D-Day

Chapter 10

The day crept in with a kind of silence that felt almost ceremonial. The sky outside was a dull gray, heavy with unspoken things. It wasn't raining, but it felt like it could at any moment—just like her chest, swollen with fear, confusion, and silent screams that had never been released.

Aria sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers curled around the hem of her pale nightgown, eyes fixed on the closed door. She hadn't seen Cassian since the day he made his final threat.

"If you refuse… I'll make sure you never see the outside world again."

That voice still echoed in her head, chilling and final. The words weren't loud, but they carried a force heavier than chains. Since that night, she hadn't slept. Not properly. She stared at the ceiling, wishing for time to stop—but it never did.

Now, the D-day had come. The day her body had been bargained like property. The day she had dreaded more than anything else. She had always dreamt of freedom, always stared out her window and begged the world to let her out—but not like this. Not in this body. Not under these circumstances.

Her room was untouched. Her drawings sat unfinished. Her once joyful songs had dried into silence. The world had turned its back on her. She missed her old cage now… At least in that prison, she knew who she was. Now, she was nothing but a name on a contract.

A knock came.

No one waited for her response. The door opened and closed with an eerie calm. And there he was—Cassian Cole. His tall, well-built frame cast a long shadow over her. He stood there, black shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his face unreadable as ever. Aria lifted her eyes, just enough to meet his gaze.

He looked at her like one would regard a dull object on a shelf—expensive, yes, but not precious.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

His voice was deep and quiet, calm in a way that made her stomach twist. But there was no warmth, no softness—only the cold air of inevitability.

Aria swallowed. Her lips parted slightly before she forced herself to speak. "Like I have a choice?" she whispered.

A pause.

Cassian moved to the window, sitting down on the edge of the low couch, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes gazing out into the city below. He didn't respond right away. He just sat there, as if he was giving her a moment to sink into her reality.

Then, without turning, he said, "Take off your dress."

The words didn't echo. They didn't need to.

Aria froze. She didn't even breathe. She thought she misheard. Maybe her mind was breaking apart. But then he turned to her, and his gaze met hers—stone-cold and final.

"I won't repeat myself."

She felt her limbs move—not because she wanted to, but because her mind had gone blank. Because resistance didn't make sense anymore. Because she had already lost.

Her hands moved to the straps of her gown, pulling it down slowly. She stood still, trembling slightly but not enough to stop herself. And when she was bare before him, there was no gasp from him. No satisfaction. No rage. Just silence.

His voice broke it again, calm as ever. "Lie on the bed."

Aria moved like a ghost, lying flat on her back, her arms limp by her side. Her breathing was shallow. Her mind kept whispering: It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. But she wasn't sure what "over" meant anymore.

Cassian stood and walked toward her. He didn't rush. His steps were soundless, confident, clinical. When he reached the side of the bed, he simply looked at her for a long while, then sat at the edge again. She didn't look at him. She couldn't.

"There's nothing personal about this," he said flatly. "This is business. You're just the cost."

She clenched her jaw.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he added, but the words didn't feel like comfort. They were just facts. Cold, detached facts. "But I'm not here to pretend either. You belong to me until the deal is done. That's all."

He rose and walked to the dresser. She heard the clink of glass—water being poured. Then silence again.

Aria wanted to scream. Not at him. At herself. At the world. But her voice had died weeks ago. There was nothing left.

Cassian turned back, his eyes scanning her once more. Then, almost unexpectedly, he turned toward the door.

"I'll come back tonight," he said over his shoulder.

The door closed.

She was alone again.

And yet, she never felt more invaded.

Nightfall

The evening arrived slower than usual, dragging each hour across the floor like broken glass. Aria hadn't moved from the bed since Cassian left. She stared at the ceiling—dry-eyed, but hollow. There was nothing to cry with. Her heart had already bled too much.

Her hands curled against the sheets.

The room was still. Too still. Even the maids hadn't come. No one knocked. No one cared. The quiet stretched into something unbearable. It wrapped around her throat and squeezed. Her body was cold, though the room wasn't.

When the door finally opened again, it wasn't loud—but it was final.

Cassian stepped inside, dressed in a fitted black shirt, his sleeves pushed halfway up, revealing the veins on his arms. He didn't say a word. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a soft click. The sound settled in Aria's bones like thunder.

She sat up slowly, her nightgown slipping over one shoulder. Her breath caught in her chest. She didn't want to meet his gaze, but she did—out of instinct, not bravery.

He stood there, looking at her the way someone would look at a puzzle they didn't need to solve. His expression never changed.

"Stand up," he said.

She obeyed.

He walked toward her. The room felt smaller with each of his steps. He didn't touch her. Not yet. He just looked. Not in lust. Not in kindness. Just… looked. She felt like a statue someone carved and left out in the open, exposed and judged for something she didn't even choose.

"You've been quiet all day," he said, tone unreadable.

"What's the point of speaking?" she asked, her voice raw.

Cassian tilted his head slightly, as if intrigued, but not moved. "Good," he muttered. "Less noise."

Aria swallowed the knot in her throat.

She felt the space close between them. And then, with no warning, Cassian grabbed her chin and tilted her face up. Not harshly, not gently either—just firmly.

"You knew this was coming," he said flatly.

She didn't answer.

"Then don't look at me like you're surprised."

She shook her head, eyes glistening now. Not from love. Not even from hate. Just… grief. For herself.

Cassian let go and stepped back. "Take off your gown," he said again, voice low and commanding.

She froze—but only for a second.

She did it. Slowly. Her hands trembled, but they obeyed. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooled at her feet, and left her bare.

He didn't compliment her. He didn't leer. He just stared, then motioned to the bed.

"Lie down."

She walked over and did as he said.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he climbed over her. There was no rush. No heat. Just the cold anticipation of something that felt more like a sentence than desire. His hand trailed down her arm, then her side, and paused at her waist.

"I won't ask twice," he said.

She didn't resist. She couldn't. Her body stopped shaking. Not because the fear was gone—but because her mind had surrendered to numbness. A final defense mechanism.

Cassian hovered over her, eyes locked on hers. She could smell the faint cologne on him, feel his breath brush her neck.

"This is the price," he whispered. "Your father made his choices. Now you pay the balance."

His mouth brushed her neck—not in passion, but like a brand being placed on skin. His hands moved over her slowly, without hesitation, until the weight of him pressed down and sealed her fate.

Pain.

It tore through her.

She arched, gasped, then froze.

Cassian didn't stop. He moved with a force that wasn't rage—but wasn't tenderness either. His hand pinned hers above her head. His voice didn't break. His eyes didn't soften. And through it all, she felt herself break—quietly, invisibly.

Blood stained the sheets.

Her body tensed, and tears—unwanted, shameful—slid down her cheeks. She didn't sob. She couldn't. But the pain kept coming, sharp and hot and cutting through her like betrayal.

Cassian said nothing.

He kept going.

Not violently, but without pause—like he was claiming what was written in the fine print.

Time warped. Minutes became meaningless. All that existed was her breathing, the creak of the bed, and the raw sting that hollowed her chest from the inside out.

And then… silence again.

He pulled back, stood, and adjusted his shirt like nothing happened. He didn't glance at her. He didn't speak. He simply picked up his watch from the table, slid it on, and walked to the door.

"Clean yourself," he said. "Someone will bring new sheets."

Then he left.

And Aria lay there—still, sore, broken—not because of what happened, but because of what it meant.

She wasn't free.

She was bought.