The silence was too loud.
The silence wrapped around Eden's ears like invisible hands, suffocating and mean.
She couldn't take her eyes off the red folder lying on the bed, it felt alive somehow, like it was waiting to pounce.
Inside, the photos didn't just sit still, they haunted, each one humming with something dead that didn't know how to stay buried.
The note, a scream without sound.
And that name, carved into her memory like a scar: Marla Devereux.
Her pulse jumped.
Her ribs tightened like they didn't want to stretch anymore.
Was Marla the one who came before her?
Or the name that would be whispered after she was gone?
She didn't let herself think longer.
She shoved the folder under the mattress just as the door creaked open.
Cassian.
His shadow came first. Then his scent, dark, rich, and dangerous.
He stepped inside like he owned the air.
Eyes like razors scanned her, slowing at her flushed cheeks. Her stiff posture. Her guilt.
"You're flushed," he said.
"I'm not," she lied, too fast.
"You're shaking."
She looked down.
Her fingers wouldn't stop shaking, like she was made of nerves and static.
And damn it, he was right.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
He stepped closer, voice soft but sure. "No, you're not." "But I'll let you pretend you are."
He moved to the bed like a man who'd already read the ending.
Sat beside her.
His hand found her thigh, warm, steady, possessive.
"You didn't run."
"Was I supposed to?" she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Most do."
Her throat clenched.
Her skin burned where his hand touched her.
"How many?"
Cassian's eyes flicked away, like the number tasted bitter.
"Enough to know the ending's always the same."
"What ending?"
He leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush her skin, warm and unsteady.
Then, soft, charged, and dangerous, he murmured against her cheek:
"The one where they beg for more."
Later
Rain tapped softly at the glass, like secrets she didn't want to hear.
Eden sat curled on the balcony, barefoot, wrapped in his robe that still smelled like him.
Cassian leaned in the doorway, shirtless, watching her in silence. A calm predator.
"Since when do you smoke?"
She lit the cigarette with a shaking hand.
"Tonight, I do."
He stepped beside her, radiating heat.
"You're thinking too much."
"I'm surviving."
He plucked the cigarette from her lips, took a drag, exhaled slowly.
Handed it back without touching her.
"You've got a good mouth," he said. "For lying."
She gave a bitter, humorless laugh.
"And you've got a good mouth for ruining people."
Cassian smiled like he agreed. "You like being ruined."
"No," she said, holding his gaze. "I like choosing who does it."
His expression shifted sharp, hungry, dangerous.
That was her last warning.
They went to the bedroom again
He didn't say a word.
Just grabbed her wrist gently, but firm enough to steal her breath.
He laid her down like she was glass.
Then he stared. Not at her body, but through it.
Into the parts she kept locked up.
Then..,
He blindfolded her.
She gasped as soft leather slid over her eyes.
"No cuffs tonight," he murmured. "Just trust."
His fingers glided over her collarbone like a threat disguised as tenderness.
"I could do anything to you right now."
She shivered.
"You already have."
He spread her legs.
And then,
His mouth replaced his words.
Slow. Deliberate. Unforgiving.
Like he needed her to feel every second.
Like he wanted her to forget everything but him.
She arched, moaned, whimpered.
He didn't stop.
Not until she was clawing at the sheets, crying out his name, lost in it.
Then, he entered her.
Hard and Deep.
The blindfold made everything sharper.
Every breath, every thrust, every sound.
She couldn't see him.
Only feel him.
Every inch.
Every intention.
"Say it," he whispered.
"What?" she panted.
"Say you're mine."
"No."
He moved harder.
She gasped, her defiance thinning into a whimper.
"Say it."
"Cassian.."
"I want to hear it."
She broke.
Again.
"I'm yours," she breathed. "God, I'm yours."
Only then did he kiss her.
And somehow, that kiss wrecked her more than anything else.
Hours Later
She couldn't sleep.
The air was heavy.
The bed was too warm.
His body too still.
She slipped out quietly, bare feet on cold marble.
She found her phone.
The same number sent her another massage:
Still think you're safe?
Then another:
There's a hidden room. Top floor. Black door. Don't let him catch you.
Her stomach twisted.
She looked back at the bed.
Cassian didn't move.
She grabbed the silk robe, tied it tight.
Slipped out.
Up the stairs.
Barefoot and breathless.
The top floor was different.
Unfinished and forgotten.
Dust hung like secrets.
She found it.
The black door.
Locked.
She looked around.
A painting caught her eye, slightly crooked.
Behind it was a keypad.
She stared at it.
Then typed in the only number her heart would never forget.
Her birthday.
It beeped.
Click.
The door creaked open.
Inside was cold.
Wrong. Just wrong. The room was unfeeling one chair, a projector humming in the corner, casting shadows that didn't blink.
Rows of tapes. Dozens. Hundreds.
She stepped closer, heart pounding like it wanted out.
She ran her fingers over the labels.
Stopped on one: EDEN 01
Her breath caught.
She slid it into the projector.
It whirred to life.
The screen blinked.
And there she was.
Naked.
Tied.
Collared.
Blindfolded.
Last night.
Every movement.
Every gasp.
Every angle.
He'd filmed everything.
Without telling her.
Her knees buckled.
She stumbled back, hit the shelf.
Tapes crashed to the floor.
One slid toward her foot.
She bent to pick it up.
MARLA 06
Her hand shook.
Her throat burned.
He'd filmed Marla too.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then..
She heard footsteps behind her.
She froze.
He was here.
He Watched Her
Cassian leaned against the doorway.
Arms crossed.
Calm.
Not angry.
Amused.
"You found it," he said.
She turned, tape in hand, shame in her eyes.
"You recorded me."
"I did."
"You didn't ask."
"I don't ask."
She stepped toward him.
"You used me."
He smiled. Slow. Sinister.
"I haven't even started."
"You're sick."
Two steps and he was in her space.
Breathing her in.
Devouring her with his gaze.
"Maybe," he whispered. "But you're still here."
She slapped him.
Hard.
He didn't flinch.
Just grabbed her jaw.
Firm. Controlling.
Then, he kissed her.
Rough. Deep. Possessive.
And the worst part?
She kissed him back.
Because she hated that she still wanted him.
Even now.
They went downstairs without saying a word.
Just silence and a shared drink.
He poured.
Handed it to her.
"You want the truth?"
"No," she said. "I want lies I can survive."
He laughed.
Dark and hollow.
"Marla wanted to be owned," he said. "So I owned her."
"What happened to her?"
He stared.
Hard.
"She stopped obeying."
"And?"
"She disappeared."
"Because of you?"
He downed his drink.
Slammed the glass down.
Then met her eyes.
"I'm not your villain, Eden," he said. "But I'm not your hero either."
She stepped close.
Closer than she should.
Her heart pounded between them.
"You're something worse."
He touched her hair.
Tucked it behind her ear like it was a goodbye.
"And you like it."
In the midnight,
The wind outside howled like it knew what was coming.
Eden lay in bed, sleepless.
She opened her phone.
Typed to the number:
Who are you?
Instant reply:
The one who loved him before he made it lethal.
She typed again:
Tell me what to do.
There was a pause.
Then:
Don't fall in love with Cassian Roth. Or you'll never leave alive.