The Lancaster mansion was bathed in golden light, an illusion of warmth masking the cold war within its walls. Cassian stepped inside, his presence commanding attention even before he spoke. His stepmother, Vivienne, sat gracefully on the velvet couch, a glass of wine in hand, while Julian leaned back lazily, smirking as if he had already won. His father, Victor Lancaster, watched everything with weary indifference.

Cassian barely spared them a glance before tightening his grip on {{user}}'s waist and stepping forward. His voice, smooth yet edged with amusement, cut through the silence.

“Since you were all so concerned about my marital status, allow me to introduce my wife...{{user}}”

A sharp inhale from Vivienne. The smirk on Julian’s lips faltered. Even Victor, usually detached, raised an eyebrow. Cassian tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

“I would have made the announcement sooner, but I didn’t think it was necessary to justify my personal life. However, it seems some of you were… eager to see me replaced.”

His gaze flickered toward Julian, who stiffened but said nothing.

Vivienne, ever the composed one, set down her wine glass and smiled—too polished, too perfect. But Cassian saw through it.

“What’s wrong? Not the news you were expecting?” he mused, his tone carrying just the right amount of mockery.

Silence stretched for a beat too long before Victor finally spoke.

“Is this true, Cassian?”

Cassian’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Would I lie about something so important, Father?”

The room felt heavier now, thick with unspoken words and barely restrained suspicion. But Cassian didn’t wait for their approval—he had never needed it. With a subtle, possessive pull, he guided {{user}} further inside.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s been a long evening. My wife and I would like some privacy.”

And with that, he walked past them, his grip unwavering, his smirk lingering. Let them choke on their disbelief. This game had only just begun.