THE HOUSEKEEPER’S VOW

My blood turned to ice.

Evelyn Aldridge. She wasn't in Costa Rica. She wasn't in Chicago with Russo. She was here, inside the impenetrable vault of Cassian’s estate.

“Evelyn,” I breathed, instinctively stepping in front of Mia and my mother. “How did you get in here?”

Evelyn chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. She kept the gun leveled perfectly steady. “Please. I grew up with Cassian’s security architect. I’ve had the blueprints to this bunker for months. While Margaret’s rented thugs are keeping Cassian busy upstairs, I slipped through the old drainage tunnels.”

“Why?” I demanded, my voice trembling but my stance firm. “You have the trust documents. You have the money. You’re free.”

“I’m not free,” Evelyn snapped, her facade cracking slightly to reveal a desperate, wild panic underneath. “Russo didn't want the trust documents proving Mia is a Vale. He doesn't care about a child.”

“Then what does he want?”

“He wants the deed to the Aldridge estate,” Evelyn said, stepping closer. “My mother’s estate sits on the only deep-water port Russo needs to move his weapons through the East Coast without Cassian knowing. He told me if I brought him the deed, he’d pay me ten million and protect me from Cassian.”

“So you came to steal it.”

“I came to get what’s mine!” Evelyn yelled. “But when I opened my mother’s safe, the deed wasn't there. Because Margaret didn't have it.”

She pointed the gun squarely at my face.

“Cassian took it,” Evelyn sneered. “Three months ago, as collateral for our marriage. He keeps it in his personal vault. The vault that requires his biometric scan, and his wife’s thumbprint.”

I stared at her, horrified. “You want me to open the vault for you.”

“I want you to give me the thumbprint,” Evelyn corrected, pulling a heavy, tactical hunting knife from her belt with her free hand. “Whether it’s attached to your body or not is entirely up to you.”

Behind me, my mother let out a choked gasp. Mia whimpered, burying her face into my leg.

“Evelyn, you’re insane,” I said, backing up slowly, keeping my body shielding the others. “If you hurt me, Cassian will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“Cassian is probably bleeding out in his foyer right now,” Evelyn mocked. “Margaret sent thirty men. He’s good, but he’s not immortal.”

She lunged forward, grabbing me by the throat and slamming me against the concrete wall. The breath rushed out of my lungs in a painful burst. She pressed the cold, suppressed barrel of the gun against my temple.

“Move to the door,” Evelyn hissed in my ear. “Or I put a bullet in your mother’s oxygen tank and burn you all alive.”

I couldn't breathe. I looked at my mother, who was sobbing silently, and Mia, who looked so utterly broken.

I couldn't let them die.

“Okay,” I choked out. “Okay. Let me go. I’ll do it.”

Evelyn released my throat, keeping the gun trained on my back. “Open the door.”

I walked to the heavy steel door. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely type in the code Cassian had used earlier.

The door hissed open.

The stairwell was dark. Above us, the sounds of gunfire had stopped. The silence was heavier, more terrifying than the noise.

“Upstairs,” Evelyn ordered, jabbing the gun into my spine.

We climbed the stairs and entered the medical wing. It was empty. We moved through the corridors, heading toward Cassian’s master study. The estate was eerily quiet. Shattered glass covered the marble floors. Bullet holes peppered the expensive artwork.

But there were no bodies. No guards. No Cassian.

My heart sank. Where is he?

We reached the study. The doors were blown off their hinges.

Evelyn shoved me inside. “The wall safe. Open it.”

I walked over to the painting Cassian had moved earlier. The keypad was glowing green. I placed my thumb against the scanner.

It beeped twice. Red.

Access Denied.

Evelyn struck me across the face with the butt of her gun.

I fell to the floor, pain exploding across my cheekbone. I tasted blood.

“Do it right!” she screamed, completely unhinged now. “Press it firmly!”

“I am!” I cried, holding my face. “It’s not working!”

“Try it again, Evelyn.”

The voice came from the shadows of the room. Deep. Calm. Lethal.

Evelyn froze. She spun around, raising her gun.

Stepping out from the dark corner of the study was Cassian.

His white shirt was torn and soaked with blood on the left side. His face was bruised, and he was breathing heavily, but he held his weapon with terrifying, unshaking precision, aimed directly at Evelyn’s head.

“You think I’d link my primary vault to a wife I’ve had for three hours?” Cassian said, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “The scanner is keyed to my thumb, and my thumb alone. I just wanted to see how far you’d go.”

Evelyn’s hands shook. “Drop the gun, Cassian, or I kill her.”

She pointed her weapon down at me on the floor.

Cassian didn't blink. He didn't lower his gun.

“You pull that trigger, Evelyn,” Cassian said softly, “and my bullet will sever your brain stem before the shell casing from your gun hits the floor. You might clip Lydia, but you will absolutely die. Are you ready to die for Victor Russo?”

Evelyn’s breathing became erratic. She looked at me, then at Cassian. The realization that she was entirely outmatched was dawning on her.

“I have nothing,” Evelyn sobbed suddenly, the gun wavering. “My mother has nothing. If I don't bring Russo that deed, he’s going to kill me.”

“He’s going to kill you anyway,” Cassian said cold. “Russo doesn't leave loose ends.”

Cassian took a slow step forward.

“Put the gun down, Evelyn. And I will let you walk out of here alive. I’ll even give you enough money to disappear. A real disappearance. Not the sloppy amateur hour you pulled today.”

Evelyn stared at him. The desperation in her eyes warred with her pride.

She looked down at me. She saw the blood on my lip. She saw the oversized dress that she was supposed to wear.

With a bitter, defeated sound, she lowered the gun and dropped it onto the carpet.

Cassian immediately moved forward, kicking the weapon away. He didn't look at her again. He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands gently framing my face, checking the cut on my cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice entirely different now. Desperate. Soft.

“I’m fine,” I breathed, reaching up to touch his blood-soaked shirt. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s a graze,” he dismissed it instantly.

Before he could help me up, the sound of heavy boots echoed in the hallway. Brendan, Cassian’s head of security, walked in, followed by two armed men.

And between them, struggling and screaming, was Margaret Aldridge.

She was in handcuffs.

“Let me go!” Margaret shrieked, her hair wild, her expensive clothes torn. “You have no right! I know the police commissioner!”

Cassian slowly stood up, pulling me up with him. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around my waist, pulling me against his side.

He looked at Margaret with absolute disgust.

“The police commissioner is the one who signed the warrant, Margaret,” Cassian said.

Margaret stopped struggling. “What?”

“Did you really think I wouldn't retaliate?” Cassian asked smoothly. “While your rented thugs were shooting at my reinforced windows, my attorneys were handing over three decades of your forged financial records to the FBI. Including the documents proving you embezzled from the Aldridge trust. The trust that rightfully belongs to Lydia.”

Margaret’s eyes went wide. She looked at me, then back at Cassian. “You can't do this. I am an Aldridge!”

“Not anymore,” Cassian said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an antique gold pocket watch. He clicked it open, checking the time.

“It is exactly six PM. As of this moment, the banks have foreclosed on your estate. Your assets are frozen. You are completely, utterly ruined.”