Chapter 3 Rescued By A Stranger

The rain poured down hard, cold, and sharp, hitting Cassandra's skin like tiny needles. She ran as fast as she could, her feet splashing through puddles on the cracked pavement. Her wet blouse stuck to her arms and chest, showing the bruises that burned from Evan's betrayal.

Her breath came in short, quick gasps. Her heart felt heavy, full of pain and anger. She didn't look back. Not once. The city around her was blurry, grey streets and flashing lights all melting together as she ran away from everything she once knew.

Suddenly, a bright flash exploded in front of her eyes blinding white light cutting through the rain like a knife.

Headlights.

A car was coming straight at her.

Fear squeezed her throat tight. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. She tried to cover her eyes with shaking hands, but it was too late.

The ground seemed to spin beneath her, and she lost her balance and fell to the ground.

But before she fell into an unconscious state, she saw him.

A man stepping out of the car. Tall, with broad shoulders, holding a big black umbrella against the rain. His movements were calm and sure, like he belonged in the storm but was never touched by it.

The streetlamp flickered, lighting up his face for a moment.

His hair was dark and thick, a little messy from the rain. His jaw was strong and sharp, with a bit of stubble that made him look both rough and handsome.

But the thing Cassandra noticed the most was his eyes. They were dark and deep, like quiet storms hidden inside. His gaze was calm but strong, pulling her in without a word.

There was something about him, a silent power that didn't need to shout to be noticed.

Her heart skipped a beat not from fear but from the strange feeling his eyes gave her. She wanted to remember everything about him-the way the rain slid off his umbrella, the slow, calm way he walked toward her-but everything was fading.

Her eyelids felt heavy.

Then, everything went black.

_ _ _

Cassandra's eyes fluttered open, the soft morning light filtering through heavy curtains. A dull ache pulsed in her head, and her body felt stiff and unfamiliar beneath the crisp white sheets. She blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

Where was she?

Her heart quickened as she scanned the room, spacious but cold and strange. The walls were painted a muted cream, decorated with a few ornate frames. One caught her attention immediately. She sat up sharply and stared.

It was a photograph.

In it stood three people: a man she didn't recognize, older and dignified, with silver-streaked hair and sharp features; beside him, a young girl smiling shyly; and standing slightly apart was Evan, looking younger but unmistakable.

Her breath caught.

Where the hell was she?

Her mind raced, panic rising. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood abruptly, the dizziness making her stagger. The bedpost rattled as she steadied herself. This was not her home. Not her room.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

Cassandra whirled around to see a tall man stepping inside, his presence commanding even in the quiet room. Behind him, a woman in a maid's uniform carried a tray laden with food and placed it carefully on a small table before bowing her head respectfully and retreating without a word.

The man's dark eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unreadable. His dark hair was neatly combed back, revealing a strong jawline and an expression that was both cold and serious.

"I see you're awake," he said plainly, his voice calm but carrying an edge.

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but he continued without waiting.

"I don't know why you fainted, but you look fine to me now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick bundle of cash, letting the notes fall onto the bed beside her.

"Here. Clean yourself up. Eat. Then leave."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Cassandra's mouth opened in disbelief, her fingers clutching the side of her clothes as anger bubbled up inside her. The way that man had spoken to her, so cold, so rude, it was like she was nothing more than a bothersome stranger, not someone who had just been through hell. Yet, as much as his words stung, something about his face tugged at the edges of her memory.

She frowned, trying to place where she'd seen him before. The sharp lines of his face, the deep-set dark eyes, the way his hair was slicked back perfectly. it all felt familiar.

Then it hit her like a sudden jolt.

That was Evan, her boyfriend...no, ex-boyfriend...that bastard's uncle.

Her mind raced back to the times Evan had shown her a photo of a man, tall and handsome in a cold, distant way, his hair streaked with silver, standing beside a young girl. Evan had talked about his uncle as if he were some untouchable figure, powerful, wealthy, and always far away, living abroad.

Cassandra's anger shifted into something sharper, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. From the way the man had spoken, it was clear he didn't know who she was. That only made her lips curl into a slow, calculating smile.

A plan was forming.

Without hesitation, she hurried out of the room. The corridor was long and dimly lit, the polished floor gleaming faintly under the chandelier's soft glow. At the far end, she spotted him, the man from the room, walking steadily, his steps measured, his back straight and commanding.

"Hey!" Cassandra's voice rang out, sharp and clear across the quiet hall.

The man paused, then turned slowly to face her. His expression was unreadable, calm, almost stoic.

"You had no right to speak to me like that back there," Cassandra said, her voice firm despite the lingering pain in her throat.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing for a moment.

"And how was I supposed to speak to you?" he finally asked, his tone even but with an edge that hinted at impatience.

"For starters," Cassandra replied, stepping closer, "you could have introduced yourself. Explained who you are and why I'm here. You don't even know if I remember what happened last night."

The man's face remained unchanged, calm, and unreadable, like a mask.

"My name is Darius," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Cassandra's heart skipped. The name echoed in her mind; the very name Evan had mentioned in hushed tones. Darius Thorn, the uncle he spoke of the man whose name had always carried a weight of mystery and distance.

"And from the way you're blabbing," Darius added with a dry edge, "I can tell you remember everything that happened last night just fine."