CONTRACT OF SILENCE

Alina stood in front of the mirror, the silk dress hanging off her body like it belonged to someone else.

Black. Sleek. Bare-backed.

Not for beauty.

For war.

She hadn't spoken since last night.

Her body still ached from the way he had touched her. Used her. Claimed her.

And yet, this morning, there had been no tenderness. No warmth.

Only an envelope slipped under the cabin door.

Her name written in ink she recognized.

Cassian's.

Inside: a marriage contract.

No proposal.

No ring.

Just ink and ice.

And his signature already at the bottom.

---

Now she stood in a grand hall she didn't recognize, stone walls and iron chandeliers casting long shadows. A priest waited near the altar. Luca nearby. Guards stationed like statues.

This was no wedding.

This was a warning.

And Cassian — dressed in black, his face carved in stone — stood across from her, unreadable.

"I said I didn't want to be your prisoner," Alina whispered.

"You're not," Cassian replied.

"You're making me your wife."

He stepped closer. "Not out of love."

"Then out of what?"

He said it without blinking. "Out of necessity."

She could barely breathe.

"And you expect me to sign this?"

Cassian leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "You already did when you chose to betray me. This is just the paperwork."

---

The ceremony was brief.

No vows. No smiles.

Just names.

A signature.

And the cold press of his lips against her forehead — not a kiss, but a brand.

Cassian Vale had claimed her.

Not as a lover.

Not even as a possession.

But as a piece of his empire — one he would use, control, and cage until there was nothing left of the girl who once ran barefoot through fig trees.

---

The tragedy came before nightfall.

One of Cassian's safehouses — the one where Alina had first been held — burned to the ground.

Bodies charred.

No survivors.

Cassian received the message as they rode back from the ceremony.

He said nothing.

But Alina watched his jaw clench. His hands grip the armrest. The monster in him reawakening.

"Someone sent a message," Luca said grimly from the front seat.

Cassian nodded once. "Then we send one back."

Luca glanced at Alina in the rearview. "She'll be seen now. As leverage."

Cassian's voice was a knife.

"She's not leverage."

He turned to her then. Eyes full of something too dangerous to name.

"She's bait."

---

That night, Alina stood in their shared suite in the estate — not a home, but a prison with marble floors. She stared at the massive bed. The heavy door. The thin gold band Cassian had forced onto her finger.

He entered after midnight.

Not drunk.

Not angry.

Just… silent.

She didn't speak.

He poured whiskey. Sat across from her.

Finally: "Why?"

Alina turned slowly. "Why what?"

"Why did you give your father the files?"

She looked at him. "To protect myself."

"That's not the full answer."

She inhaled. "Because I thought… if I could end this world from the inside, I could save someone."

Cassian tilted his head. "Save who?"

She didn't blink.

"Myself."

A long silence.

Then he stood, walking toward her slowly.

"You're not that girl anymore," he said.

She didn't step back. "No. I'm your wife now."

He smiled — cruel and sad at once.

"Not by heart."

He gripped her chin. Lifted it.

"But that doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

---

They ended up in bed again — not out of passion, but defiance.

Every kiss was a scar.

Every breath stolen, every sound strangled.

She scratched his chest. He bruised her hips.

And when they finished, tangled in heat and hate, Cassian whispered the truth against her throat:

"This is the last time I feel anything for you."

She lay still.

Because some part of her believed it.

And some darker part hoped he was wrong.

---

The next day, tragedy struck again.

Luca found one of their allies — Rafael — executed in his home, fingers missing, tongue cut out.

A symbol.

Someone knew about the marriage.

Someone wanted to make sure Cassian paid for it.

And Alina?

Was now the weakness everyone saw.

---

"You've made me your target," she told him that night.

Cassian leaned against the desk, unreadable. "Good."

She stared. "You want me dead?"

He met her gaze. "I want them to try."

Alina stepped forward. "Why?"

Cassian's voice was quiet. "Because when they come for you… I'll come for them."

"And what happens when you lose?" she asked.

He smirked. "Then we both burn."

---

In the days that followed, Cassian moved like a man possessed.

Plans. Maps. Codes.

He gave her a new name. A new passport. New training.

Not to protect her.

But to make her useful.

And at night, when they lay beside each other, sometimes she touched his chest, just to remember he still had a heartbeat.

And sometimes, when she dreamed…

She imagined he touched her back.

---

But the darkness was growing.

Inside them both.

And the war was coming.

One where love wouldn't save them.

And vengeance wouldn't be enough.

Not anymore.