Thessaly's Point of View
I run.
Not thinking, just moving. Out of Caspian's penthouse, into the elevator, through the lobby. The doorman calls after me but I don't stop.
The morning air is cold. I'm still in borrowed pajamas and sweater. No shoes. No phone—I left it shattered on my bedroom floor.
Just the words echoing in my head: The plan is working perfectly. Once we're married, I'll have legal access to the Crane family assets through her.
He's using me. Just like everyone else.
I thought Caspian was different. Honest, at least. A business arrangement with no lies.
But he lied about the biggest thing. He was married to my aunt. The aunt who stole from him. And now he's using me for revenge.
I'm so stupid.
I end up in Central Park. Sitting on a bench, shivering, watching joggers pass by like life is normal.
"Thessaly!"
I look up. Caspian is running toward me, still in last night's clothes. His face is worried, angry, scared.
I stand to run but my legs won't work. Too tired. Too cold. Too broken.
He reaches me, breathing hard. "What the hell? You ran out without shoes, without your phone—"
"I know about Lydia." My voice comes out flat. Dead.
He freezes. "What?"
"Lydia Thorne. My aunt. Your ex-wife who stole ten million dollars from you." I force myself to look at him. "Someone sent me photos this morning. Of your wedding."
His face goes pale. "Thessaly, listen—"
"No. You listen." Anger burns through numbness. "You stood in your office and said the plan is working perfectly. That once we're married, you'll have access to my family's assets. I heard you!"
"You heard half a conversation—"
"What's the other half? The part where you weren't using me for revenge?" My hands shake. "You married my aunt. She destroyed you. Now you're using me to destroy my family. That's why you really proposed!"
"Both things are true!" He steps closer but I back away. "Yes, I need to marry for the inheritance. That's real. And yes, when I saw your last name, I knew who you were related to."
The confirmation hurts.
"So you played me. Just like Jareth."
"I didn't play you!" His voice rises. "I offered you a fair deal. Money, protection, revenge. Everything in that contract is real!"
"Except the truth! You should have told me about Lydia!"
"Would you have agreed to marry me if I had?"
The question stops me cold.
He's right. If he'd told me, I would have run. Like I'm running now.
"That's why you didn't tell me," I whisper.
His jaw tightens. "I didn't tell you because it doesn't matter. Lydia was seven years ago. She's gone. This arrangement is between you and me."
"It matters to me!"
"Why? Because you think I'm using you?" He laughs bitterly. "If I wanted revenge on the Thorne family, I have a hundred ways that don't involve marriage. I could destroy your father's company with three phone calls. I don't need you for that."
"Then why—"
"Because when I saw you in that rain, destroyed and furious, I saw myself seven years ago!" His control cracks. "I saw who I was when Lydia left. Broken. Betrayed. And I thought maybe we could help each other. Two people who understand betrayal."
I want to believe him. Want it so badly it hurts.
"The phone call this morning. You said the plan was working."
"I was talking to my lawyer about the Winslow Media takeover. The plan to acquire Jareth's company, not yours." He shows me his phone. "Soren called at 8 AM about stock positions. That's the conversation you overheard."
The name says Soren. The time matches.
"But the photo of you and Lydia—"
"Was sent by someone who wants us to distrust each other." His eyes are intense. "Think. Who benefits from us falling apart?"
My family.
If I refuse to marry Caspian, I'm alone. Vulnerable. Easy to control.
"My mother," I say slowly. "She sent the medical records last night. Now this."
"Exactly." He reaches out slowly. I don't pull away. His hand is warm on my cold arm. "I should have told you about Lydia. You're right. But I didn't know how without making you think this was revenge."
"Is it?"
"No." Firm. "Your aunt taught me a lesson. Love makes you weak. Trust makes you vulnerable. So I stopped doing both. Until you."
My heart stutters. "Caspian—"
"I'm not in love with you. I barely know you." His honesty should hurt but doesn't. "But I respect you. I admire your strength. And I want to help you burn down the people who hurt you. Not because they're related to Lydia. Because you deserve justice."
I search his face for lies. Find only brutal truth.
"No more secrets," I say carefully. "About anything."
"Agreed."
"And you tell me everything about Lydia. The whole story."
He nods. "Tonight. Over dinner."
"Okay."
He wraps his jacket around my shoulders. "Can we go back? Before you get hypothermia?"
We walk back in silence.
We're almost to his building when a car pulls up. A sleek black sedan.
The back window rolls down.
My father looks out. His face is calm. Too calm.
"Thessaly. Get in the car. We need to talk."
"No." I move closer to Caspian.
"I'm not asking, sweetheart. Get in the car." His voice hardens. "Or I'll have you declared mentally unstable. Emergency psychiatric hold. Just like we did with Elowen."
Ice floods my veins. "You can't—"
"I can. I have a doctor ready to sign papers saying you're a danger to yourself. You assaulted your fiancé last night. Ran away." He opens the door. "Get in. Or I make the call right now."
Caspian steps in front of me. "She's not going anywhere with you."
"And who are you?" My father's eyes are cold. "Step aside, Mr. Holt. This is family business."
"I'm her fiancé. That makes it my business."
My father's expression shifts. Surprise, then calculation.
"Fiancé? You two just met last night."
"And we're getting married in three days." Caspian's voice is ice. "Which means you have no authority over her. Touch her, and I'll have you arrested."
"I'm her father. I'm looking out for her wellbeing."
"You're looking out for yourself." I find my voice. "Just like always."
My father sighs. "You're being irrational. This man is using you. Do you even know who he is?"
"Better than I knew Jareth. Better than I ever knew you."
"Then you're a fool." He pulls back into the car. "You have twenty-four hours to come home and apologize. After that, we take legal action. Psychiatric hold, conservatorship, whatever it takes."
The window rolls up. The car drives away.
I'm shaking. "They're going to lock me up. Just like Elowen."
Caspian's arm comes around my shoulders. "No. Because we're getting married today."
"Today? But we planned—"
"Plans change." He pulls out his phone. "Vesper? Emergency. We need a marriage license and a judge. Today."
He listens, then: "Because Thessaly's family just threatened forced psychiatric commitment. We need legal protection now."
My head spins. This morning I was running from him. Now I'm getting married in hours.
"Are you sure?" I ask when he hangs up.
"Are you?"
I think about my father's cold eyes. My mother's threats. Elowen's five years locked away.
"Yes."
"Then let's go." He takes my hand. "We have a wedding to plan."
We're walking into his building when his phone rings. He answers, listens, and his face goes deadly.
"What?" I ask.
He shows me the screen. A news alert.
BREAKING: Elowen Crane, Miracle Survivor, to Wed Media Heir Jareth Winslow. Engagement Party Tonight at The Plaza.
Tonight. At the same hotel where I was supposed to marry Jareth.
"Those bastards," I breathe.
Caspian's smile is sharp as a knife. "Good. Let them have their party. Because tomorrow morning, every newspaper will have a different headline."
"What headline?"
"Billionaire CEO Caspian Holt Marries Thessaly Crane in Private Ceremony." His eyes glitter. "We'll steal their thunder. And we're just getting started."
We ride the elevator up. Vesper is already there, laptop open.
"Marriage license is filed. Judge is available at 4 PM." She looks up. "Now, about the announcement—"
"Make it big," Caspian says. "Major papers. Social media. Every outlet in the city."
"And photos," I add. "I want photos that make Jareth and Elowen sick with jealousy."
Vesper grins. "Now you're thinking like a Holt."
My new phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
I almost don't open it. But something makes me look.
The message is one sentence:
You should ask Caspian what really happened to Lydia. Because she didn't just steal money and run. She's dead, Thessaly. And he's the reason why.