They thought he married her for the social outburst, a shocking play to toy with his father and the world.
But the truth was far more damning—Cassian had wanted Isolde from the moment he saw her.
His taste in women had never fit into any conventional mold. He was drawn to the unpredictable, the kind of danger that made his blood stir.
And Isolde—her detached eyes that seemed to look past him yet sent a sharp thrill down his spine—had been exactly that.
Now, with his fingers tangled in another woman's hair, he drove into her, willing himself to stay hard. This was business. An arrangement. A means to an end.
And yet, his mind wouldn't stay in the present. It kept drifting to Isolde.
She still wasn't back.
Instead of pleasure, irritation curled inside him, tightening his grip, making his movements harsher.
The woman beneath him moaned too loudly, a sound that grated on his nerves instead of igniting them.
Isolde would come back.
SLAM.
He just had to wait.
SLAM.
The door creaked open, but he didn't stop. He wasn't the type to falter, not even with an audience. The woman beneath him moaned, lost in the moment, before his focus shifted entirely.
A beat later, there she was.
Isolde.
Standing by the doorway, arms akimbo, one brow arched in that signature mix of amusement and mild annoyance.
She didn't look angry. Didn't look hurt. Just… unimpressed.
Good. He had welcomed her well.
Isolde leaned against the doorframe, arms still crossed as she watched the scene unfold.
Cassian didn't stop. If anything, he seemed to go harder, just to make a point. The woman beneath him moaned louder, clawing at his back, but his gaze was on Isolde now—sharp, assessing, taunting.
"What a hardworking husband," she mused, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fully clothed except for the most important part. Should I be impressed?"
Cassian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slowed his movements, dragging out the moment as if savoring the way her eyes flickered—not with jealousy, no, but with something else. Amusement? Disdain?
"Didn't get what you were looking for?" he finally asked, breath steady despite the exertion.
Isolde scoffed, stepping further inside. "If you mean the money you so graciously blocked me from using, then no. And my usual dealer? Suddenly very concerned about my health. I wonder who put that idea in his head."
"Maybe his pastor preached," Cassian mused, voice laced with mock innocence. "Who knows? Maybe he had a change of heart."
Isolde let out a dry laugh. "Right. And maybe you've suddenly decided to become a devoted husband."
Cassian finally pulled out of the woman beneath him, standing up as he reached for a nearby towel, completely unfazed by his state of undress. "Devotion comes in many forms, sweetheart."
Isolde rolled her eyes, stepping closer, her gaze flicking over the discarded money on the bedside table. "So, what was this? Business? Or were you actually enjoying yourself?"
Cassian wiped himself off lazily before tossing the towel aside. "Would it bother you if I was?"
She smirked, tilting her head. "Should it?"
The woman on the bed shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious as she watched the exchange.
She pulled the sheets up to cover herself, her earlier confidence fading under the tension crackling between Cassian and Isolde.
Isolde's smirk deepened as she turned her gaze toward her. "Don't stop on my account. You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine."
Oh don't worry. My husband and I share the same link sweetheart. Isolde addressed the woman.
The woman's face paled at Isolde's words, her fingers clutching the sheets even tighter. Cassian, however, remained utterly composed, his gaze locked onto Isolde as she pressed against him, her fingers threading through his hair.
"Darling, you didn't stop because of me, did you?" Isolde's voice was a low purr, teasing, yet laced with something far more dangerous.
She stood on her toes, arms wrapped around his neck, her lips a breath away from his. Cassian's hands instinctively landed on her waist, his grip firm, possessive.
The woman on the bed cleared her throat awkwardly. "I should probably—"
"You should," Isolde cut in smoothly, not even sparing her a glance. "Unless you'd like to watch?"
The woman scrambled off the bed, grabbing her clothes in a hurry. Cassian didn't stop her. His focus was entirely on Isolde, his smirk deepening as he tilted her chin up.
"Jealous?" he murmured.
Isolde chuckled, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Hardly." She let her fingers drift down his chest, slow and deliberate. "Just reminding you who you belong to."
She expected him to say something but instead. She leaned forward and captured her mouth in his.
The nerve!.
Cassian tasted of expensive whiskey and sin, his tongue sliding against hers with a mastery that made it infuriatingly easy to forget every reason she should hate him.
Isolde had kissed many men. Seduced even more. But this was different. This wasn't calculated. Wasn't planned.
And that made her furious.
His hands roamed her body like he already owned it, like the moment she stepped into that room, she had surrendered to him.
She wanted to bite him, to pull away, to remind him that no man—no matter how rich, how powerful—could ever truly claim her.
But then his teeth grazed her lower lip, tugging just enough to send a pulse of heat straight to her core.
Damn him.
Her fingers twisted in his hair, yanking hard, forcing him to groan against her mouth. A small victory.
She deepened the kiss in response, tongue sweeping against his with the same defiance that burned inside her.
She was supposed to betray him. Kill him, even. And yet here she was, pressed against the wall, letting him ignite something she had no business feeling.
Cassian chuckled against her lips, his grip on her tightening as he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.
"That didn't feel like a reminder of ownership, sweetheart," he murmured, eyes dark with amusement. "Felt a lot like surrender."
Isolde sneered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if disgusted. "Oh, please. I was merely confirming something."
His brow lifted. "And what's that?"
Her lips curled, fingers still fisting his shirt. "That you really do kiss like an entitled bastard."
Cassian laughed, deep and unbothered. "Yet you didn't stop me."
"You weren't worth the effort."
"Liar."
She shoved him off, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress as she stepped away. But Cassian caught her wrist, yanking her back with just enough force to make her stumble against his chest.
She looked up, lips parted, ready to throw another sharp retort—only for his voice to drop into a low, knowing murmur.
"You kissed me back, Isolde." His thumb brushed against her pulse point, feeling the betraying speed of her heartbeat. "And we both know why."
She smirked, eyes flickering with something dark and unreadable.
"Yes," she whispered, leaning up just enough that her lips brushed the shell of his ear. "Because I was thinking of your father."
Cassian stilled.
And then—he laughed.
Not in amusement. Not in anger. But something dangerously in between.
"Careful, sweetheart," he murmured, tilting her chin up so their eyes met. "If you keep playing this game, you might just end up trapped in it."
Isolde smiled sweetly. "Darling, I am the game."
She pulled free, sauntering toward the door with the grace of a queen who had just dismissed a servant.
Cassian watched her go, tongue running over his bottom lip.
Damn.