Cassandra knew the second Julian walked in that something had changed.
He didn't say anything at first. Just shrugged off his coat, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and stared out the penthouse window as the lights of the city blinked below like a warning.
She approached him slowly, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the marble floors. "You're scaring me," she said softly.
He finally turned. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen. And tired.
"The Board saw the video."
Cassandra's stomach sank. "And?"
"They're calling for a vote." He downed the whiskey. "They think I've been compromised."
"Compromised?" she said, her voice sharp. "Because you're sleeping with your wife?"
He set the glass down harder than necessary. "Because they think you're the one pulling strings."
The words sliced through her like ice.
She stepped back. "You don't believe that. Tell me you don't."
Julian didn't answer. His silence screamed.
Cassandra's chest heaved. "After everything we've been through—after Switzerland, after Miranda—you still don't trust me?"
His jaw clenched. "It's not about trust. It's about optics. Control. Damage."
"No," she snapped. "It's about fear. You're scared this is real, and that scares the hell out of you."
She moved closer again, her voice trembling with fury and pain.
"I fell for you. Against every rule. Every warning. I gave you everything, Julian. My mind. My body. My heart. And now you think I'm some corporate spy in stilettos?"
He reached for her then, grabbing her wrist with just enough force to stop her from walking away.
"I think," he said hoarsely, "that you've become the only thing I can't control. And that terrifies me."
His mouth crashed into hers, brutal and needy.
And she let him.
Because no matter how angry, how betrayed, how furious she was… she still wanted him.
Clothes were torn. Buttons flew. They stumbled into the bedroom, leaving a trail of passion and pain. It wasn't tender—it was desperate. Wild. A clash of two souls locked in emotional warfare, both refusing to surrender.
He pushed her against the wall, lips trailing down her neck.
"I hate that I can't stop," he growled.
"Then don't," she hissed, pulling him closer.
She wrapped her legs around him, arching as he buried himself inside her with one thrust that shattered every lie between them. Moans filled the room, and tears—real, raw tears—streamed down her cheeks even as she whispered his name.
When it was over, she lay in his arms, shaking.
"I'm not your enemy," she said through a broken breath. "I'm your wife."
He kissed her forehead, gently this time.
"I know," he whispered.
But deep down… she wasn't sure he did.
The Next Morning
Julian woke to an empty bed.
A note on her pillow. Her scent lingering.
> Julian,
I need space. I need truth.
Until you decide which one matters more, I'm leaving.
Don't follow me.
—Cass*
He didn't move for several minutes.
Then he got up, tore the note in half… and called his security team.
"Find her."
Elsewhere...
Cassandra stood on the snowy balcony of a hotel in Vienna, wind howling around her like a warning. The ring still on her finger. Her heart still half-broken.
She wasn't running away.
She was taking her power back.