Page 7 of Intrigue

I can already envision it: Cassian, panicking, fumbling desperately as the cracks spread through his carefully constructed life, Selene watching helplessly as the fantasy crumbles around them. And then, with help from a few friends, a whisper, a lie passed through the right channels, enemies will descend on him like vultures, convinced he’s using his art business to move product.

They’ll rip apart his illusions of safety, and she’ll finally see he’s powerless and she’ll come back to me. Even if she hates herself for it.

Till then, I’ll wait, watch her unravel until she realizes the truth she can’t outrun: No one else will ever fit into her soul the way I do.

Chapter 3

Selene

It’s been a day since I arrived in Florence, and it still greets me like an old enemy. Cassian gently squeezes my hand as we step onto the bustling platform, gathering our wits to meet my father, who is expecting us. We chose a hotel on the outskirts of town, far enough from the noise to get some rest after the long journey but close enough to the villa for an easy morning drive.

“You okay?” he asks after observing me for a while.

“No,” I reply honestly, scanning the crowd that is already dispersing around us. The heavy dread in my chest is betraying my calm exterior. “But I’ll be better soon. Just seems like everything is moving so fast.”

He holds my hand the way a man should, with care, with patience. It’s the kind of touch that should ground me, should make me feel less alone in this. Instead, all I feel is suffocation. As we move into this city, into the past, his grip tightens, not in possession, but as a promise that we will have each other. A promise I know, deep down, I might not be able to keep.

“We’ll keep this quick. Just breathe.” He pulls me closer, his thumb brushing reassuringly over my knuckles. “We’ll do it together.”It’s gentle. Steady. Dependable. I try to let it comfort me, to pull warmth from it, but all I feel is absence.

The absence of something wilder. Something messier and more exciting. Somethingreal.

Don’t get me wrong—Icareabout Cassian. There are days when I’ve convinced myself that I love him, days when I wake up and believe in the story I’ve told myself. That’s why I said yes. That’s why I let him slide a ring onto my finger despite thegnawing emptiness in my chest. Because maybe love isn’t always a wildfire. Maybe it isn’t supposed to be destruction and ruin and the kind of hunger that devours you whole.

Maybe love is supposed to besafe.

That’s what I told myself when I chose him. That I needed this. That I neededhim.A distraction. A way out. A chance to see what ahealthylove should look like—one that doesn’t take everything from you and leave you hollow when it’s gone.

Unlikehim.

Unlike the only man who ever made me feel like my entire existence had no other purpose than orbitinghim.The only man who turned my world into a single, unsteady thread, then cut it clean, letting me fall without a second glance.

The one I swore I would never let near me again. That’s how I ended up with Cassian.

And that’s why I’ll stay with him.

But the moment I see my father’s men waiting at the exit, cold-eyed and silent in their perfectly tailored suits, the illusion fractures.

The warmth of Cassian’s hand, the soft promise in his presence, it all fades.

Without a greeting, one of them opens the black SUV door. Cassian and I climb in, sinking into silence as Florence unfolds outside the tinted windows. The city rushes past, familiar and agonizing, winding its way through the cracks in my armor, through every scar this place ever left on me.

I keep my eyes on the streets, willing my heartbeat to slow, willing my hands to steady.

I should feel safe.

I should feel chosen.

Instead, all I feel is the slow, creeping inevitability of something I don’t want to name.Seeing him again.

The Marconi villa is exactly the same as it was when I left. My father’s soldiers hover about like shadows, their eyes tracking our every move. Cassian guides me up the steps to the front door, unaware each stride tightens the noose around my heart.

When the massive wooden door swings open, my stomach knots painfully. My father stands like a sentinel in the entrance hall, his stocky build unavoidable, graying black hair slicked back, deep-set brown eyes. He’s wrapped in an expensive suit exuding old-world power, and as usual, a cigar smolders between his fingers. He ignores Cassian, his eyes locked on mine.

Beside him, Alessandro watches me, all calm and put together, his eyes hard to read.

“Hello, Father. Alessandro,” I say, looking at him next, forcing my voice to sound as unbothered as I wish I were inside.

He nods with a slight incline of his head. “Welcome home, Selene.”