Chapter 3 He Controls Me

# Chapter 3: He Controls Me

Three weeks into my charade, and I was beginning to understand that my cage, though luxurious, was shrinking by the day. The brownstone Cassian had "gifted" me was nothing but an extension of his surveillance network. Every room contained hidden cameras—I'd found four in my bedroom alone, three in the bathroom. Nothing was private. Nothing was mine.

The morning after the café incident, I awoke to find Noah, Cassian's younger brother, sitting in my kitchen. Unlike Cassian's brooding intensity, Noah possessed an easy charm and laughing eyes that crinkled at the corners.

"Morning, sis," he said, raising his coffee cup in salute. "Thought I'd check on you after yesterday's drama. The video's already got two million views online."

I froze in the doorway. "Video?"

Noah tapped his phone, turning it to show me: Cassian pressing me against the car, his hand on my chin, our faces inches apart. The headline read: "THORNE HEIR'S DISTURBING ENCOUNTER WITH NEWLY DISCOVERED SISTER."

"Cassian's PR team is in meltdown," Noah said, watching me carefully. "Mother's furious."

I sank into a chair opposite him. "I didn't ask for any of this."

"Didn't you?" Noah's voice remained light, but his eyes had sharpened. "It's strange. I grew up with Elise, but looking at you..." He tilted his head. "It's like meeting a stranger wearing my sister's face."

My heart stuttered. "Trauma changes people."

"So does lying." Noah's smile never wavered. "Don't worry, I haven't shared my... concerns with Cassian. He's too far gone to listen anyway."

Before I could respond, the front door opened. Cassian strode in, his tailored suit immaculate despite the early hour. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Noah.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Cassian asked, his tone deceptively mild.

Noah rose languidly. "Just welcoming our sister to the family circus." He kissed my cheek, whispering, "Watch yourself," before clapping Cassian on the shoulder and sauntering out.

The moment the door closed, Cassian's demeanor shifted. He moved toward me with predatory grace, pulling me to my feet.

"Did you see it?" he demanded.

"The video? Noah showed me."

His jaw tightened. "It's been handled. The photographer who took it won't be working again."

The casual menace in his voice sent a chill through me. "What did you do?"

"Protected you. Protected us." His eyes scanned my face. "You're upset."

"I'm not used to being watched every second," I admitted, deciding honesty might serve me better than pretense in this moment. "The cameras, the security team, now this..."

Something darkened in his expression. "Come with me."

He led me through the house to a room I hadn't entered before—a security hub with multiple monitors showing feeds from every corner of the brownstone. Including, I noted with horror, a crystal-clear view of my shower.

"You watch me bathe?" I whispered.

Cassian didn't deny it. Instead, he touched one of the screens, his fingers tracing the outline of my sleeping form from the previous night's footage.

"You talk in your sleep," he said softly. "Did you know that? Sometimes you cry out."

I stepped back, genuinely unsettled. "This is invasion, not protection."

"You don't understand." His voice had taken on an edge I hadn't heard before. "I let you out of my sight once before. I won't make that mistake again."

That evening, I tried a new approach. I dressed for dinner at the main house in an innocent white dress, my hair loose around my shoulders—the picture of sisterly propriety. Helena watched me throughout the meal with narrowed eyes, while Noah made pointed comments about family resemblances that cut too close to the truth.

After dinner, I found Cassian alone in the library, nursing a glass of whiskey.

"May I join you?" I asked from the doorway.

He looked up, his face softening at the sight of me. "Always."

I settled into the chair across from him, deliberately keeping distance between us. "I wanted to apologize for this morning. You're right—I don't understand what it was like to lose a sister."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't pretend with me." He set his glass down with deliberate care. "Not here. Not when we're alone."

My pulse quickened. "I don't know what you mean."

Cassian rose in one fluid motion and crossed to my chair. Leaning down, he placed his hands on the armrests, caging me in. His face hovered inches from mine, close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin.

"You're not afraid of me," he said, his voice low. "You should be, but you're not. Why is that, I wonder?"

I couldn't look away from his gaze—dark and knowing and hungry. "You're my brother," I whispered, the lie bitter on my tongue.

His laugh was soft and without humor. "Is that what we're pretending?"

Before I could respond, the library door opened. Helena stood there, her expression calculating as she took in our proximity.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked coolly.

Cassian straightened unhurriedly. "Mother. Did you need something?"

"Just checking on our guest." Helena's emphasis on the last word was slight but unmistakable. "It's getting late."

I rose quickly, grateful for the interruption. "Yes, I should be going. Goodnight."

As I passed Helena, she caught my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Be careful with games you don't understand, dear," she murmured, for my ears alone. "My son is not what he seems."

That night, I couldn't sleep. I paced my bedroom, aware of the cameras tracking my movements, aware that somewhere, Cassian might be watching. The thought should have repulsed me. Instead, it sent a peculiar thrill through my veins.

Just past midnight, my bedroom door opened.

I sat up, clutching the sheets to my chest. "Who's there?"

Cassian stepped into the dim light cast by the bedside lamp. He wore only pajama bottoms, his chest bare and sculpted with muscle. I'd never seen him so undressed, so... human.

"You were screaming," he said simply. "In your sleep."

I swallowed hard. "Just a nightmare."

He moved to sit on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "About what happened to you? When you were taken?"

The lie I'd prepared rose easily to my lips. "Sometimes. Other times, I dream about before—about us as children."

His eyes, always intense, seemed to burn in the low light. "What do you remember about us, Elise? The truth."

For a wild moment, I considered telling him everything—who I really was, why I'd come. Instead, I reached for his hand, playing my part. "I remember... feeling safe with you."

Cassian's fingers interlaced with mine, his thumb stroking my wrist where my pulse raced traitorously. "I failed you once," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I let you get taken."

"It wasn't your fault," I whispered, the scripted comfort feeling hollow.

"Everything I've built, everything I've done since that day—it was all for when you returned." His free hand reached up to touch my hair, sliding through the strands with a reverence that made me shiver. "I knew you would come back to me."

The possessive note in his voice should have alarmed me. Instead, it awakened something dark and wanting in my chest.

I pulled away slightly. "Cassian, you're not... I'm your sister."

His hand moved from my hair to my cheek, his touch feather-light. "I'm not in the habit of lying to myself, even if others lie to me."

My breath caught. Did he know? Had he seen through me from the beginning?

But then he leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, "Maeve, I don't care if you're my sister or not. I only care that you don't leave me."

He knew my name—my real name. Not Elise, but Maeve. Terror and something far more dangerous flooded through me.

Before I could respond, he rose from the bed and walked to the door. There, he paused, looking back at me with an expression I couldn't decipher.

"I'm not in your life by accident," he said softly. "I lose one time. I won't lose again."

With that, he was gone, leaving me trembling in the darkness.

I didn't sleep again that night. How could I, when my carefully constructed plan was unraveling around me? Cassian knew—or suspected—who I really was. Yet instead of exposing me, he was playing his own game, one whose rules I didn't understand.

In the pale light of dawn, I stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. Behind me, I knew a camera watched, recording my every move. I should have felt violated, angry. Instead, I found myself wondering if he was watching right now—if those dark eyes were fixed on my image, drinking me in.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered to my reflection, knowing he might hear.

As if in answer, my phone chimed with a message from an unknown number: "Everything."