They both gaped at me.
Cassian’s expression curdled into something ugly–equal parts disbelief and panic.
Maybe it was the shock of getting publicly rejected by a woman he’d looked down on.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was hitting him that if I actually walked away… Augustus might really strip him of his inheritance.
Delilah, on the other hand, lit up like she’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. Greed flickered in her eyes.
“Cass, this is perfect!” she purred. “You won’t have to drag some back–woods nobody to the altar. Saves you the
embarrassment.”
She leaned in, words tumbling out faster now. “Come on–your grandfather was bluffing. He’d never cut you out just
because you won’t marry a… farm girl.”
That landed exactly where she wanted it to. Cassian straightened, confidence creeping back across his face.
“Invitations have already gone out,” he muttered, half to himself. “Calling the whole thing off will be messy.”
Delilah traced a circle on his chest with one manicured finger. “Messy? Please. I’m right here. I was supposed to be the
bride anyway.”
Cassian’s eyes darkened with something possessive as he caught her hand.
“You’re right. A man in my position should marry a woman from a proper family.”
Then, with a sneer in my direction, “As for her? If Grandfather hadn’t forced the issue, she’d be lucky to get within a mile of
me.”
My patience snapped. I pointed to the doorway. “Since the wedding’s off, do me a favor–take your girlfriend, your crew, and every last wreath out of my house.”
A ripple of laughter rolled through the neighbors crowding the hall.
“She really thinks the place is hers?” someone stage–whispered.
“It’s a pre–marital asset–belongs to Cassian, obviously.”
“Girl should count herself lucky he let her stay here at all.”
Delilah hooked her arm through Cassian’s. “Don’t let her keep the townhouse, Cass. She doesn’t deserve a dime of your
money.”
“Fine,” he said, turning to me like a bored CEO clearing paperwork. “Whatever Augustus gave you, return it. And get out.
The townhouse comes back to me.”
“It doesn’t belong to you,” I said evenly. “SRA Safe–House 37 was allocated by my institute. It isn’t for sale.”
Cassian barked a laugh, pulled a checkbook from his wallet, and slapped a signed blank check against my chest.
Chapter 3
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“Everything has a price. Fill in a number and disappear.”
I didn’t flinch. “This building isn’t listed. It’s not something your money can touch.”
That earned open snickers–from him, Delilah, and the peanut gallery by the elevators.
“Listen to the accent,” a man jeered. “Probably never seen a seven–figure check before.”
“Cass could buy half the Financial District with that,” another chimed in.
Cassian folded his arms, satisfied. “Take the money, Seraphina. Last offer.”
“Forget it. I don’t care how much you throw at me–this place isn’t for sale, and I’m not for sale either,” I crossed my arms
and said firmly. “Your money doesn’t give you the right to trample over people.”
His jaw tightened. A sharp gesture–and two bodyguards hauled me outside, dumping me on the sidewalk. Cassian
dialed a number.
Minutes later, a demolition crew rolled up. Workers in hard hats began strapping shaped charges along the townhouse
foundation.
Cassian stood beside Delilah, hands in his pockets, voice dripping disdain. “Lesson one, Miss Vale: in Cedarcrest City, the
Sterlings take what they want–and destroy what they don’t.”
My blood iced. “You’re out of your mind, Cassian. Even billionaires answer to the law.”
He gave a lazy shrug. “Really? Watch me.” He lifted his chin, that family motto hanging in the humid night air. “In Cedarcrest, the Sterlings write the rules.”
Nervous neighbors tried to play mediator.
“Sweetheart, just apologize,” an elderly woman whispered.
“Mr. Sterling isn’t someone you cross,” another warned. “They’ve got pull higher than any of us.”
Delilah flashed a wicked smile, pointing the remote detonator at the house. “On your knees and beg, or the townhouse goes boom–and you’re next.”
I met her gaze, voice low and cold. “Touch that trigger and you’ll regret it.”
She pouted theatrically, then pressed the button.
A concussive blast ripped through SRA Safe–House 37. The night lit up; windows shattered down the block; debris rained
across the street.
I felt the shockwave in my teeth–and in that split second of roaring silence after the explosion, one thought cut through
the ringing in my ears:
They just declared war.
Chapter 3
