Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Cassie Taylor POV:

In the days that followed, an icy truce settled over our penthouse. We moved around each other like ghosts, the silence between us heavier than any argument. I hired a private investigator to dig into Avery Adkins's life, but every file came back scrubbed clean, every lead a dead end. Adam had built a fortress of secrecy around her, protecting her from the world, and from me.

I found him in his study one evening, staring out at the city lights.

"Why are you protecting her?" I asked, dispensing with any pretense of civility. "If she means nothing, why hide her?"

He turned, his face etched with a weariness that went bone-deep. "Cassie, please. Just let it go."

"I will," I said, walking to his desk and placing a freshly printed copy of the divorce agreement on the leather blotter. "Sign this, and you'll never have to hear her name from me again."

He looked at the papers, then back at me. A slow, sad smile touched his lips. It was the smile of a man who knew he held all the cards. He picked up the document, but not to sign it. With a single, decisive movement, he tore it in half, then in quarters, letting the pieces fall to the floor like snowflakes.

"I told you," he said, his voice soft but unyielding. "There is only one way out of this marriage for you. And it isn't on paper."

Something inside me snapped. The fragile thread of control I had been clinging to for days just... broke. With a sweep of my arm, I sent the heavy crystal paperweight and everything else on his desk crashing to the floor. It smashed against the leg of a chair, the sound a sharp crack of finality.

He didn't react to the noise. His eyes were fixed on the sterling silver letter opener that now lay on the floor between us. I followed his gaze to the polished steel glinting under the lamplight, a physical manifestation of the line he had just drawn.

He caught my wrist as I bent to retrieve it, his grip like iron. We stood there, locked in a tense embrace, our chests heaving. His eyes searched mine, not with fear, but with a desperate, pleading confusion.

"Don't," was all he said, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief.

His hand tightened on mine, but not to fight me. Instead, he pulled my hand to his chest, pressing my palm flat against his heart. Our hands trembled together, a violent, shared tremor.

"You want to sever this bond?" he gritted out, pushing against my resistance. "Then do it. Feel this. It only beats for you. If you can stop it with your will alone, then you'll be free."

For a long moment, we were frozen in that standoff. The resistance in his arm slackened. He wasn't fighting me; he was surrendering to me, in the most twisted way imaginable.

"This bond is never breaking, Cassie," he choked out, his eyes locked on mine, filled with a terrifying, twisted devotion. "Never."

I pulled my hand back as if burned, the letter opener forgotten on the floor. His words were more visceral than any blade. He let out a low groan, stumbling back against the desk.

The scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, thick and cloying. It was the same scent he wore that night in the trailer. The smell of my freedom. The smell of his sin. The smell of us.

My head swam. The room tilted. The past and present were crashing together in a horrifying wave.

"Don't..." I stammered, backing away from him, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I held up my hands as if to ward him off. "Don't touch me."

He watched me, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn't try to stop me as I stumbled out of the study, leaving him wounded in the dark. I fled down the hallway, the coppery tang of his presence still on my lips, a profane communion that bound us together, even in our mutual destruction.