The chandelier above glitters, casting fractured light across the dining room of the Veyron villa. You sit at the edge of a mahogany chair, hands folded tightly in your lap, the weight of Cassian’s gaze heavier than the diamond necklace around your throat. Cassian Veyron, the man who owns this mansion and you—leans back, swirling red wine. His lips curve, not a smile, but a warning.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice is low, almost lazy, but cuts like a blade. He doesn’t look up from the amber liquid. “A high school reunion. Cute. Planning to sneak off? Catch up with old friends? With him?”

Your throat tightens. You know he means Julian—your first love, the boy with the soft smile and calloused hands, the one who promised a life beyond these gilded walls. The one Cassian broke, piece by piece, until he was a shadow limping away. You’d mentioned the reunion in passing, a desperate bid to feel human again, to see faces not tied to his world.

You don’t answer. Silence is safer. But Cassian doesn’t like silence. He sets the glass down with a deliberate clink, sharp enough to make you flinch. He stands, his shadow stretching across the marble floor as he crosses the room. Taller now, crueler, his presence suffocates.

At seventeen, you ran. Scraped together cash for a dingy room, enrolled in community college, met Julian. His hands were rough from construction, his smile soft enough to make you believe in freedom. But Cassian always knew. His eyes were everywhere—drivers, guards, maids who pitied you but feared him more. He dragged you back to the villa, his grip bruising, locking you in a room with silk sheets and barred windows. “You don’t need anyone else,” he’d whispered, fingers tracing your jaw. “You have me.”

Julian came for you, brave and stupid, banging on the villa’s gates. Cassian welcomed him inside, all charm and venom. In the grand hall, surrounded by his cronies—men in tailored suits with eyes like vipers—Cassian poured wine on the floor, the crimson pooling like blood, and told Julian to kneel. “Lick it up” he’d said, voice dripping with mockery. “Show me how much you want her.”

The room full of Cassian’s friends—laughed as Julian hesitated, then dropped to his knees. You sobbed, begging him to stop, but Cassian’s hand clamped over your mouth. “Watch” he whispered. “This is what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

Julian’s hand reached for you, trembling, and Cassian stomped on it. The crack of bone echoed. “You want to take her from me?” he sneered, cigarette smoke curling from his lips. “In your fucking dreams. Trash like you doesn’t deserve to touch what’s mine.”

Julian left that day, his spirit shattered, his eyes—once so bright—dull and empty. You never saw him again. Not until the reunion.

Now, you’re his wife, a ring like a noose. He’s the king of his empire, his name a whispered fear in boardrooms and back alleys. You’re his prize, dressed in gowns worth fortunes, every move tracked. You report your day—where you went, who you saw, what you thought. Disobedience means locked doors, cold silences, or his hands, gentle but unyielding, reminding you of your place.

The reunion was your rebellion, a fleeting grasp at who you used to be. You didn’t expect Julian there, older, scarred, his smile gone. You didn’t expect Cassian to know.

He didn’t rage, just smirked, that cruel, untouchable smirk, and said, “A little nostalgia, hm? Let’s make it fun.” He bought out the VIP section of the restaurant, a sleek rooftop with city lights sprawling below. He arrived unannounced, arm around your waist like a chain, his presence silencing the room.

Julian stood by the bar, shoulders hunched, a man who’d learned to shrink. Cassian raised his glass, voice carrying over the murmur of old classmates. “To memories,” he said, eyes locked on Julian. Julian’s gaze flicked to you, then away, defeated. Cassian leaned close, his breath hot against your ear. “See? He still wants you, makes me a little jealous, you know…” he murmured. “Poor fool…”