand foyer.

Her heels sank into the expensive Persian rug, muting her footsteps. She turned her head, locking onto the center of the living room.

Kathleen Gilmore sat on the plush sofa, elegantly sipping from a porcelain teacup. A thin woman with severe cheekbones and carefully styled blonde hair, she looked every inch the wealthy matriarch.

Kathleen lowered the cup and looked up. When she saw Cassie standing there in a custom designer dress, looking entirely unbroken, her eyes widened. The teacup slammed down onto the saucer with a loud clatter.

Kailee, Cassie's adoptive sister, came running down the curved staircase. Dark-haired, sharp-featured, and wearing a silk robe that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. She stopped dead. Her eyes darted over Cassie's expensive clothes. Her face twisted into pure jealousy.

Kathleen quickly recovered, forcing a sickeningly sweet smile onto her face. She stood.

"Cassie, darling!" Kathleen cooed, walking forward with arms outstretched.

Cassie shifted her weight and turned her shoulder, smoothly dodging the touch.

Kathleen's hands grasped empty air. Her smile faltered. She masked her annoyance with fake concern.

"Did Mr. Frederick hurt you?" Kathleen asked, her voice dripping with venomous hope. "We heard he has... violent tendencies."

Cassie let out a short, cold laugh. "Disappointed I'm not dead?"

She walked past Kathleen and sat down in the single leather armchair. She crossed her legs, posture relaxed but dominant. She had completely taken control of the room.

Kathleen's fake smile vanished. Her face hardened.

"I want my trust fund," Cassie stated. Flat, hard, no room for negotiation.

The silence stretched thick and suffocating.

Kailee shrieked. She stomped across the room, stopping right in front of Cassie, pointing a manicured finger at her face.

"You ugly freak! You don't get a dime!" Kailee screamed, her face turning red.

Cassie looked up at Kailee's trembling finger. Her eyes were dead and cold.

"Screaming won't change the law, Kailee. It just makes you look desperate," Cassie said softly.

Kailee's entire body shook with rage.

Kathleen stepped forward, pressing a hand to her chest, eyes filling with fake tears. "Cassie, how can you do this? After everything we've done for you? We raised you!"

Cassie's stomach churned. She unclasped her designer handbag.

She pulled out a thick stack of documents and tossed them onto the glass coffee table. The heavy paper slapped against the glass.

"Evidence of the Gilmore family embezzling from my biological parents' estate," Cassie said.

Kathleen looked down at the papers. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin a sickly pale gray.

Kailee lunged forward. She grabbed the stack and ripped it apart. She tore the papers again and again, throwing the shredded pieces into the air. White confetti rained down over the coffee table.

Cassie sat perfectly still, watching like she was observing a pathetic circus animal.

"The digital backups are already with my lawyers," Cassie said, her voice cutting through the sound of tearing paper.

Kathleen's knees buckled. She collapsed heavily onto the sofa, breathing shallow.

The heavy oak doors of the study burst open. Josephus Gilmore marched out. A thick-set man with a flushed face and thinning gray hair, he radiated the arrogance of someone who'd never been challenged in his own house.

He took one look at the shredded paper and Kathleen's pale face, and his chest puffed out with fury.

He stomped toward Cassie, heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards.

"Get out of my house and go back to the asylum!" Josephus roared. Spittle flew from his lips.

Cassie gripped the armrests and pushed herself up to stand.

She stared directly into her adoptive father's eyes. The raw, unfiltered hatred in her gaze was so intense that Josephus actually stopped walking.

Kailee saw her father hesitate and immediately stepped to his side.

"Dad, she's trying to steal our money! She threatened Mom!" Kailee whined.

The hesitation in Josephus's eyes vanished, replaced by blinding rage.

He pointed a thick finger at Cassie's scarred cheek. "You are a disgrace to this family! A deformed, ungrateful parasite!"

The vicious words hit Cassie's ears, but her heart stayed numb. She'd heard worse.

"Transfer the funds by noon, or I will see you in federal court," Cassie said, icy and resolute.

Josephus's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. Veins bulged on his neck.

Kathleen sat on the sofa, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue, watching the chaos unfold. Cassie caught the calculated gleam in her stepmother's eyes and felt fresh disgust.

"You think Frederick cares about you?" Kailee sneered, stepping closer. "He'll throw you out the second he gets bored of your ugly face! You have no one!"

Cassie didn't waste another word. She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and tapped 911.

Kailee saw the numbers on the screen. Her eyes widened in panic. Her last shred of sanity snapped.

Kailee lunged forward.

Cassie's muscles instantly coiled. She dropped her center of gravity.

Kailee raised her right hand high. The massive diamond engagement ring on her finger caught the light. She swung her hand down, aiming directly for Cassie's scarred cheek.

Cassie's left hand shot up.

Her fingers clamped hard around Kailee's wrist, stopping the slap dead in mid-air. Kailee's shoulder jerked forward. She struggled, but Cassie's grip held like a steel vice.

Cassie pulled her right arm back.

She swung forward with brutal force. Her palm connected with Kailee's cheek.

The sharp, explosive crack of the slap echoed off the high ceiling.

The blow spun Kailee around. Her high heels twisted under her weight. She crashed hard onto the hardwood floor.

Kailee clutched her rapidly swelling red cheek. A high-pitched, agonizing scream ripped from her throat.