Cassandra realized very quickly that mornings in Lucien Blackwood's world were never peaceful.
She woke to silence so perfect it felt artificial. No street noise. No neighbors arguing. No alarm clock buzzing from cheap plastic. Instead, sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the bedroom in soft gold and shadow. The bed beneath her was too large, the sheets too expensive, the air too still.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then reality returned—sharp and unforgiving.
The penthouse.
The contract.
Lucien.
Cassandra sat up slowly, pressing her feet against the cool marble floor. The room looked untouched, immaculate, as if no one had ever slept there before her. She wondered briefly if Lucien even slept at all—or if men like him simply existed in a constant state of control.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
She froze.
"Miss Stone," a male voice said. Calm. Controlled. "Breakfast is ready."
Victor.
Cassandra exhaled and stood, smoothing her silk robe nervously before opening the door. Victor Hale stood outside, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, his expression unreadable. His sharp eyes flicked over her briefly—not with desire, but with calculation.
"Good morning," she said quietly.
"Mr. Blackwood is already awake," Victor replied. "He requests your presence."
Requests. Orders dressed in politeness.
She followed Victor into the dining area, where Lucien sat at the head of a long table, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other. He didn't look up when she entered.
"Sit," he said.
Cassandra obeyed, her movements careful, measured.
"You have an invitation today," Lucien continued. "Lunch. Private."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the chair. "With who?"
Lucien finally looked at her.
"Isabella Moreau."
Her stomach dropped.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Cassandra said before she could stop herself.
Lucien's gaze sharpened—not angry, but warning. "You don't get to decide what is or isn't a good idea."
She swallowed. "Then why tell me?"
"Because," he said calmly, "I want to see how you handle her."
That frightened her more than the invitation itself.
The restaurant was discreet, luxurious, hidden behind privacy glass and whispered reputations. Isabella was already seated when Cassandra arrived, dressed in cream and gold, her smile effortless and dangerous.
"Cassandra," Isabella said warmly, standing. "I'm so glad you came."
Cassandra forced a polite smile. "You asked."
They sat across from each other, the table between them a battlefield disguised as elegance.
"You must be overwhelmed," Isabella began casually, swirling her wine. "Being thrown into Lucien's life so suddenly."
Cassandra kept her posture straight. "I'm adjusting."
Isabella smiled wider. "That's admirable. Many women break under the pressure."
"Many women don't try to replace others," Cassandra replied before she could stop herself.
Isabella laughed softly. "Oh, sweetheart. No one replaces anyone in Lucien's world. We're simply… used differently."
The words crawled under Cassandra's skin.
"Did he tell you about me?" Isabella continued. "About us?"
"No," Cassandra said firmly. "And I didn't ask."
Isabella leaned forward. "You should have."
Her eyes hardened. "Lucien doesn't love. He consumes. And when he's done, he discards."
Cassandra's chest tightened. She wanted to deny it—to defend Lucien—but the truth was, she didn't know him well enough to lie convincingly.
Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"Isabella."
Cassandra turned sharply.
Lucien stood behind her.
Her heart skipped.
His hand rested possessively on her shoulder, fingers warm and unyielding. "I don't recall giving you permission to test my fiancée."
Isabella rose smoothly. "I was only curious."
Lucien's gaze was glacial. "Curiosity gets people hurt."
The air thickened.
Then another voice joined them—lighter, amused.
"Always so dramatic, brother."
Cassandra turned to see a man leaning casually against the doorway, dark-haired, charming, eyes glittering with malice.
Adrian Blackwood.
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Leave."
Adrian laughed. "Relax. I just wanted to meet the girl brave enough to sit where Isabella once did."
Cassandra stiffened.
Adrian's eyes roamed over her slowly. "Pretty," he mused. "Fragile. Dangerous combination."
Lucien moved instantly.
His hand slid from Cassandra's shoulder to her waist, pulling her firmly against his side. "Look," he said coldly, "but don't touch."
Adrian's smile widened. "Oh, I wouldn't dare."
Isabella watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.
Cassandra finally understood something crucial.
These people weren't just rivals.
They were predators.
And Lucien wasn't protecting her from them out of kindness.
He was guarding what he claimed.
Lucien leaned down, his lips brushing Cassandra's ear. "You did well," he murmured. "But remember this—"
His voice dropped, dark and absolute.
"No one threatens what belongs to me."
Cassandra's breath caught.
Because part of her feared the enemies around her.
And part of her feared Lucien most of all.