The air shifted.
Cassian’s gaze dropped to my lips again, darker this ti, like sothing inside him had finally snapped loose.
Before I could react, his mouth found mine again.
There was no gentleness, no hesitation. It was raw. Urgent.
As if he had been holding back for far too long.
My breath caught as his hands slid under my silk pyjama shirt, his hands tracing my bare skin.
He didn’t rush, but there was nothing restrained about it either. Every movent carried weight. Possession. Sothing dangerously close to hunger.
His warmth, his closeness, the way he touched like I was sothing he had already claid...
It was all overwhelming.
Too much.
Too fast.
Reality crashed in like ice water.
Nathan’s bloodied chest flashed behind my eyelids. Ryan’s deliberate smirk at the club.
The endless web of lies I was weaving to survive. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t let this happen.
I tore my face away, breaking the kiss with a shaky gasp. My lips felt swollen, tingling from the brutal claim.
"Cassian... wait." My voice ca out softer than I intended.
He didn’t stop imdiately, but sothing in my tone must have reached him, because his movents slowed.
That was all I needed.
I turned my face slightly, breaking the kiss.
My chest rose and fell unevenly as I tried to steady my breathing.
"I... can’t," I whispered.
Cassian’s body went still above , breathing ragged and hot against my neck.
His grip in my hair loosened fractionally, but his body remained a heavy cage, muscles coiled like a predator deciding whether to strike or retreat.
For a mont, I thought I had pushed too far.
Then he exhaled slowly and lifted himself off .
The weight disappeared, but the heat lingered.
"I’m sorry," he said quietly.
That surprised more than anything else.
Cassian Knight... apologising?
"I shouldn’t have rushed you." His voice was calr now. Controlled again.
But I could still hear it.
That edge.
That loss of control he rarely showed.
I pushed myself up slightly, still trying to catch my breath.
"It’s not that I don’t..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I’m just not... I’m not ntally prepared for this. Not right now."
His piercing eyes bored into mine — dark, calculating, and far too intense.
When he spoke, his voice was low and controlled, almost gentle. But underneath it lurked sothing darker, more possessive.
His thumb brushed over my swollen lower lip in a gesture that felt more like a claim than comfort. "That won’t happen again until you’re ready. We have all the ti in the world... because you’re mine now, Isabelle. There’s no rush."
Sothing about the way he said it made my chest tighten.
He understood, yes — but laced with ownership. He wasn’t asking. He was stating a fact, as if my hesitation were only a temporary delay in the inevitable.
He sat up against the headboard, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.
The open shirt hung loosely off his broad shoulders, exposing the taut, inked expanse of his chest still glistening faintly with sweat.
He looked every bit the dangerous man—beautiful, untouchable, and quietly nacing even in restraint.
I sat up slowly, clutching the sheets to my chest like fragile armour. My pulse still hamred wildly, lips burning from his kiss, skin hypersensitive where his body had pressed against mine.
Guilt twisted in my gut. Part of wanted to pull him back, to lose myself in the only person who had ever made feel safe and terrified at the sa ti.
But the rest of —the broken girl who wore a mask just to survive—knew better than to surrender.
"Cassian..."
His gaze returned to mine.
"Is there... anyone else?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"Apart from . Has anyone else ever stirred reactions like this in you? The warmth... elevated heart rate, the craving for proximity?"
The silence returned, heavier now.
Cassian’s gaze locked onto mine. Sothing unreadable flickered across his features. Then he nodded once, slowly.
My fingers tightened slightly against the sheets.
"There was soone," he said. His tone was perfectly even, almost indifferent, yet it carried an ambiguous weight that made my stomach clench.
I couldn’t read it. Was it soone in his past? Present?
Soone important?
He offered no more. The ambiguity hung in the air like smoke — thick, choking, impossible to ignore.
Before I could ask anything else, he shifted away from the topic completely.
"Let’s go downstairs," he said, sitting up. "You haven’t eaten."
He rose from the bed and extended his hand, the sa hand that had pinned my wrists monts ago.
His expression had smoothed back into that controlled mask, but his fingers closed around mine with quiet possessiveness when I took them — warm, firm, unwilling to let go too easily.
As he led toward the door, one thought circled relentlessly in my mind:
Who was that "soone"?
And why did the re ntion of her make sothing ugly and unfamiliar twist in my chest – jealousy I had no right to feel?
~~~
As he led toward the door, one thought circled relentlessly in my mind:
Who was that "soone"?
And why did the re ntion of her make sothing ugly and unfamiliar twist in my chest — jealousy I had no right to feel?
~~~
The mansion was quieter than I expected at this hour. Soft morning light filtered through tall windows as Cassian guided down the wide staircase, his hand never leaving mine.
My bare feet padded against the cool marble, the silk of the pyjamas whispering against my skin with every step.
I was acutely aware of how disheveled I must look — lips still swollen, hair tousled, cheeks flushed — while he moved with that effortless, predatory grace, shirt still half-open, revealing glimpses of ink and muscle.
We entered the dining hall, where a long mahogany table had already been set for two.
The aroma of fresh coffee, warm bread, and savory dishes filled the air — eggs, bacon, fruits, and what slled like freshly baked pastries.
"Good morning, Young Master," Four maids who stood near the sideboard bowed in greeting, their posture ready to serve.
Cassian didn’t acknowledge them. He pulled out a chair for with surprising gallantry, his fingers brushing the small of my back as I sat. The touch lingered a second too long, sending a shiver up my spine.
"Sit," he murmured, voice low.
I obeyed, heart fluttering at the unexpected care.
He turned to the maids before they could step forward. "Leave us. I’ll serve her myself."
The maids exchanged a glance but bowed and retreated silently from the room, closing the double doors behind them with a soft click. We were alone again.
I watched, surprised, as Cassian moved around the table with deliberate ease.
He filled my plate himself — a generous portion of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and a warm croissant — then poured a cup of coffee, adding just a splash of cream the way I liked it.
No one had ever served like this. Not in the Swan household.
Not even Nathan on his best days. The attention felt... intimate. Almost tender. Yet beneath it, I sensed the sa quiet ownership that had laced his apology upstairs.
He took his own seat across from , his plate far lighter, and leaned back, watching with those piercing eyes.
I picked up my fork, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.
I took a small bite of the eggs. They were perfectly seasoned, warm and fluffy.
I chewed slowly, then glanced at him again. And again. My eyes kept drifting back to his face, to the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair still looked slightly mussed from my fingers earlier.
"You seem to want to ask sothing," Cassian said after a mont, his tone calm but knowing. He set his coffee down. "Ask away."
I swallowed, fingers tightening around the fork. My pulse quickened. The question had been burning in my throat since he ntioned her.
"Um... about the girl," I began, voice softer than I intended. "Is she... is she still... Who is she?"
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