26. Cassie
CASSIE
T he sound of the call ending echoed through the hallway like a death sentence.
I stood frozen in the marble corridor, my bare feet feeling like ice against the cold floor. One of Roman’s old shirts hung loose around my shoulders, and I could still taste him on my lips from when he kissed me in the garden. Everything had been perfect. Safe. Real.
Now Declan stood ten feet away, his pale eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. The gun in his hand wasn’t trembling. Neither was his voice.
"Roman should’ve listened," Declan said, his tone conversational, like we were discussing the weather instead of my imminent death. "He never should’ve involved you."
I watched every crack in his calm facade, cataloging the subtle signs of a man who’d finally stopped pretending.
The way his jaw worked, like he was chewing on years of resentment.
The slight tremor in his non-gun hand. The cold satisfaction in his pale eyes told me this moment had been a long time coming.
"You’re the mole," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"I’m the rightful heir." His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Patrick Creed promised me a seat at the table. His son turned that into a leash."
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. The convenient evidence against Sean. The subtle challenges to Roman’s authority. The way Declan had been positioning himself as the voice of reason while systematically undermining everything Roman had built.
"You killed Sean," I breathed.
"I eliminated a problem. Just like I’m going to eliminate you."
He gestured with the gun toward the staircase. "Move."
My pulse hammered against my ribs as I started walking, every step feeling like I was marching toward my execution. The pregnancy hormones made my head swim, but I forced myself to stay focused. I couldn’t afford weakness. Not now. Not with Roman’s child growing inside me.
We passed Joey’s body first.
He lay crumpled against the wall near the library entrance, ginger hair matted with blood, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The man didn’t like me much, but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead. He was reduced to nothing more than an obstacle in Declan’s path.
"He tried to be a hero," Declan said, noting my stare. "Reached for his gun when he saw me coming."
My stomach lurched, but I kept walking. Keep moving, Cassie. Stay alive.
Fion’s body was sprawled near the main staircase, his phone beside him. Blood pooled around his head, and I could see the surprise frozen on his pale face. He’d probably been working late, lost scrolling through his emails, never seeing the bullet coming.
"He was supposed to be at his apartment," Declan continued, his voice carrying just a hint of regret. "Wrong place, wrong time."
Fear burned into fury. These weren’t just Roman’s men—they were good people. Loyal people. And Declan had slaughtered them like they meant nothing.
I counted his steps behind me. Seventeen paces from Joey’s body to the main entrance. The gun never wavered from the center of my back, but I could hear the subtle change in his breathing. He was getting excited now, anticipating the endgame.
My bare feet found the marble tiles of the foyer, and I saw two more bodies near the front doors. Security guards who’d probably never had a chance to draw their weapons. The metallic smell of blood mixed with something else—something chemical and sharp that made my nostrils burn.
Gasoline.
"You’re going to burn it down," I said, the realization hitting me like ice water.
"This should’ve been mine," Declan said, his voice carrying fifteen years of poisoned resentment. "All of it. The house, the business, the respect. Patrick promised me everything, and his golden boy son threw it away chasing legitimacy."
We stopped near the entrance, and I could see the dark stains on the marble where gasoline had already been splashed across the walls and furniture. Declan had been planning this for hours, methodically soaking the mansion in accelerant while Roman was away.
"If I can’t have it," he continued, "no one can."
This was my chance. He was distracted, lost in his twisted justifications. I counted backward from three in my head, then spun around and raked my nails across his face.
Declan screamed as my fingernails found his eyes, drawing blood that ran down his cheek like crimson tears. The gun wavered for just a second, and I bolted toward the staircase.
I made it exactly seven steps before his hand closed around my hair.
The pain was instant and vicious as he yanked me backward, my scalp screaming in protest. I fought like a wildcat, clawing and kicking, but Declan was bigger, stronger, and absolutely furious.
"You little bitch," he snarled, and then the gun butt connected with my temple.
The world exploded into stars and static. My knees buckled, and I felt myself falling toward the marble floor like a stone dropped from a great height.
Blackness closed in around the edges of my vision, and the last thing I heard was Declan’s voice, cold and satisfied: "Sweet dreams, princess."
I woke to the sharp sting of gasoline fumes burning my nostrils.
My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and when I tried to move, my wrists scraped against rough rope. I was tied to one of the dining room chairs, the same chairs where I’d sat through strategy meetings and family dinners, watching Roman command his empire with quiet authority.
Now this room, too, reeked of accelerant, and Declan moved through it like a ghost, methodically splashing gasoline across the mahogany table, the expensive artwork, the hand-carved Celtic symbols that spoke of generations of Creed family history.
"You’re awake," he said without turning around. "Good. I want you to be conscious for this."
My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and it took three tries to form words. "Roman will kill you for this."
"Roman will watch everything he loves burn," Declan corrected, setting down the empty gas can with deliberate care. "Then he’ll beg me for mercy while I put a bullet in his head."
He pulled out his phone, and I watched him scroll through the contacts with the casual efficiency of a man making dinner reservations. When he found Roman’s number, he pressed the speaker and set the device on the table in front of me.
It rang twice before Roman’s voice filled the room, tight with tension and barely controlled rage.
"Declan."
"Hello, Roman." Declan’s tone was pleasant, conversational. "I have something that belongs to you. I trust you’re on your way."
Silence stretched across the connection, and I could picture Roman’s face—the way his jaw would clench, the cold calculation that would settle into his blue eyes.
"Let me talk to her," Roman said finally.
Declan gestured to the phone. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell your fiancé how much you’ve missed him."
"Roman." My voice came out cracked and raw, but I forced strength into it. "I’m okay. Don’t?—"
"That’s enough." Declan pulled the phone back. "You for her, Roman. No games. No negotiations. No backup. Just you, alone, or I turn this place into a bonfire with her inside it."
"I’m coming." Roman’s voice was deadly. "If you hurt her?—"
"You’ll what? Kill me?" Declan laughed, the sound echoing off the gasoline-soaked walls. "You should’ve done that years ago, brother. Now it’s too late."
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, then pulled out a book of matches. The small red heads caught the light from the chandelier, and my heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird.
"He’ll be here soon," Declan said, settling into the chair across from me. "Roman never could resist playing the hero."
The gasoline fumes made my head swim, but I forced myself to stay focused.
Think, Cassie. There had to be a way out of this.
Roman was coming, but he’d be walking into a trap.
Declan had killed four armed men without breaking a sweat—he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in Roman the moment he walked through the door.
My wrists were bound tight, but the rope had some give to it. If I could work my hands free, if I could create a distraction when Roman arrived...
"You won’t get away with this," I said, testing the bonds while keeping my voice steady. "The other families won’t stand for it."
"The other families will fall in line once I prove Roman was weak." Declan struck a match, watching the flame dance in the dim light. "They’re already questioning his judgment. His obsession with going legitimate. His decision to marry an outsider."
The match burned down to his fingers, and he blew it out with a casual puff of breath.
"You were the final straw, Cassie. The moment he chose you over the business, he signed his own death warrant."
I felt another rope fiber snap. The bonds were loosening, but not fast enough.
The sound of a car engine echoed from outside, growing closer. Roman. My heart leaped with hope and terror in equal measure.
Declan heard it too. He stood abruptly, his pale eyes flashing with sudden urgency.
"Time to move you somewhere more secure," he said, cutting through my bonds with a knife he pulled from his jacket. "Can’t have you interfering when your knight in shining armor arrives."
Before I could fully process what was happening, his hand clamped around my arm, hauling me to my feet. My legs were unsteady from sitting tied up, and the gasoline fumes made my head swim, but he dragged me toward the staircase anyway.
"Up," he commanded, pressing the gun into my back.
Each step felt like agony. My bare feet slipped on the marble stairs, and the pregnancy hormones made me dizzy, but Declan’s grip never loosened. He herded me down the familiar hallway toward the guest wing, past family portraits that had watched over generations of Creed history.
He shoved me into one of the smaller bedrooms—a space I’d barely noticed during my time here. The windows were too high to reach, and the door was solid oak. Perfect for a prison.
"This should keep you out of trouble," Declan said, backing toward the doorway. "Don’t bother screaming. Roman won’t hear you over the sound of his own death."
The door slammed shut, and I heard the distinctive click of a lock turning.
I was alone.
The engine cut off outside, and in the sudden silence, I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears like a war drum. Through the thick walls, I caught the faint sound of the front door opening.
Roman was here.
If help didn’t come in the next few minutes, I’d have to save myself.
And Roman.
And our unborn child.
Time was up.