5. Cassie
CASSIE
T he ride to the private jet passed in suffocating silence.
City lights blurred past the tinted windows of Roman’s black SUV like streaks of neon paint, and I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching my entire world dissolve into nothing. The leather seat beneath me felt expensive and foreign, just like everything else in Roman’s orbit.
You’re going to be my wife.
The words kept echoing in my head, bouncing around like a pinball I couldn’t catch. One hour ago, I’d been Cassie James, an assistant with a decent job and manageable problems. Now, I was apparently engaged to one of the most dangerous men in the city, and I had no idea how I’d gotten here.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I knew how I’d gotten here—one incredibly stupid, wine-fueled text message that had somehow turned my life into a mafia romance novel.
"Breathe," Roman said without looking at me, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"I am breathing."
"No, you’re hyperventilating."
I turned to glare at him, but the words died in my throat when I saw his profile in the shifting light.
Sharp jaw clenched tight. Eyes scanning the mirrors constantly, watching for threats I couldn’t even imagine.
His hand rested on his thigh, fingers drumming that familiar pattern that meant he was stressed.
But it was the gun holstered beneath his jacket that made my breath hitch. I’d never actually seen it before, but the outline was unmistakable now that I knew what to look for.
"Roman," I started, my voice smaller than I intended.
"We’ll talk on the plane."
That was it. Conversation over. I wanted to argue, to demand answers, to scream that I hadn’t agreed to any of this. But something in his tone warned me that now wasn’t the time.
The SUV pulled through a gate marked "Private Aviation," and my stomach dropped. This wasn’t a casual business trip. This was my life, changing in real time, and I was powerless to stop it.
The plane waiting on the tarmac was sleek and white with dark windows, the kind of aircraft that screamed money and discretion.
Roman was out of the car before it fully stopped, moving with the fluid grace of a predator who never let his guard down.
He opened my door and offered his hand, and for a moment, I just stared at it.
Taking his hand felt like crossing another line I couldn’t uncross.
But what choice did I have? I was already here, already in too deep to back out now. And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the absolute insanity of the situation—there was a part of me that had been waiting for this moment for five months.
A part of me that had been fantasizing about Roman Creed claiming me.
I took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine with warm, possessive strength, and that familiar electricity shot up my arm. Even now, even terrified and confused, my body responded to his touch like it was designed specifically for him.
"Stay close," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as he helped me from the car. "And let me do the talking."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and let him guide me toward the plane. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, carrying the scent of jet fuel and impending rain. In the distance, the city sparkled like a collection of fallen stars, beautiful and completely out of reach.
The plane’s interior was pure luxury—cream leather seats, polished wood accents, and enough space to make me forget we were airborne. Roman settled into one of the larger seats and pulled out his phone, immediately immersing himself in what looked like serious business.
I buckled myself in across from him, my mind racing with questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.
"Explain," I said once we were airborne, my voice steadier than I felt.
Roman set his phone aside and fixed me with that intense blue stare that made my pulse spike. "It’s simple. I need a wife to secure my inheritance and legitimize the business. You need financial security and protection."
"Protection from what?"
His jaw tightened. "From the kind of people who don’t like change."
That wasn’t an answer, and we both knew it. But before I could press him, he continued.
"This is a business arrangement, Cassie. Nothing more. You’ll still be my assistant. Nothing public changes—just your last name."
"But we’ll be married. Legally."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to just... agree to this? Because you say so?"
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "I expect you to recognize a good deal when you see one."
My temper flared. "A good deal? You’re asking me to marry you!"
"I’m offering you security that most people only dream of. You’ll never worry about money again. You’ll have protection, resources, and access to a world most people never see. And all you have to do is sign a piece of paper and wear my ring."
I stared at him, this man who commanded empires and bent the world to his will, trying to process what he was asking of me. The rational part of my brain screamed that this was insane, that I should demand he turn the plane around and forget this ever happened.
But the rational part of my brain wasn’t in control anymore.
Because the truth was, I’d been half in love with Roman Creed since my first day working for him.
I’d spent five months memorizing the way he moved, the way he thought, the way his rare smiles transformed his entire face.
I’d fantasized about what it would be like to belong to him, to be the woman who could handle his darkness and match his intensity.
Now he was offering me exactly that, just without the love part.
"What about love?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
Roman’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. "Love is a luxury neither of us can afford. This is about survival."
The words hit me like a physical blow, even though I’d expected them. Of course, a man like Roman Creed didn’t believe in love. Men like him believed in power, control, and leverage. I’d been naive to think otherwise.
"And if I say no?"
The silence stretched between us, loaded with implications I didn’t want to examine too closely.
"You won’t," he said finally. The quiet certainty in his voice made my chest tighten.
He was right, and we both knew it. I couldn’t say no, not because he was threatening me, but because I didn’t want to. Despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, despite knowing this was probably the worst decision I’d ever make, I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to be his.
The plane began its descent, and Roman’s attention shifted to the window. His entire body went tense, that predatory alertness that meant he was scanning for threats. I followed his gaze and saw lights approaching—an airport, but smaller than where we’d taken off.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Safe," was all he said, but his hand moved to his jacket, resting over where I knew his gun was holstered.
The plane touched down, and within minutes, we were taxiing toward a private hangar. Roman was already unbuckling his seatbelt.
"Remember what I said," he said as the plane came to a stop. "Stay close. Let me talk."
I nodded, my mouth dry. Whatever was waiting for us outside this plane was important enough to make Roman nervous. And if Roman was nervous, I should be absolutely terrified.
The door opened, and Roman stepped out first, his body a protective barrier between me and whatever lay beyond. I followed close behind, my heels clicking on the metal stairs as we descended onto the tarmac.
A black sedan waited near the hangar, its engine running. Leaning against it was a man I’d never seen before—tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair and the kind of face that had seen too much violence. He wore an expensive suit, but there was nothing civilized about the way he carried himself.
This man was dangerous in a way that made Roman look tame.
"Declan," Roman said, his voice carefully neutral.
"Roman." The man—Declan—pushed off the car and approached us, his pale eyes locking onto me with undisguised suspicion. "So this is her ."
"Cassie James," Roman said, his hand finding the small of my back. The touch was possessive, claiming, and I tried not to shiver at the contact. "My fiancée."
Declan’s expression didn’t change, but I felt the temperature drop ten degrees. "Your fiancée." He said the word like it tasted bad. "How... unexpected."
"Is there a problem?" Roman’s voice carried a warning edge that made my pulse spike.
"She’s an outsider," Declan said bluntly, not bothering to address me directly. "No family connections, no bloodline, no understanding of our world. This isn’t how things are done."
"Things change," Roman replied, his hand pressing more firmly against my back.
"Do they?" Declan stepped closer, and I caught the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something darker—gun oil, maybe, or the lingering trace of violence. "Or are you just thinking with your cock instead of your head?"
The insult hung in the air like a loaded gun. Roman went still beside me, and I could feel the danger radiating off him in waves.
"Careful, Declan," Roman said softly, and somehow, that tone was more threatening than any shout could have been.
Declan held his gaze for a long moment, then shrugged. "I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. The family won’t understand this choice."
"The family doesn’t need to understand. They need to accept."
"And if they don’t?"
Roman’s smile was sharp as a blade. "Then they’ll learn why I’m in charge and they’re not."
The two men stared at each other, and I felt like I was witnessing something much bigger than a disagreement about Roman’s choice of fiancée. This was about power, about tradition, about control of something that stretched far beyond what I could see.
Finally, Declan stepped back.
"She’s simply a pawn for the business," Roman added, his voice casual, conversational.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
A pawn.
Not a partner. Not even a reluctant bride.
A pawn in whatever game these men were playing.
Declan’s expression shifted, something like approval flickering in his cold eyes. "A pawn. I see." He looked at me again, but this time, his gaze was calculating rather than suspicious. "Well, then. I suppose we should talk about your plan."
Roman nodded, satisfied with Declan’s response. But I felt something inside me crack, a small fissure that I knew would only grow wider.
Because in that moment, I realized what I’d gotten myself into.
This wasn’t just about a strategic marriage or financial security. This was about being used, manipulated, and positioned like a piece on a chessboard by men who saw me as nothing more than a means to an end.
I was no longer just a reluctant fiancée trying to navigate an impossible situation.
I was a pawn in a deadly power game where the stakes were higher than I’d ever imagined.
And the most terrifying part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to escape at all.