ChapterFour
But now, her laughter rang out, bold and unrestrained. Her lipstick, a defiant shade of crimson, felt like war paint. The night air tasted of liberation. Her heels clacked against the rooftop, echoing like sparks on concrete, her heartbeat syncing with the bass thumping from the club below. Beside her, Maddie twirled with abandon, arms raised, hair wild—a girl who danced as if consequences were a myth.
For tonight, they both believed in that myth.
"This is madness!" Cassie shouted over the music, breathless and grinning.
Maddie winked, snatching two tequila shots from a passing tray with the finesse of a seasoned thief. "You're welcome. You needed this. Desperately."
Cassie downed the shot without hesitation. The burn was a reminder—she was still alive.
And perhaps that was the point.
Because tomorrow, she'd awaken in a gilded cage, adorned with a diamond collar. Tomorrow, she'd resume her role as the dutiful daughter, the Kensington offering. But tonight—tonight was hers.
They plunged back into the crowd—a sea of heat, motion, and sweat. The music shifted, bassline pulsing, lights slicing through the darkness. Cassie let it envelop her, shaking loose the weight of her father's ultimatum.
She danced—not for the crowd, not for Maddie—but for herself.
A stranger's hands found her waist. She didn't object, not immediately.
But then his grip tightened.
Too firm. Too presumptuous. Too familiar.
"Hands off," she snapped, twisting away. He smirked, attempting to reestablish contact, brushing against her arm as if entitled.
Suddenly, the club no longer felt like freedom. It felt like obligation masked in vodka, expectation cloaked in silk.
She pushed through the throng, heat rising in her chest, head pounding with bass, bourbon, and the haunting echo of her father's voice: Do you want Charlotte pulled from school?
Exiting through the back, the door slammed shut behind her. Cold air slapped her skin. Cassie stumbled onto uneven pavement, heels skidding, breath catching. The alley reeked of rain and cigarettes—a place no debutante was meant to find herself.
She didn't care.
She craved the raw, the real, the unforgiving.
Her vision blurred—liquor, rage, exhaustion—but before she could steady herself, she collided with a wall. Except it wasn't a wall.
It was a chest.
Solid. Broad. Warm against the chill.
Hands grasped her arms, preventing her fall.
"Easy," a voice murmured. Smooth. Low. Disarming.
Cassie looked up—and her breath caught.
The man was tall, dark-haired, exuding an understated opulence. His eyes—gray, perhaps blue—were piercing. And the way he looked at her—
As if he already knew what she was fleeing.
"Let go," she demanded, wrenching her arms free. The sudden space between them felt like a snapped rubber band.
He didn't apologize. Just raised an eyebrow.
"Do you always introduce yourself by body-checking strangers, or am I just special?"
Cassie narrowed her eyes. "You strike me as someone who believes the sidewalk belongs to him."
"You're not entirely wrong."
"Of course I'm not," she retorted. "You reek of boardrooms and ego. Probably run some soulless hedge fund that buys up housing blocks and evicts single mothers for sport."
His mouth twitched. "Impressive. I didn't even say hello."
"You didn't have to. It's written all over you. The suit, the smirk, the entitlement. You're the type who signs women away like contracts and sleeps soundly."
Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity?
"Rough night?" he asked.
Cassie swayed slightly, realizing just how intoxicated—and exposed—she was.
"Don't pretend to care."
"Who says I'm pretending?"
That gave her pause.
"You don't get to play knight in shining armor," she said, her voice softer now. "You're the dragon. Or maybe just the bored prince tossing girls into towers."
His gaze softened—or perhaps it didn't. Maybe the alley was spinning.
She stepped back. "I didn't ask for your name."
"You didn't have to," he replied. "You tell your whole story in one breath."
Cassie froze.
That was the thing. She hadn't said anything real. Not aloud.
Yet, he looked at her as if he'd already read the pages.
Too sharp. Too calm. Too observant.
Like a threat that hadn't revealed its teeth yet.
She turned swiftly, heels scraping against the pavement.
"Wait," he called after her, but he didn't pursue.
Cassie didn't wait. Didn't seek explanations. Didn't glance back.
She didn't want to know his name.
Didn't want to remember how his voice made her spine tingle, how his silence felt heavier than words. She was done being scrutinized like fragile glass.
The city greeted her with honking horns and neon signs. Maddie stood near the curb, engrossed in her phone, a grin on her face.
"There you are," Maddie chirped. "I thought I lost you to tequila and bad decisions."
Cassie forced a laugh. "Almost."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just needed some air."
She didn't mention the alley. The stranger. How the man had steadied her like she was delicate, then looked at her as if he wanted to see her shatter.
Didn't explain why her hands still trembled.
They strolled down the block together, Maddie linking arms, animatedly discussing the guy who'd given her his number. Something about his jawline, his tattoos, how he claimed to own the bar across the street. Cassie nodded, smiled when appropriate.
But her thoughts were elsewhere.
She'd forget him by morning.
Just another arrogant man in a suit.
And tomorrow, she'd be promised to one just like him.
Meanwhile, across the alley, under a dim security light, Christian Masters watched her depart.
Watched her hips sway like a challenge, her chin held high as if defiance could rewrite destiny.
She hadn't recognized him. That amused him.
The Kensington girl. Fire in her voice. Blades in her laughter.
No fear. Just fury.
He pulled out his phone and typed a note. Two words:
Cassandra Kensington.
Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned toward the car waiting at the curb.
She'd forget this night.
But he wouldn't.
Not her name.
Not the way she'd said "soulless bastard" like it was etched into his skin.