Zara's POV
The nightmares started on the fifth night. I woke up gasping, tangled in sheets damp with sweat, the remnants of Jason's face twisted in rage fading from my vision. The clock on the nightstand read 3:47 AM.
My door opened. Cassian stood in the doorway, wearing only black pajama pants, his chest bare. In the dim light from the hallway, I could see scars I hadn't noticed before. Old ones, silver against his skin.
"Another nightmare?" His voice was rough with sleep.
"I'm fine. Go back to bed."
Instead, he came in and sat on the edge of my bed. "You've had one every night this week. That's not fine."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I hear you." His hand found mine in the darkness, warm and steady. "These walls aren't as thick as you think."
I should have pulled away. Should have maintained the distance between us. But his touch anchored me, pulled me back from the edge of panic.
"I keep seeing Jason's face. The way he looked at me in that parking lot. Like he hated me." My voice cracked. "Five years I gave him. Five years, and that's how it ends."
"He doesn't deserve your tears."
"I know. But I can't seem to stop crying them."
Cassian was quiet for a moment. Then he lay down beside me, on top of the covers, maintaining that careful distance even as he stayed close.
"When my mother died," he said quietly, "I didn't cry at the funeral. Couldn't. Everyone thought I was cold, heartless. The social workers wrote reports about my lack of emotional response." His fingers traced absent patterns on my palm. "But at night, alone in whatever foster home they'd dumped me in, I'd cry until I couldn't breathe. It took me two years before I could sleep through the night without waking up screaming for her."
I turned my head to look at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because grief doesn't follow rules. Neither does trauma. You're allowed to fall apart, Zara. You're allowed to not be strong every second of every day."
"But if I fall apart, who keeps me together?"
"Me." The word was simple, certain. "For now, I do."
He stayed until I fell back asleep, his presence a shield against the nightmares.
The next morning, I woke to find him gone but breakfast waiting on the kitchen counter. A note in bold handwriting: Eat. All of it. I'll know if you don't.
Despite everything, I smiled. Over the next week, I started noticing things about Cassian I'd missed before. The way he always made sure there was ginger tea in the cupboard for my morning nausea. How he'd moved all the sharp objects in the kitchen to higher shelves after I'd nearly cut myself chopping vegetables. The fact that he worked from home more often now, his study door always slightly open like he was listening for me.
"You don't have to babysit me," I told him one afternoon, finding him in his study surrounded by papers.
"I'm not babysitting. I'm working."
"You're working from home instead of going to your office. Because of me."
He looked up, his gray eyes unreadable. "Is that a problem?"
"I just don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden, Zara. You're.." He stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind. Did you need something?"
"Just wanted to tell you I'm going for a walk. Get some air."
His expression hardened. "No."
"Excuse me?"
"It's not safe. Jason has people watching the building. I've seen them."
"So I'm just supposed to stay locked in here forever?"
"Until I can ensure your safety, yes." He stood, moving around the desk. "Jason's desperate. Desperate men do stupid things. I won't risk you or the baby."
"This is insane. I'm not his property anymore, and I'm not yours either."
"Aren't you?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping low. "You're living in my home, eating my food, under my protection. You're carrying my child. If that doesn't make you mine, what does?"
Heat flushed through me, anger and something else I didn't want to name.
"I'm not a thing to be owned."
"No. You're something far more valuable." His hand came up, fingers grazing my cheek. "You're the mother of my child. The woman who survived my brother's cruelty and came out stronger. You're.."
The building's fire alarm shrieked to life. Cassian's entire demeanor changed in an instant. He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward his study.
"What's happening?"
"Stay here. Lock the door behind me." He pulled a gun from his desk drawer, checking the magazine with practiced ease.
"Oh my God, you have a gun?"
"I have several. Lock the door, Zara. Don't open it for anyone but me."
He was gone before I could argue.
I locked the door with shaking hands and pressed my ear against it, trying to hear something over the wailing alarm. Footsteps in the hallway. Shouting. A crash that made me jump. Then silence.
The alarm cut off abruptly, leaving my ears ringing. Minutes crawled by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Finally, a knock. "Zara, it's me. Open the door."
Cassian's voice, but rougher. Strained. I fumbled with the lock and yanked the door open. He stood there, blood on his knuckles, his shirt torn. Behind him, two men lay unconscious in the hallway.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, reaching for him.
"They're not my blood." He caught my hands. "Jason sent them. Three men total. They tripped the fire alarm to evacuate the building, then tried to break in."
"Oh God."
"Security has them now. Police are on the way." His jaw tightened. "This ends tonight. I'm done playing defense."
"What are you going to do?"
"What I should have done weeks ago." He pulled out his phone, dialing a number. "It's time Jason learned there are consequences for touching what's mine."
The conversation that followed was brief and cold. When he hung up, I saw something in his expression that made my blood run cold.
"Cassian, what did you do?"
"Made a few calls. By tomorrow morning, Jason will have much bigger problems than you to worry about." He guided me away from the unconscious men. "Pack a bag. We're leaving."
"Where?"
"Somewhere Jason will never find you. Somewhere safe."
But before we could move, the elevator dinged. A woman stepped out, elegant and cold in a designer suit. She was in her sixties, with steel-gray hair and eyes the same shade as Cassian's. Eyes the same shade as Jason's.
Catherine Hartley. Jason's mother. The woman who'd forced Richard to abandon Cassian and his mother all those years ago.
"Cassian." Her voice was clipped, aristocratic. "We need to talk."
"Not now, Catherine."
"Yes, now." Her gaze slid to me, assessing and dismissive in one glance. "This concerns her too."
Cassian's hand tightened on my arm. "She has nothing to do with our family business."
"She's carrying a Hartley child. That makes it very much her business." Catherine moved past the unconscious men without even glancing at them. "May we come inside? Or shall we discuss family secrets in the hallway for all to hear?"
Behind her, building security was arriving, dealing with the situation. Cassian cursed under his breath and pulled me back into the penthouse.
Catherine entered like she owned the place, settling onto the couch with perfect posture. "You always did have dramatic taste in decorating, Cassian. All this darkness. Very brooding."
"Say what you came to say and leave."
"Very well. I want you to convince this young woman to terminate the pregnancy."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"Get out," Cassian said, his voice deadly quiet.
"Not until you hear me out." Catherine's eyes fixed on me. "You seem like a smart girl, despite your poor judgment in men. Surely you can see this child will only bring misery. Jason will fight you in court. Cassian will use it as a weapon. And the child itself will be caught in a war neither of you can win."
"That's not your decision to make," I managed.
"Perhaps not. But I can make your life very difficult if you insist on continuing this pregnancy." She smiled, cold and sharp. "I have lawyers, resources, connections. I can ensure you never see that child once it's born. I can paint you as mentally unstable, unfit, dangerous."
"You would hurt your own grandchild?"
"It's not Jason's child. Therefore, it means nothing to me." Her gaze shifted to Cassian. "And it shouldn't mean anything to you either. You've made your point. You've hurt Jason exactly as you wanted. Now end this before it goes too far."
"Too far?" Cassian's laugh was harsh. "You forced my father to abandon me. You made sure I grew up with nothing while Jason had everything. You turned him into the spoiled, entitled monster he is today. And you're telling me I've gone too far?"
"That was business. This is different."
"No. This is the same thing. Protecting your precious Jason from the consequences of his own actions." Cassian moved closer to his stepmother, his posture threatening. "But I'm not twelve years old anymore. I don't need Richard's money or your approval. And I certainly don't need your advice on what to do with my child."
Catherine stood, smoothing her skirt. "Then you're a fool. Both of you." She headed for the door, then paused. "There's something else you should know. About Richard's will. About why he left the mansion to both of you."
"I don't care about his guilt money."
"It wasn't guilt." Catherine's voice went quiet, almost sad. "It was fear. Richard was terrified of you, Cassian. Terrified of what you might become."
"What are you talking about?"
She turned back, and for the first time, I saw something like genuine emotion in her eyes. Fear, maybe. Or regret.
"Your mother didn't die of cancer," she said. "She was murdered."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
"What?" Cassian's voice was barely a whisper.
"Richard had her killed. Made it look like natural causes, like her cancer had finally won." Catherine's hands trembled slightly. "She was going to expose the affair, ruin his reputation, sue for child support. He couldn't have that. So he made sure she couldn't talk."
The room spun. I gripped the back of a chair to steady myself.
"You're lying," Cassian said.
"I wish I was. But I found proof years later. Medical records that didn't match. A payment to a doctor who falsified her death certificate." Catherine's voice cracked. "I've lived with that knowledge for fifteen years. And I've watched you grow into your father's son, capable of the same violence, the same ruthlessness. That's why he left you the mansion. Not guilt. Insurance. He thought if he gave you something, you wouldn't come after the rest of us once you learned the truth."
"The rest of you?" I found my voice. "What does that mean?"
Catherine looked at me with something like pity.
"It means the Hartley bloodline carries a genetic disorder. Passed down through the male line. Violent tendencies, lack of empathy, inability to form genuine emotional connections." Her eyes moved between us. "Jason has it. Cassian has it. And your child.."
"Stop," I whispered.
"Your child will have it too. A fifty percent chance if it's a boy, lower if it's a girl. But regardless, this family is cursed. And bringing another Hartley into the world is cruel."
My hand went to my stomach, protective and terrified.
"That's not possible," I said. "Cassian's not like that. He's been kind, protective.."
"Has he?" Catherine's smile was sad. "Or has he just been controlling? Possessive? Keeping you isolated, dependent on him? It's the same pattern, dear. Just wrapped in prettier paper."
I looked at Cassian. His face had gone completely blank, emotionless.
Empty.
"Get out," he said to Catherine.
She left without another word.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Cassian," I started.
"Don't." He held up a hand. "Don't ask me if it's true. Don't ask me if I'm like my father. Because I don't know. And that terrifies me more than anything."
He walked away, disappearing into his study. The door closed with a soft click. I stood alone in the living room, one hand pressed to my stomach where a child was growing. A child that might inherit violence and darkness and all the worst parts of the Hartley family. A child that might be as dangerous as its father.
As dangerous as its grandfather. Oh God. What had I done? The study door opened. Cassian stood there, and I saw something in his face that made my breath catch. Not anger. Not coldness.
Fear.
"Zara," he said quietly. "We need to talk about the baby."
And in that moment, I realized Catherine's revelation had changed everything. The child growing inside me wasn't just caught in a war between brothers anymore. It was part of a legacy of violence that went back generations. And I had no idea how to protect it. Or if I even could..