Don’t touch what’s mine.

Cassidy's POV

“So," he drawled, voice so deep I felt it in my ribs, "you’re the new charity case.”

I squared my shoulders, summoning all the defiance I could. "I was just getting water."

He gave a slow, mocking nod. “Water. Cute. What’s next—raiding the fridge? Pocketing silverware for your next yard sale?” He smiled, lazy and mean, as if the insult was a delicacy to be savored.

I could feel anger bloom in my chest, hot and familiar. “I don’t steal,” I forced out, trying to keep my voice level.

He shrugged with studied indifference, as if he couldn’t care less about denials. “Oh, but your mother does,” he said, voice softening just enough to sharpen the contempt. “She stole my father’s attention. Stole his money. Wormed her way into this house—and dragged you along like a parasite clinging to her.”

The words hit harder than I expected, finding all the cracks inside me. But I kept my jaw set, refusing to let him see anything but steel.

He pushed off the counter in two fluid steps, closing the distance. I found myself pressed back against the cool metal of the fridge, his heat suddenly too close, his presence swallowing all the oxygen.

I tried to step away, but he braced a hand against the wall beside my head, caging me in. I could smell him—soap, salt, and something dark and mineral sharp, a scent born of sweat and expensive cologne. My breath caught in spite of myself.

He leaned in, voice low enough that I felt it brush my skin. “You don’t belong here, Cassidy Carter,” he whispered, every syllable deliberate, measured, lethal. “Not in this house. Not in my world. And definitely not anywhere near me.”

My heart thundered, but I kept my chin up. “Last I checked, your world isn’t the only one that matters.”

A humorless chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. “Is that so? See, I think you’ll find otherwise, princess,” he said, mouth curled in something more threatening than a smile.

He boxed me tighter, his arm tense beside my ear. I studied him—saw the tiny white scar at his temple, maybe from a childhood fight; the small flecks of green in his eyes, icy as they were. I hated that I noticed those things, that, even terrified, my body responded the way it did: heart quickening, skin prickling, every nerve alight.

He watched me a moment, weighing, calculating, like he could see straight through to every loss, every secret. “Here’s how it’s going to work,” he breathed, close enough that the fine hairs on my arms rose. “You keep your head down. You don’t touch what’s mine. You don’t embarrass me in front of my friends. You play the quiet little stepdaughter and let your mother pretend she’s a princess. And maybe—maybe—I’ll let you breathe here.”

Each word was a brand burned against my skin.

“Or what?” I managed, voice shaking despite my best effort. “You’ll lock me in the attic? Throw a party and pretend I don’t exist?"

His eyes went hooded—a hungry, dead-of-night anger burning there. “I can make your life a living hell, Carter. All it takes is one word from me and no one in my world will even look at you.”

“Then maybe I’ll look somewhere else,” I shot back, heat stinging my eyes. “I don’t need your world. I don’t even want it.”

His lips twisted, half-smirk, half-sneer. “You say that now,” he murmured, “but let’s see how you’re doing after a week here. They’ll eat you alive.”

He straightened, and for a moment his hand hovered near my face, knuckles brushing the air as if fighting some private battle. Then, almost gently, he flicked one of the androgynous decorative magnets beside my head—sending it spinning. “Careful, little girl,” he said, voice gone lazy again. “People break all the time in this house. If you want advice—don’t get in my way. Don’t get anybody’s attention. Just exist quietly, and maybe no one will notice there’s a mistake in the guest wing.”

I glared at him, defiance sparking in my chest. “You really think you’re scary?”

His smirk widened, eyes glittering in the dark. “I don’t have to be scary. I just have to be right. Besides, I don’t break rules, Carter. I break people.”

His words were a slow, deliberate dare.

He leaned close enough for his warmth to roll over my skin, then said—soft, mocking, low—“And you look like you’d shatter real easy.”

I clenched my hands into fists, wanting so much to strike back, but I held my tongue. Something in his eyes—hunger, yes, but also disappointment, as if he wanted me to fight, to be the catastrophe he could warn about later.

He stepped back, grabbing his glass and draining the rest of the water. The glow of moonlight made him more beautiful and more cruel, a living warning. He didn’t spare me so much as a glance as he strode out, bare feet soundless against marble, shoulders lit by silver. The door swung behind him with a gentle click that sounded like a final verdict.

I stood there while the cold from the fridge seeped into my bones. The silence pressed harder now, thicker and darker—a silence I’d have to learn to survive.

The ache in my throat returned, sharper than before. I poured myself water with a trembling hand, watching thoughts swirl and separate in its clear depths.

Who the hell did he think he was? Daddy’s little empire builder, king of the world, heir to everything that was never mine. His words replayed, each one winding around my heart and squeezing: parasite, charity case, mistake. I hated the way they fit, hated how much he sounded like Dylan when things started to sour, when I went from the coolest girl in the world to baggage dragging him down.

You don’t belong here, Carter.

Well, maybe I didn’t. But I’d be damned if I’d show him that.

Cup in hand, I wandered through the empty kitchen, running my fingers along cold granite, imagining what it would take to feel at home here. I thought about my mother—right now probably crying into a pillow in another room, never letting me see. I thought about what she’d given up for this shiny new world and wondered if she’d regret it in the morning.

I sipped water and let my mind drift, caught between memory and nightmare:

A cheap hotel room somewhere in Indiana. Dylan’s mouth pressed against my hair, swearing love. My mom’s laughter in the middle of nowhere, hopeful for the first time in years. All of it felt so far away now—the only things that had ever belonged to me.

I walked back through the halls, every step echoing. Too big, too new, too empty.

Passing a side table, I paused, running a finger across the envelope tucked under a vase—ASHFORD, it said in archaic script. I almost laughed at the absurdity; even their bills looked important in this house.

Tiptoeing up the stairs, I flinched at every creak, wishing I had the power to disappear into the walls. I passed closed doors and darkened bedrooms, feeling the eyes of old portraits tracking my every move. Near my room, the grandfather clock downstairs chimed once for one o'clock—a deep, resonant sound that made the walls shiver.

Inside my room, I let the door ease shut behind me. I leaned back against it, sliding down until sheets of moonlight fell across my face. I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror across the dark—hair mussed, eyes too wide, lips pressed thin with nerves.

He was wrong, I told my mirror-self. I wouldn't shatter.

But doubt gnawed at me. Was I really strong enough? Or would I be just another mistake the Ashfords tried to pretend away?

I curled onto my bed, frigid toes pulled tight to my chest, and let myself grieve—not just for the home I'd left, or for a mother trying to fit, but for the heartbreak still fresh, the betrayal that made trusting impossible.

Dylan’s voice haunted me in the hush.

“I never meant to hurt you, Cass…”

But he did. So had others. Maybe Dante Ashford would just be the latest. If he wanted war, I could give him that—I didn't plan to break, not for anyone.

Somewhere in the thick dark, I drifted, slow as a leaf into uneasy sleep. The night pressed gently at the windows; somewhere, thunder rolled again. In my dreams, Dante’s eyes were the pale light of storms.

That was my first real introduction to Dante Ashford.

And as the moon pulled shadows across my bed and the mansion breathed around me, I knew—my new life wasn’t going to be quiet, not anymore.

It was war.