Don’t get too comfortable

Cassidy's POV

My face flamed. I wanted to disappear. I recognized the tactic—charm for the adults, poison for the target. “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a steady voice. “You can always clean it up.”

Dante’s lips twitched, his gaze never leaving mine. “Not really my specialty,” he murmured, handing the stained napkin to a maid with a smile so polite it was almost cruel. “But some people have more experience in that arena. Don’t you agree?”

By now, Richard was glancing up, frowning slightly, as if something about the exchange didn't fit the glossy image he preferred. My mother shifted, catching my eye for a fraction of a second, silently pleading for me not to make a scene.

I stared down at my plate, pushing berries around, counting to ten in my head.

Dante’s voice intruded again, lilting and almost musical now, as he selected a sugar cube and dropped it into his new glass. “I’m sure you’ll find your way, Liana. Houses like this can be… overwhelming. Full of expectations, little rules. Wouldn’t want anyone to feel out of place. Or… lost.”

The words twisted in my chest. The staff moved quietly, resetting the table where the juice had pooled, doing their best to pretend nothing unusual was happening. One, a slender girl with hair tucked behind her ears, caught my eye and offered an apologetic glance before she retreated.

Dante, ever the picture of innocence, busied himself with breakfast. When the older maid brought him a replacement glass, he smiled at her in that way that must have won him endless favors in the past. “Thank you, Margaret. Always so attentive. I suppose you know this house best. Isn’t it strange, training someone new each season?”

Margaret shook her head, her voice careful and low. “We all adjust, sir. That’s the beauty of Ashford House.”

“Is it?” he mused. “We’ll see what new traditions my… stepsister brings to the table.”

A chair scraped at the far end. I realized I was clutching my fork so tightly my fingers ached. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” I said, low. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Dante’s brows lifted, as if surprised by my spine. He set his glass down with a sharp click, and the dining room trembled with something brittle.

Suddenly, he twisted in his seat, reaching for the slender vase holding a single, perfect white rose. With deceptive casualness, he toppled it onto its side. Water spilled and the flower rolled, landing in front of me. The staff froze. The water pooled toward my plate.

“Oh,” Dante said, feigning disappointment. “Another accident. Dear me. I suppose you can handle this one too, Liana?”

My heart pounded; each word felt like a punch. I could feel eyes—staff, my mother, even Richard—watching to see what I would do.

I picked up the rose and returned it to the vase, setting it upright with a steady hand. “Maybe we should ask for sippy cups next time,” I muttered, soft but just loud enough for him to hear.

A dangerous glint entered his eyes, the crowding tension interrupted only by Richard’s half-laugh. “That’s the spirit. You learn to keep things light around here, Liana. It makes the days easier.”

“Of course, sir,” Dante replied smoothly, his gaze never breaking from mine. “I do so enjoy a little entertainment with breakfast.”

“Dante,” my mother said, voice brittle, “that’s enough.”

He dropped his gaze, a mock surrender, but the smirk never faded.

I managed to eat a bite, barely able to taste anything past the bitterness on my tongue. My hands went cold in my lap. The staff moved quickly, blotting and refilling, resetting with practiced hands. I longed for invisibility.

Richard cleared his throat. “So, Liana, tell us. What are you most looking forward to this semester? Now that you’re starting fresh?”

I forced a smile, scrambling for something neutral. “I suppose… making sense of where everything is. And, um, maybe meeting some people.”

Dante’s voice slid in, unctuous and false. “We do have a certain… standard in our circles. But don’t worry, sis. I’m sure someone will show you the ropes eventually. There’s always someone willing to adopt a project.”

My mother’s face reddened, and she pressed her lips tight. I felt sick. Was I a project to these people? A favor? A test?

“Dante,” she tried again, her tone pleading, “Liana’s here to settle in, not to be put on the spot.”

He shrugged as if the matter was out of his hands, then looked at me directly, his tone suddenly too soft, too kind. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Liana? A new start? Some people would do anything for an opportunity like this.”

My cheeks burned. “Sure. As long as opportunity isn’t code for something else.”

His smile sharpened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The rest of breakfast passed in uncomfortable silence. Every movement, every word, felt magnified in the golden hush of the room. The staff barely looked up. My mother tried to fill every gap with cheerful nonsense—school placements, upcoming charity galas, tennis lessons she hoped I might take—her voice wobbling at the edges.

By the end, my appetite had vanished. I lingered over my coffee, desperate for some reprieve, but the walls closed in tighter with each lingering minute.

At last, Richard glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m off for the morning. Dante, you’ll show Liana around after breakfast, yes?”

“Of course, Father,” Dante said, tone warm and agreeable, hiding all his poison in silk. “I’m sure we’ll have a… memorable morning.” He looked at me, eyes glinting like broken glass.

Richard smiled with relief. My mother squeezed my hand under the table, her fingers trembling.

I nodded numbly. “Looking forward to it.”

As the adults stood, the staff descended to clear the table. I pushed back from my chair, ready to escape, but Dante—ever the actor—stood too, collecting his phone and car keys. He moved beside me, lowering his voice so that only I could hear.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he murmured, voice like velvet hiding a razor. “You might find these walls less welcoming than you think.”

I met his gaze, head held high even as my insides twisted. “I’ll try not to break anything.”

He grinned—a flash of white teeth and malice. “If you do, just let me know. I’m something of an expert at making a mess.”

He walked ahead, hands in his pockets, leaving a trail of icy laughter in his wake.

Alone amid gleaming silver and wilted roses, I realized there was only one rule that mattered in Ashford House: survive the Ashfords—or be destroyed by them.

And I already knew which one Dante was hoping for.