THE HOUSEKEEPER’S VOW

Cassian slowly turned his head.

And the entire chapel went silent.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He simply looked at Margaret Aldridge with a gaze so hollow and absolute that the older woman physically shrank back.

“I told you to leave,” Cassian said.

His voice was terrifyingly calm. It wasn’t a request. It was an execution of her presence.

Margaret’s hands began to tremble. She clutched her designer purse against her chest like a shield. “Cassian, be reasonable. I am trying to save this arrangement. My husband and you—”

“Your husband is dead, Margaret. And the arrangement was with his daughter. A daughter who is currently sitting on a private jet halfway to Costa Rica.”

Margaret gasped, her face turning an ashen gray.

My heart stalled.

He knew. He had known the entire time.

“You thought I wouldn’t track the tail number?” Cassian took a slow, deliberate step toward Margaret. “You thought my men wouldn’t notice forty thousand dollars moving out of the family trust at three in the morning? I knew Evelyn was gone before you even woke up.”

Margaret’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“What I didn’t know,” Cassian continued, his eyes drifting back to me for a fraction of a second, “was how low you would stoop to cover your embarrassment. Bringing a housekeeper to my altar. Putting her in shoes that make her bleed.”

He stopped right in front of Margaret.

“Give me the bag.”

Margaret blinked, terrified. “What?”

“Your purse. Open it.”

“Cassian, please, there is nothing in here—”

One of the armed men by the door shifted his stance, the leather of his shoulder holster creaking loudly in the quiet chapel.

Margaret swallowed hard. With shaking fingers, she unclasped the gold latch of her bag.

Cassian didn’t dig through it. He simply pointed to a folded piece of heavy cream-colored paper tucked into the side pocket. “Take that out. Read it.”

Margaret looked down. Her face completely lost whatever color it had left. “Cassian, this is private household business.”

“Read it.”

His voice dropped an octave, the vibration of it seeming to rattle the stained glass.

Margaret pulled the paper out. Her hands were shaking so violently the paper fluttered like a dry leaf.

“It’s… it’s a notice to vacate,” she whispered.

Cassian turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Who is it addressed to, Margaret?”

Margaret didn’t want to say it. She looked at me, a flash of pure, venomous hatred crossing her features, before she looked back down.

“Helen Carter,” she said weakly. “Lydia’s mother.”

The floor seemed to drop out from under me.

My mother’s name.

“Look at the date,” Cassian commanded.

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut. “Yesterday.”

My breath hitched.

Yesterday. Before Evelyn ran away. Before the wedding crisis.

“You told her,” Cassian said to Margaret, “that if she didn’t put on this dress, you would kick her sick mother out. But you already signed the eviction notice yesterday. You were going to throw them into the street regardless. You just needed one last use out of her first.”

I stared at Margaret. My vision blurred with hot, angry tears.

“You promised,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You looked me in the eye in the kitchen and promised my mother would be safe.”

Margaret lifted her chin, trying to salvage some shred of her wealthy dignity. “Your mother is a burden to the estate. We are a business, not a charity. I was doing what had to be done for my family.”

Cassian didn’t even blink. He reached out, took the paper from Margaret’s trembling hands, and tore it cleanly in half.

Then he tore it again.

He dropped the pieces onto the marble floor.

“Your family is bankrupt, Margaret,” Cassian said softly. “The only thing keeping your creditors from tearing your estate apart was my name on your merger documents today. A merger that is now dead.”

Margaret let out a choked sob.

“Get out,” Cassian said. “Before I let my men escort you out.”

Margaret looked at the armed guards, then at the shredded paper on the floor. She turned and practically ran down the aisle, pushing through the heavy wooden doors.

They clicked shut behind her, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.

I stood at the altar, trembling inside the oversized dress. My mother was losing her home. I was losing my job. Everything Margaret had threatened was going to happen anyway, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I reached around to my back, trying to find the zipper of the dress.

“I’ll take this off,” I whispered, my vision swimming with tears. “I’ll leave. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“Stop.”

Cassian’s voice wasn’t harsh, but it carried an undeniable weight.

I froze.

He walked slowly up the short steps to the altar. He stood in front of me, so close I could smell the faint scent of rain and cedar on his suit.

He looked down at my hands.

Without asking, he reached out. His fingers were warm and slightly rough. He gently took my right hand, turning it over to inspect the burn mark from the industrial iron, then the bruise Margaret had left on my wrist.

“Six women,” Cassian said quietly, not looking up from my hand. “The rumors say I drove six wives away. I’m sure Margaret made sure you knew that.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“And yet,” Cassian finally lifted his eyes to mine, “you stood here, shaking in pain, ready to bind yourself to a monster just to keep a roof over your mother’s head.”

I didn’t look away. “She is all I have.”

Cassian’s eyes searched mine for a long, heavy moment. There was something buried deep in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, or perhaps, respect.

“Margaret will lock the gates the moment she gets back to the estate,” Cassian said. “She will throw your mother’s belongings onto the lawn. You have no money, no leverage, and by tonight, your mother will be in a hospital ward you cannot afford.”

A tear spilled over my lashes. He was right.

“Or,” Cassian said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “you can stay right where you are.”

I stopped breathing. “What?”

Cassian let go of my hand. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy, antique iron key. He held it out to me.

“Marry me, Lydia Carter. Not as a substitute. Not as a maid. Become my wife today, and my men will have your mother moved to the private medical wing of my estate within the hour. Margaret Aldridge will never be allowed within fifty miles of either of you again.”

I stared at the heavy iron key resting in his large palm.

“Why?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You don’t need me. You know I’m a fake. Why would you do this?”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He looked at the heavy chapel doors, then back to me.

“Because Evelyn ran to steal my money,” Cassian said quietly. “But the wives who came before her… ran to save their lives.”