Chapter 1 The Deceptive Game

# Chapter 1: The Deceptive Game

I've spent ten years planning for this moment. Ten years of rehearsing every word, every gesture, every tear that would fall when I finally faced him. Cassian Thorne. The man who destroyed my mother and, by extension, my childhood.

The black town car glided through the iron gates of the Thorne estate, gravel crunching beneath its wheels. My heart hammered against my ribs as the mansion came into view—a sprawling Gothic monstrosity that seemed to devour the landscape around it. White marble steps led to towering oak doors, flanked by stone columns that stretched toward the sky like accusing fingers.

"We're here, Miss," the driver said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

I smoothed down the simple blue dress I'd chosen for this occasion—understated, modest, nothing that would draw too much attention. The perfect outfit for a lost girl coming home. The perfect disguise for a liar.

"Thank you," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.

As I stepped out of the car, the autumn air bit at my cheeks. I had practiced this walk countless times—hesitant yet hopeful, the gait of someone afraid to believe they'd finally found where they belonged. The letter in my purse burned against my side—my mother's final words, written in a prison cell before she took her own life.

*Destroy the one called Cassian. He destroyed me.*

My mother had been a housekeeper for the Thorne family, accused of stealing a priceless heirloom. No one believed her innocence. No one except me. And now I was here, ready to infiltrate the very heart of the Thorne empire by posing as their long-lost sister, the one who had mysteriously disappeared a decade ago.

The front door opened before I could knock. A tall woman in her sixties stood there, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes narrowing as she assessed me.

"Mrs. Winters," I said, recognizing the housekeeper from my research. "I'm—"

"I know who you claim to be," she interrupted, her voice like ice. "Mr. Thorne is waiting in the study."

She turned without another word, leaving me to follow her through the cavernous foyer. The house smelled of old money—beeswax polish, aged leather, and the faint scent of roses. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Thornes staring down with cold, judgmental eyes. I'd studied each face, memorized every name and date associated with this dynasty.

Mrs. Winters paused before a heavy mahogany door, knocking once before opening it. "The young woman is here, sir."

And then I was standing in the lion's den.

The study was dimly lit, dominated by a massive desk and walls of leather-bound books. A fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room. And there he was—Cassian Thorne. Taller than I expected, broader in the shoulders, with eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the firelight rather than reflect it.

At thirty-five, he was the youngest CEO in his family's history, known for his ruthless business tactics and brilliant mind. The financial press called him "The Wolf of Wall Street on steroids." I'd prepared myself for a monster.

What I hadn't prepared for was his stillness. He didn't move from where he stood by the window, didn't speak, just watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

"Hello," I said softly, injecting a tremor into my voice. "I... I think I'm your sister."

Cassian's expression didn't change, but something flickered in those dark eyes—something I couldn't read.

"Sit," he finally said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.

I perched on the edge of the leather seat, folding my hands in my lap—the picture of nervous anticipation.

"You understand why I'm skeptical," he said, his voice deeper than I'd imagined, with a quiet authority that filled the room. "It's been ten years since Elise disappeared. We've had dozens of women claim to be her."

I nodded, having rehearsed this conversation countless times. "I understand. I... I don't remember everything. The doctors said it might be trauma."

"And what do you remember?" he asked, moving to sit behind his desk.

I recited the story I'd crafted from newspaper clippings, social media posts, and the confidential files I'd paid a small fortune to obtain. A kidnapping at age twelve. Years held captive. A dramatic escape. Amnesia that slowly cleared to reveal fragments of a privileged childhood.

As I spoke, I watched him watching me. His face remained impassive, but his hands—large, with long, elegant fingers—tightened almost imperceptibly on his desk.

"You've been through quite an ordeal," he said when I finished. "If what you say is true."

"I understand your doubt," I whispered, looking down. "I have... I have nightmares sometimes. Of being taken. Of a boy calling my name." I glanced up, meeting his gaze directly. "I think it was you."

Something changed in his posture then—a slight softening around the shoulders, perhaps.

"There will be DNA tests," he said flatly.

I nodded, fighting to keep my expression innocent. The DNA tests had been the trickiest part of my plan, but money could buy almost anything—including a lab technician willing to swap samples.

"Of course. I want the truth as much as you do."

Cassian stood abruptly, crossing to a cabinet where he poured amber liquid into a crystal glass. "You look like her," he said, his back to me. "Like Elise when she was young."

I remained silent, letting the tension stretch between us.

When he turned, his eyes held something new—a vulnerability I hadn't expected. "Do you remember the tree house?"

A test. One I was prepared for. "By the lake," I said quietly. "You carved our initials inside."

He took a step toward me, then another, until he stood directly before my chair. Slowly, he crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. This close, I could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle, with notes of cedar and bergamot.

"What did I call you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "When no one else was around?"

I held his gaze, heart thundering. This wasn't in any of my research. This was something private, something I couldn't possibly know.

"I don't remember everything," I admitted, allowing real tears to well in my eyes. "There are still... gaps."

Something like disappointment crossed his face, but then he reached out, one finger brushing a tear from my cheek. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through me.

"It will come back to you," he said, his voice gentler than before. He straightened, towering over me once more. "Until the DNA results arrive, you'll stay here. We have guest rooms prepared."

"Thank you," I said, rising to my feet. "I know this is strange. For both of us."

Cassian studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace.

I froze, unprepared for the contact. His arms were strong around me, his chest solid against my cheek. For a wild moment, I forgot who I was supposed to be, who he really was.

"You've come home," he murmured against my hair. "That's all that matters now."

I forced myself to relax into his hold, to play the part of the relieved, grateful sister. But as I stood there, enveloped in the embrace of the man I'd come to destroy, something shifted inside me—a hairline crack in my certainty.

When he finally released me, his eyes were suspiciously bright. "I'll have Mrs. Winters show you to your room."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

As I turned to leave, he called my name—not Elise, but the name I'd given as my current identity.

"Maeve."

I paused at the door, looking back at him.

Cassian's face had transformed, his earlier vulnerability replaced by something harder, more intense. He gazed at me with such focus that I felt physically pinned in place.

"You look..." he said slowly, "exactly like her when she was a child."

A chill ran down my spine—not at his words, but at the possessive gleam in his eyes. This wasn't simply a brother recognizing a sister. This was something else entirely.

I trembled, not entirely for show this time. "Brother," I whispered, the word foreign on my tongue. "Do you... do you still remember me?"

Something dark and hungry flashed across his face before he masked it with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Every day for ten years," he said quietly. "I never forgot you for a single moment."

As Mrs. Winters led me up the grand staircase to what would be my new prison and sanctuary, I realized with growing unease that I might have underestimated Cassian Thorne. I had come prepared to face a villain, a monster I could hate without reservation.

What I hadn't prepared for was the possibility that the monster might see through me—or worse, that he might not be a monster at all.

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