"Isabelle?" He called out, his voice soft. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d have thought I had been hallucinating.
"Come here," he added.
He tilted his head at the man he was speaking to. "Leave us, Alex."
The man—Alex—left us, the door clicking shut behind me.
For a moment, no one spoke; we just stared at each other.
Cassian sat propped up against the hospital bed, one arm wrapped in a dark brace, a faint line of dried blood still visible near his temple despite being cleaned.
A monitor beeped steadily beside him, but it did nothing to soften the atmosphere.
If anything, it made it worse. Because he didn’t look like a patient. He looked like a man interrupted.
His blue eyes locked onto mine, intense and unreadable. He extended his uninjured arm toward me.
"Come here, Isabelle." I hesitated for half a second before I finally took a step forward. Then another, stopping a few feet from the bed.
"You’re hurt..." I said softly, the words leaving me before I could stop them. Cassian didn’t respond immediately.
His eyes moved over my face slowly. Like he was searching for something.
"Is that what you came to confirm?" he asked finally, voice calm... but distant.
The question caught me off guard.
"I—no. I heard what happened and I—"
"You rushed here," he cut in, tone flat. "Without knowing the details."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"Why?"
My chest tightened.
Why?
Because I was worried? Because I needed him? Because—
I swallowed.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," I said, quieter this time.
Cassian looked at me, his eyes unblinking. Like he was weighing the truth of my words.
"Then why are you keeping a distance from me?"
"Huh?"
"Come closer, Isabelle."
I moved closer to the bed. The moment I was within reach, his hand closed around my wrist — firm, warm, possessive.
My pulse jumped instantly.
He tugged me gently, making it so I was standing right beside the bed, close enough that I could smell the faint antiseptic mixed with his familiar cologne.
Up close, the injuries were clearer. Bruising along his collarbone. A faint stiffness in the way he held himself.
But his presence was still overwhelming, his demeanour still controlled and dangerous.
Cassian’s thumb brushed once against my skin, over the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse raced.
"Cassian... your head... your arm..." My voice came out quieter than I intended, laced with worry I hadn’t planned to show. "Are you okay? What happened? The doctors—"
"I’m fine," he cut me off, his tone soft.
"Who did this? Was it deliberate?" I asked, prying for information.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled me even closer, until my hip brushed against the edge of the bed. His uninjured hand moved to my waist, anchoring me there with quiet possessiveness.
Even injured, even while suspecting my "family" might have betrayed him, he held me like I belonged to him. Like letting go wasn’t an option.
"The people responsible for this," he continued, voice calm, "seem to have a connection to where you came from."
My breath caught. There it was. He was suspecting the Quinns.
I forced my expression to stay neutral.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Information about my route was leaked," he said. "Very precise information."
His eyes locked onto mine with his voice calm but edged with steel.
"Everything points back to the Quinns—right after I dropped you off."
Ryan.
My mind screamed his name—but I couldn’t say it.
Not yet... Not like this.
I shook my head, trying to deflect. "That doesn’t make sense. Mom and Dad were shocked when I told them. They wouldn’t—"
"They wouldn’t?" Cassian’s thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle on my waist, right over the fabric of my blouse. The touch was possessive, almost soothing, but his eyes remained sharp. "You’re defending them, Isabelle."
The subtle probing made my pulse spike. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t accusing outright.
He was testing me.
"I’m not defending anyone," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my arm throbbed under his fingers, pain flaring where Ryan had grabbed me earlier—the bruise already forming under my sleeve.
"I just... I don’t want you jumping to conclusions. My parents gain nothing from hurting you. You need to rest, not start a war with my family."
His hand glided downwards, tightening his grip on my waist; it wasn’t enough to hurt, but enough to remind me I wasn’t going anywhere.
"A war?" A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips. "If the Quinns are behind this, there won’t be a war. There will be consequences...of course. And you..."
His voice dropped lower, rougher. "You will stay out of it. You’re mine, Isabelle. Not theirs. Not Ryan’s. Mine."
The possessiveness in his tone sent a confusing mix of warmth and fear through me.
Even while suspecting betrayal from the family I was pretending to belong to, he was still claiming me. Still pulling me closer like I was the only thing anchoring him.
I swallowed, deflecting again. "You’re overthinking this. It could have been anyone. You have enemies, Cassian. Powerful ones. Why assume it’s the Quinns?"
He studied me for a long moment, blue eyes dissecting every flicker across my face. He nodded, but it felt noncommittal.
He didn’t believe it.
His thumb continued its slow, possessive stroke against my waist.
Then his grip shifted again, sliding up to my upper arm.
I couldn’t stop the wince this time.
Cassian froze instantly. His eyes narrowed, the soft concern from moments ago sharpening into something darker, more dangerous.
I held my breath.
"You winced," he said, voice low. His fingers didn’t loosen. Instead, they pressed lightly, testing. "What happened to your arm?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, trying to pull away. His hold remained gentle but unyielding. "Someone hurt you."
This time it wasn’t a question.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"No—"
"Don’t lie to me." His voice dropped.
"I’m not lying," I insisted, trying to pull my hand back—but he didn’t let go.
"Then explain this." His thumb pressed again against the mark.
Pain flared and I flinched.
That was all it took...
Cassian’s expression was far more terrifying than anger. "Who did it?"
My pulse raced.
If I told him, Ryan would be exposed. But what about me? What about my past?
But if I didn’t, Cassian would keep digging. And he wouldn’t stop.
"I bumped into something," I said, the lie weak and unconvincing. Even to me.
Cassian didn’t respond. He just looked at me. And that silence felt worse.
Slowly, his grip loosened, letting go of my hand. But his eyes never left my face.
"Isabelle," he said softly. "You’re a terrible liar."
My breath caught.
His gaze lingered on my face for a second longer... like he was memorising every inconsistency. Then, quietly he added.
"Fine."
That word alone told me he didn’t accept my excuses...It felt like a delay for the inevitable.
"We’ll come back to that."
Before I could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Then the door opened.
"Sorry to interrupt." James stepped in and stopped, his gaze landing on me instantly.
"James," Cassian said coolly, not looking away from me. "What do you want? I thought you were in mourning."
Mourning?
James’s gaze flickered for a moment as his eyes moved to Cassian and then back at me.
"I came to see if you were still alive," he said.
"Disappointed?" Cassian asked.
James huffed a quiet laugh. "Not yet."
Their exchange was light. Making me wonder how close they were.
"And it seems you have... interesting company," he continued.
I forced myself to stay calm, even as my mind screamed that James saying something out of context could unravel everything.
"We meet again," James said lightly, stepping further into the room.
"You know each other?" Cassian asked, and my stomach dropped.