Snow had swallowed Ashford whole. The storm was no longer just weather—it was a warning, heavy and merciless, pressing against the windows of the estate like an uninvited guest.
Cassandra stood by the library fire, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The flames should have warmed her, but every word Julian had whispered still clung to her skin like ice.
"Then you're finally starting to understand."
His voice haunted her, and not just because of its darkness. It was the way he said it—as if truth and danger were the same thing, as if she was standing on the edge of something far greater than betrayal.
Behind her, the door creaked. She flinched.
It was Julian. His shadow stretched long across the rug, his eyes glinting like he had already seen the end of the story.
"You didn't sleep," he said softly.
"How could I?" Cassandra snapped, though her voice shook. "You drop words like bombs and then expect me to just—what? Pretend everything is fine?"
Julian stepped closer, too close, until the firelight danced across his face, making him look almost inhuman. "Pretending is exactly what kept this family alive for decades. Secrets, lies, half-truths. Do you think Ashford stands because of honesty?"
Cassandra swallowed hard. "Then tell me the truth, Julian. All of it. Because if you don't, I swear—"
"You'll what?" His tone was calm, dangerously calm. "Run? To where? Into the snow? Into the arms of men who would rather see you buried than breathing?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She hated that he was right. The world outside these walls was worse than whatever he was hiding.
Still, she forced herself to meet his gaze. "I'm not afraid of the storm."
Julian's mouth curved, not in amusement but in something sharper. "No, Cassandra. You should be afraid of me."
The silence that followed cracked louder than thunder.
Then—
BANG.
A sound echoed through the halls, distant but unmistakable. A gunshot.
Both of them froze.
Julian's head snapped toward the door, his composure slipping for the first time. "Stay here."
"No!" Cassandra grabbed his sleeve before he could leave. Her voice trembled, but her grip didn't. "If you walk out, I walk out too."
He looked at her hand, then at her face, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Another sound followed—a scream this time, muffled by the walls but sharp enough to cut through the storm.
Julian's jaw tightened. "So it begins."
Cassandra's pulse raced. "What begins?"
"The unraveling."
He pulled her hand from his sleeve, not roughly, but with a certainty that made her knees weak. Then he opened the door. Cold wind burst into the library, carrying with it the scent of smoke.
And Cassandra realized—this wasn't just a storm. It was war.