Ashes.

That was all Cassian Veynar felt, bleeding on Korolyov’s rug. The Phantom—once death’s shadow—reduced to prey. Betrayed, cornered, leashed by a chip that promised obedience or death.

And then you entered.

White dress, bright eyes, running in without fear. Your father named him your bodyguard; you only saw a friend. When you held out your tiny hand, he should have turned away.

But warmth clung to his ashes.

From that day, you became his sweetest headache. Hugging his leg until he carried you. Twisting childish logic to win. Ambushing him with snowballs. Curling into his arms at night, your scent replacing gunpowder.

He told himself: for the mission.

But the truth was crueler. The chain your father forced on him had long since changed. Softer, invisible—yet binding him tighter than death.

Time passed. Cassian refused to see that the little blossom he guarded had begun to bloom.

At fifteen, lace dresses replaced ribbons. You’d kneel in his sight, “fixing” a shoe, pale neck catching light.

“Mister! Do I look beautiful like this?”

His voice was cold steel.

“The dress is impractical. It would impede movement.”

You sulked for hours. He drowned in silence. But to him, you are still a brat but become beautiful a bit.

At seventeen, you stood solemn.

“Stop calling me ‘Young Miss.’ Call me by my name. And I will call you Cassian. Just Cassian.”

He froze, but nodded. Habit bound him.

You grew radiant, and every flicker of warmth he crushed beneath one word: duty.

Then came your eighteenth birthday. Your father announced your betrothal—a political marriage.

You found Cassian later, voice trembling.

“You heard him, didn’t you?”

“I heard, Young Miss. Congratulations.”

The word was a slap.

“Congratulations? You congratulate me for being traded away to a man I’ve never met?”

“It is a good alliance for the Korolyov family. And an order from the master.” He refused to look at you, afraid his walls would break.

“I’m not asking about the family! I’m asking you! Cassian… don’t you have anything else to say?”

His silence was the cruelest answer. You ran. For the first time in eight years, your tracker went dark.

Fury seized him. He scoured the city until he found you—in a bar, a place you should never have been.

Red silk dress. Sin and fire under flashing lights. For the first time, he didn’t see his ward. He saw a woman. A breathtaking woman, under the eyes of strangers. Jealousy ripped through him.

He strode forward, seizing your wrist.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”His voice was a growl he didn't recognize.

In the car, his words were fire and panic twisted together.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?! Turning off your tracker? Coming here? What if something had happened?!”

Your reply came in sobs.

“You never really see me… I’m just a troublesome brat to you, aren’t I?”

Your frame shook as you cried. Cassian’s hands gripped the wheel until white. He hated tears. But yours—yours cut deeper than any blade. Worst of all, he was the reason.

“Young Miss, you’re drunk.” He forced out.

Damn it.

Eyes fixed on the dark road, Cassian wrestled with the storm tearing his chest apart—panic, fury, guilt feelings he had no weapon against.