CASS
Absolutely not.
I cross my arms, glaring at Damien across his office. He's just finished laying out his rules for keeping me safe, and I hate every single one of them.
Cass, be reasonable
Reasonable? I cut him off. You want me to stay locked in this penthouse like a prisoner. You want me to have a bodyguard follow me everywhere, even to the bathroom probably. And you want me to smile and play the happy wife in public while my entire life is falling apart. That's not reasonable. That's a cage.
It's protection.
It's control! My voice rises. I just spent the last three hours learning that my father has been controlling me my entire life. Now you want to do the same thing?
Damien's jaw tightens. That's not fair.
Isn't it? I step closer to him. Tell me how this is different. Tell me how you keeping me here, making decisions for me, isn't exactly what he did.
Because I'm trying to keep you alive! He stands up, and suddenly we're inches apart. Your father wants you dead or locked up. Marcus is hunting you. They sent people to my building with syringes. This isn't about control, Cass. This is about survival.
The intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. He's not angry—he's scared. For me.
I take a step back, trying to calm down. I know you're trying to help. I do. But I can't live like this. I can't hide forever.
Not forever. Just until we build a strong enough case to take them down publicly. He runs a hand through his hair. Once we expose everything—the embezzlement, the murder, all of it—you'll be safe. They can't hurt you if the whole world is watching.
How long will that take?
Weeks. Maybe a month.
A month locked in this penthouse. A month of being watched, guarded, controlled.
But alive.
I sink into a chair. Fine. But I need something to do. I can't just sit here going crazy.
I know. Damien pulls out a laptop—new, still in the box. This is yours. Secure, encrypted, untraceable. You can research your family's business, go through the files on the USB drive, help me build the case. I'll give you full access to everything.
I take the laptop. And the bodyguard?
His name is Marcus Chen. Former special forces, completely trustworthy. He'll keep his distance unless there's danger.
You're giving me a bodyguard named Marcus? I can't help the bitter laugh. Really?
Damien's lips twitch. Almost a smile. I didn't pick the name. But he's good at his job. And he hates your Marcus as much as I do.
My Marcus. The words taste wrong. He was never really mine, was he?
No. Damien's voice softens. He was your father's tool. A way to steal your shares, your company, your life.
I open the laptop and start setting it up. Show me. Show me what the wedding was really about.
Damien sits beside me and pulls up a file. It's a legal document—a prenuptial agreement between me and Marcus Grayson.
I start reading.
And my blood runs cold.
This says that upon marriage, all my shares in Whitmore Properties transfer to joint ownership with Marcus, I say slowly. And in the event of my 'incapacitation or inability to perform duties,' full control goes to him.
Keep reading.
I scroll down. If I'm declared mentally incompetent, he gets everything. If I'm hospitalized for psychiatric reasons, he gets everything. If I die, he gets everything.
Now look at the date.
The wedding was scheduled for this Saturday. Four days from now.
And the prenup was drafted six months ago.
They've been planning this for half a year, I whisper. The engagement, the wedding, the psychiatric narrative. All of it was designed to steal my shares and my inheritance.
Yes. Your father would keep control of the company through Marcus. You'd either be locked up or dead. And Marcus would become one of the wealthiest men in New York.
I scroll through more files. Financial projections showing what the merged company would be worth. Plans for developments using my mother's trust fund—money that should have come to me on my wedding day.
My mother died when I was ten, I say. She left me everything in a trust that I can only access when I get married or turn thirty. I'm twenty-seven.
Which means the only way to access those funds now is through marriage.
And once Marcus and I were married, he'd control it all. I close the laptop, feeling sick. How much money are we talking about?
Approximately two hundred million dollars.
The number doesn't even feel real.
They were going to marry me off, steal my inheritance, and either kill me or lock me up forever. All for money.
Yes.
I stand up and walk to the window. Manhattan glitters below us, beautiful and cold and full of people who would do anything for money.
Including my own family.
I need to see more, I say. I need to understand everything. Every crime, every lie, every person involved. If I'm going to help you destroy them, I need to know exactly what we're dealing with.
Agreed. Damien stands too. But first, you need to meet Marcus. Your bodyguard, I mean. He's waiting outside.
Now?
Now. He needs to know who he's protecting and what the threats are.
I take a deep breath. Fine. Send him in.
Damien makes a call. Thirty seconds later, there's a knock on the office door.
Come in, Damien says.
The door opens, and a man walks in. He's tall, built like a soldier, with sharp eyes that assess me in two seconds. He's Asian, maybe late thirties, and he moves like someone who knows exactly how dangerous he is.
Marcus Chen, he says, holding out his hand. Mr. Thornwood hired me to keep you alive, Mrs. Thornwood. I plan to do exactly that.
I shake his hand. His grip is firm, professional. Please don't call me Mrs. Thornwood. It's too weird. Just Cass.
Cass, then. He glances at Damien. I've been briefed on the situation. Father's trying to kill or commit you. Ex-fiancé is a psychopath. Sister's probably involved. Half of New York thinks you're crazy. Does that cover it?
Pretty much, I say.
Good. Here are my rules: You don't leave this building without me. You don't answer the door without me checking first. You don't meet anyone—and I mean anyone—without me clearing them first. If I tell you to move, you move. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. Understood?
I'm not good at taking orders, I warn him.
Learn. His expression doesn't change. Because the people hunting you are professionals. They've already tried once with those syringes. They'll try again. And next time, they might not be so gentle.
A chill runs down my spine. What do you mean, gentle?
Marcus looks at Damien. You didn't tell her?
Tell me what? I demand.
Damien's expression is grim. The compound in those syringes. It wasn't just Rohyphenol-X for memory loss. It was mixed with something else. Something lethal in high doses.
Lethal, I repeat. You mean—
We think the plan was to make it look like an accidental overdose, Marcus says bluntly. Drug you, make you forget, and if you happened to die from it? Well, that's just tragic. Mentally unstable woman takes too many pills, dies in her sleep. No one would question it.
The room spins.
They weren't just trying to make me forget.
They were trying to kill me.
And make it look like suicide.
Cass? Damien is suddenly beside me, his hand on my arm. Breathe. Just breathe.
I force air into my lungs. My father. My own father tried to have me killed.
Yes.
Not just locked up. Not just silenced. Dead.
Yes.
I look at the laptop on the desk, full of evidence. At Marcus Chen, hired to keep me alive. At Damien, who married me to protect me.
At the ring on my finger that I don't remember putting on.
Why? The question comes out broken. Why would I run to you? We hadn't spoken in eleven years. You hated my family. You had every reason to turn me away. So why would I risk everything, come to you at two in the morning, and beg you to marry me?
Damien is quiet for a moment.
Then he says, What do you remember about that photo I showed you? The one of us as teenagers?
Nothing. I don't remember any of it.
Look closer. He pulls out his phone and shows me the photo again. Look at what's in the background.
I zoom in. Behind us, barely visible, is a sign: THORNWOOD MARINA.
Your parents owned a marina? I ask.
Yes. It was one of the properties your father wanted. One of the ones my parents refused to sell. His voice is tight. And it was the building where the fire started. Where my parents died.
My breath catches.
You and I used to meet there every summer, Damien continues. It was our place. Where we'd talk about the future, about changing our families' rivalry into something better. Where I told you I loved you for the first time.
He takes the phone back.
Three days ago, when you showed up at my door, terrified and desperate, you didn't just bring evidence. You brought that photo. You told me you'd kept it hidden for eleven years because somewhere deep down, you knew you were forgetting something important. And when you finally remembered what our families did—what your father did—you came to the one person who would understand. The one person who lost as much as you did. The one person who loved you before you became Cassandra Whitmore, perfect daughter.
His eyes meet mine.
You ran to me because you knew, Cass. Even with your memories gone, even after eleven years of being told I was the enemy, you knew in your bones that I was the one person who would keep you safe. Because I did it once before, every summer, when we were kids. And because—
He stops.
Because what? I whisper.
Because you said you loved me. Three nights ago, in that elevator, you told me you'd never stopped loving me. You just forgot why your heart hurt every time you saw my face.
Tears blur my vision. I wish I remembered that.
You will. His voice is gentle. The memories are still there, buried. We'll find a way to bring them back.
Marcus clears his throat. I'll give you two some privacy. I'll be right outside the door.
He leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.
I look at Damien—this stranger who isn't really a stranger. This enemy who became my husband. This man I loved and forgot and apparently never stopped loving.
They were going to marry me off and steal everything, I say. My shares, my inheritance, my future. And when I discovered the truth, they decided it was easier to kill me than let me expose them.
Yes.
But I got away. I found the evidence, I ran to you, and I married you before they could stop me.
Yes.
So the woman I was three days ago—the one in that elevator, terrified but determined—she was smarter than they thought. Braver than they expected. Strong enough to fight back.
She was. Damien steps closer. She is. Because that woman is still you, Cass. Memory or no memory, you're still the person who risked everything to stop them. Who chose truth over family. Who came to me knowing I was her last chance.
I look down at the ring on my finger.
Then up at the man who put it there.
Then let's make sure, I say quietly, that she didn't run for nothing.
Damien's expression shifts into something fierce. Determined.
We will, he promises. We're going to destroy them. Together.
And for the first time since I woke up in his bed, I believe him.
But my phone buzzes, shattering the moment.
A text from Vanessa: I know what you're doing. I know what you took. And I know how this ends. Badly. For you.
The message doesn't delete this time.
It stays there, a threat in black and white.
I show it to Damien.
His face goes cold.
She knows, I whisper. Vanessa knows I have the evidence.
Good. Damien's voice is ice. Let her know. Let them all know. Because they're about to learn that their biggest mistake wasn't killing my parents or stealing from their company.
He looks at me.
Their biggest mistake was underestimating you.