Chapter 2  A House of Shadows

Elira didn't sleep.

She had locked herself in the big drawing room, sat on the chaise near the fireplace, dressed for her wedding, and played with the edge of her gown. Meanwhile, Cassian likely stood down the hall considering several choices for maiming, using, or eliminating the rogue agent. She had not opened the envelope he had handed to her hours before.

The photograph inside burned in her memory: her father, alive, stepping into a car two weeks after his supposed funeral.

What kind of game was this?

A door creaked behind her. She turned.

Cassian stepped into the room, his jacket now removed, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The man was a storm in human form-controlled fury, always calculating. He glanced at the untouched photo on the table and then at her.

"You haven't asked the question."

"I'm afraid of the answer," she replied.

He moved ahead, taking his time. I've got to know you're going to stay with me.

She lifted one eyebrow. "And how will you know that? Brand me? Chain me to the bed?"

A flash of something unreadable passed through his eyes. "I don't need chains to keep you here, Elira. You're already bound by blood and secrets. Same as me."

"Don't pretend we're equals."

"We're not," he admitted. "But we will be-if you survive the next few days."

She stood. "Tell me everything. About my father. About Roth. Why did you force this marriage?"

Cassian didn't move. "Three weeks ago, your father was seen entering a private jet bound for Lisbon. Roth's men were seen boarding the same plane. Two days later, it crashed in the ocean."

Her breath hitched. "So he's dead. Again."

"No bodies were recovered. And Roth staged the crash."

Elira stepped closer, the silk of her gown whispering across the marble floor. "You think my father betrayed me?"

"I think your father is still alive," Cassian said quietly, "and Roth is using him. Or...they were working together all along."

It felt like being slapped.

"You're lying."

"I wish I were."

Her legs trembled as she was thrown back a step, thinking about her father leading her at the piano, cheering at her graduation, and comforting her after her mother died.

He wouldn't be unfaithful to her.

He couldn't.

"I have proof," Cassian said. "But it's in a vault in Barcelona. I'm going to retrieve it in two days."

"And until then?"

"You stay here. Learn the estate. Learn who you can trust."

Elira crossed her arms. "So what? I'm your captive until the next breadcrumb?"

"No." He stepped close again, lowering his voice. "You're my wife. And that role will protect-for now."

She stared up at him, pulse racing. "And if I decide to burn this house down instead?"

A faint smile curved his lips. Once everything's ready, I'll help hold the match to get everything going.

On the next day, Elira woke to both strong coffee in the air and voices coming from outside her door. Wearing a slick black dress, she exited the bedroom, now in something designer, yet easier to move around in.

Cassian had left a note on the desk: Breakfast. West Wing. Do not be late.

She nearly tore it in half but restrained herself.

The estate was a fortress. Armed guards. Surveillance cameras. Hidden passageways. As they got closer together, it was difficult to know exactly when a secret turned into a story.

The west wing dining room was discovered by the Countess, with one end set for ten people and only a couple of chairs used.

Cassian at the head.

And a woman.

Tall, sharp-featured, with crimson lipstick and eyes that glinted like razors. She turned and smiled at Elira with calculated politeness.

"You must be the bride," she said. "I'm Isolde. Cassian's...associate."

"Associate?" Elira echoed, taking the seat beside Cassian. "Is that what they call side pieces now?"

Cassian let out a low sigh. "She's my intelligence officer."

"I prefer a problem solver," Isolde purred.

Elira buttered a piece of toast with a little more force than necessary. "Good to know you surround yourself with such warm people."

Cassian sipped his coffee. "Isolde has been tracking Roth's financial trail. She found something interesting."

Isolde slid a folder toward Elira. "You might want to brace yourself."

Inside: bank transactions. Wire transfers. One particular transfer caught her eye-a deposit into the "Vexley Foundation."

"But...that foundation was dissolved after the funeral."

"Or so the public believes," Isolde said. "Turns out, it's now a shell company Roth uses to move assets-mostly weapons. And guess whose signature is on every document?"

Elira stared at the forged name. Elira Vexley.

"They're framing me."

"They've already started," Cassian said. "Soon the FBI, Interpol, and every law enforcement agency in the world will see you as a willing accomplice."

Elira's throat tightened. "And you think marrying me protects me?"

"It protects both of us. Because now, you're a Dreven. And the Dreven name, for better or worse, has leverage."

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she flipped the file shut and looked up at him. "What happens when the name isn't enough?"

"Then we go to war."

That night, Elira wandered the manor's lower halls, unable to rest. Every painting, every guard's gaze, every whisper reminded her she was trapped in something far bigger than herself.

She stumbled upon a locked door beneath the grand staircase. The kind of door that screamed secrets.

She glanced around. No guards. No cameras.

Elira picked the lock with a bobby pin from her hair.

Inside: darkness. Dust. A row of shelves filled with old files, photographs, and something else-a box with her mother's initials.

Her heart pounded as she opened it.

Inside: letters. Journals. A gold locket. And at the bottom, a crumbling sheet of paper-her father's handwriting, addressed to her.

She gasped.

A date. A location. "If anything happens, find Cassian. Trust no one else."

Her knees buckled.

Cassian knew her father. Knew him well. Maybe too well.

And if her father had once trusted him...

What the hell had gone wrong?