CASS
My eyes snap open.
Wrong ceiling. Wrong walls. Wrong everything.
My heart slams against my ribs as I bolt upright in bed. The sheets are silk—expensive, unfamiliar silk that slides against my skin like water. This isn't my bedroom. This isn't my bed. This isn't anywhere I know.
Where am I?
My head throbs like someone took a hammer to my skull. I press my palms against my temples, trying to stop the spinning room. Think, Cass. Think.
The last thing I remember is... Marcus. My engagement party. Champagne glasses clinking. My father's proud smile. Vanessa hugging me, tears in her eyes, telling me how happy she was for me.
That was two weeks ago.
Two weeks.
So why does it feel like I just blinked and woke up here?
I swing my legs over the side of the massive bed—and that's when I see it.
A diamond ring on my left hand.
Not my engagement ring from Marcus. This one is different. Vintage. Beautiful. A princess-cut diamond surrounded by smaller stones, set in platinum that catches the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
A wedding ring.
No. The word comes out as a whisper. No, no, no.
I yank at the ring, but it won't budge. My fingers are shaking too hard. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. This can't be real. This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up any second in my own bed, and Marcus will be calling to confirm our wedding venue, and everything will be normal.
I have to wake up.
I pinch my arm hard enough to leave marks.
Nothing changes.
The ring is still there. The strange room is still here. And I still have no idea how I got here or what happened to the last two weeks of my life.
Panic claws up my throat. I stumble toward what I hope is a bathroom, my legs weak and unsteady. The nightgown I'm wearing swishes around my ankles—silk again, expensive, definitely not mine. I never wear nightgowns. I sleep in old t-shirts.
Whose clothes am I wearing?
The bathroom is enormous. Marble everywhere, a bathtub big enough for three people, a shower with more jets than I can count. I don't care about any of it. I lurch toward the mirror and grip the edge of the sink.
The face staring back at me is mine, but wrong. My makeup is gone. My hair is loose and tangled. There are dark circles under my eyes like I haven't slept in days.
And on my inner arm, just below the crook of my elbow, is a small red mark.
An injection site.
Someone stuck a needle in me.
My stomach lurches. I'm going to be sick. I grip the sink harder, forcing myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
Who would drug me? Why? Where is Marcus? Where is my family?
I need my phone. I need to call someone. Anyone.
I rush back into the bedroom, searching frantically. No phone on the nightstands. No phone charging anywhere. My purse isn't here. My clothes aren't here. Nothing of mine is here except this body that doesn't feel like mine anymore.
A sound freezes me in place.
Footsteps.
Someone is walking down the hallway outside this room. Heavy, measured footsteps. A man's footsteps.
Coming closer.
Every muscle in my body locks up. I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think.
The footsteps stop right outside the door.
My heart hammers so loud I'm sure whoever is out there can hear it. I look around desperately for something, anything to defend myself with. There's a lamp on the nightstand. I grab it, yanking the cord from the wall.
The door handle turns.
I raise the lamp above my head, ready to swing.
The door opens.
A man walks in carrying two cups of coffee. He's tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an expensive suit that fits him like it was made for his body. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Eyes so intense they pin me in place.
He's the most handsome man I've ever seen.
He's also a complete stranger.
He stops when he sees me holding the lamp like a weapon. One dark eyebrow rises. His lips, perfect, cruel lips—curve into the smallest hint of a smile
Good morning, he says. His voice is deep, smooth, dangerous. You're awake.
I back up until I hit the wall. Who are you? Where am I? What did you do to me?
The smile fades. He sets the coffee cups down on a table near the door, moving slowly like I'm a wild animal that might bolt. His eyes never leave mine.
You don't remember. It's not a question. Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or concern. It's gone too fast for me to read.
Remember what? I don't know you! I don't know this place! The last thing I remember is my engagement party, and now I wake up here with this— I thrust my hand out, showing him the ring. I don't know what sick game this is, but I'm leaving. Right now.
I start toward the door. He doesn't move to stop me, but his next words freeze me mid-step.
You can't leave, Cass.
How does he know my name?
I spin to face him. How do you
Because you're my wife.
The world tilts. The lamp slips from my numb fingers and crashes to the floor.
That's impossible, I whisper.
His eyes are cold now. Hard. Is it? Then explain the ring. Explain the marriage certificate downstairs with your signature on it. Explain the photos from our wedding three days ago.
Three days ago. Three days of my life that are just... gone.
You're insane, I say. But my voice shakes.
No. He takes one step toward me. Just one. But something in his face makes my breath catch. I'm the man you married. I'm the man you begged to protect you. I'm the man who's kept you alive for the past seventy-two hours while your real family tried to have you killed.
My vision blurs. This can't be happening. None of this can be real.
My name, he continues, his voice cutting through my panic like a knife, is Damien Thornwood. And whether you remember it or not, Mrs. Thornwood...
He pauses. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes me feel stripped bare.
You came to me for help. You told me you were in danger. And then someone made sure you'd forget everything.
The room spins. I grab the wall to keep from falling.
Who? I manage to ask. Who would do that?
Damien Thornwood's expression turns to ice.
That, he says softly, dangerously, is exactly what we need to find out. Before they try again.