ChapterSix
She didn't cry.
She screamed. Into a pillow. Then into nothing.
Cassie Kensington sat on the bathroom floor, cold marble pressing against her legs, her back curved inwards like she was trying to fold herself out of existence. Her lipstick was smeared, a bold red streak dragged halfway across her cheek. Mascara ran like tears of soot, dripping trails down her face. Her chest rose and fell, sharp and shallow.
Everything about her looked wrecked. Everything but her silence.
The contract lay crumpled on the floor near the bin. Its sharp black letters were bent at awkward angles, like they knew how cruel they were.
Two days.
That's all she had left. Forty-eight hours before her name stopped being hers. Her life, her voice, her choices—signed away.
Cassie reached for the contract, her fingers brushing the floor like she wasn't sure if she even deserved to touch it. She smoothed the creases slowly, almost tenderly, like flattening it could somehow soften the truth. But nothing about it felt less real.
She pressed a hand over her heart. Her chest felt hollow. Like her ribcage was just an empty frame, holding the ghost of the girl she used to be.
Then—knock.
Not a polite one. Not a warning. Just a Maddie-knock.
And just like that, the door cracked open.
Maddie walked in with a coffee in one hand and eyeliner in the other, like she'd seen this version of Cassie before and didn't need permission to fix it.
"No questions," she said casually, stepping over the emotional debris like it was just laundry. "Just tell me what to destroy first. Him or his ego?"
Cassie blinked up at her. Her lashes were stuck together in clumps.
Maddie gave her a half-grin. "Too soon?"
Cassie let out a breath that might've been a laugh. Or a sob. "You brought eyeliner?"
"Obviously," Maddie said, crouching beside her like a field medic. "You think I'm letting you face that arrogant piece of crap with smudged wings? Hell no. You're not going in there like a Greek tragedy. You're going in like a storm."
They moved to the bed without another word. Maddie perched beside her, fixing Cassie's makeup with practiced ease. Her hands were steady. Her eyes sharp. The kind of quiet comfort that didn't ask for permission—it just showed up and got to work.
Cassie didn't say anything. But the tightness in her chest loosened, just a little.
"You know who you are, right?" Maddie asked softly, dabbing concealer under Cassie's eyes. "Before all this bullshit. Before your last name turned into a cage."
Cassie stayed silent. Not because she didn't know—but because remembering hurt more than forgetting.
Maddie snapped the eyeliner shut. "You're not theirs, Cass. You're just letting them think you are. For now."
Cassie looked at her reflection. For a moment, she didn't recognize herself. But Maddie was right—the mask was on. War paint in place.
A soft knock interrupted them this time. This one hesitant, almost shy.
Charlotte.
She stepped inside, small and pale, her hands wrapped around a tiny silk bundle.
"I found this in Mama's old jewelry box," she said quietly. "She wore it every day. Before everything changed."
Cassie's breath caught.
"Char, I—"
"You can," Charlotte said, stepping closer. "It's not about remembering her. It's about remembering you."
Cassie reached out slowly and took the bundle, her fingers brushing against her sister's. Inside was a delicate gold ring—simple, barely noticeable, but so full of meaning it felt like it weighed ten pounds.
She slipped it on.
It still fit.
Charlotte looked up at her, eyes shining. "You were always the brave one."
Cassie leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. There was no dramatic goodbye. Just that small gesture—quiet and sacred.
She was halfway down the stairs when the air shifted.
Victoria.
Leaning against the railing with a wine glass in one hand and her usual mask of smugness in place. Her nails were blood red, her hair styled to perfection. She looked like a villain in a slow-burning drama. The kind who smiled while setting fires.
"Well, well," Victoria purred, swirling her wine. "Off to sacrifice yourself for the family name?"
Cassie kept walking.
Victoria followed, slow and deliberate. "You always thought you were better than the rest of us, didn't you? But here you are. Just another Kensington woman being sold off like expensive furniture."
Cassie stopped at the bottom of the staircase.
She turned, just enough to meet Victoria's eyes.
Victoria smirked. "It's your turn to be useful, Cassandra."
Cassie didn't reply.
Because if she opened her mouth, she might not stop. She might spit fire. She might burn it all down. And there were still people worth protecting upstairs.
So she kept walking.
The foyer was already waiting. Her bags were lined up by the door like soldiers on parade. Charlotte stood nearby, her fingers twisted in the fabric of Cassie's coat. Rosa—the woman who'd raised them, fed them, loved them more than their own mother—watched from the hallway, silent and misty-eyed.
Then the door opened.
No knock. No bell. Just opened.
Christian Masters walked in like he'd been born to take up space.
Black shirt. Open collar. No tie. No smile.
His presence filled the foyer like a warning.
He nodded at Arthur Kensington, who stood stiff as a board by the staircase, his face blank but his eyes betraying the weight of what he was giving away.
Then his gaze landed on Cassie.
"I couldn't wait to see what mine looks like when she's leaving everything behind," Christian said, voice smooth like velvet with a blade beneath.
Cassie didn't flinch.
She felt Charlotte tense beside her. Rosa's posture went rigid behind her.
But Cassie's spine straightened.
Her chin lifted.
Her gaze locked onto his like a challenge.
Let him think this was surrender.
Christian stepped forward, picked up one of her bags, and carried it like he was doing her a favor. Like he was already claiming pieces of her without asking.
Cassie didn't let it show. Not the panic curling under her skin. Not the ache in her chest. Not the scream trapped behind her teeth.
She didn't look back at anyone.
Let them keep their ghosts. She was heading straight into a den of monsters.
The car outside was sleek and black, idling quietly at the curb. The kind of vehicle that didn't just drive—it made statements.
Christian opened the door and held it.
He didn't say anything.
Just looked at her with that unreadable expression of his—half dare, half demand.
Cassie stepped in without a word.
The door closed behind her like a seal being snapped shut.
Inside the car, the windows reflected back her image. A girl in war paint. Shoulders squared. Hands folded tightly in her lap.
But her reflection told the real story.
Sharp edges. Fractured light. A girl who'd stopped being soft a long time ago.
Cassie didn't look at Christian as he climbed in beside her.
She didn't speak.
She didn't breathe too deep.
She just stared ahead, already building the armor she'd need for the days to come.
Because this wasn't the end of her story.
It was just the part where she stopped being the sacrifice—and started becoming the storm.