Blair Bathory

For years, he cultivated an alliance with Magnus Whitmore, a widowed venture capitalist nearly four decades older than Cassia. Magnus owned data farms in Iceland, mining just not cryptocurrency, but influence. He was old money cloaked in futurism, with a jaw like granite and a reputation that made regulators flinch. Cassia had never been asked what she wanted. Her body was branded with luxury.

Her decisions handled by publicists. Her engagement to Magnus was announced in Forbes before it was ever mentioned to her. But Cassia had a secret. Lucio was a part-time event staffer, a nobody in the Delacroix machine, 19, with a shy laugh and a habit of wiping his hands on his jeans before touching anything expensive. He worked catering gigs at the estate.

Her decisions handled by publicists. Her engagement to Magnus was announced in Forbes before it was ever mentioned to her. But Cassia had a secret. Lucio was a part-time event staffer, a nobody in the Delacroix machine, 19, with a shy laugh and a habit of wiping his hands on his jeans before touching anything expensive. He worked catering gigs at the estate.

Her decisions handled by publicists. Her engagement to Magnus was announced in Forbes before it was ever mentioned to her. But Cassia had a secret. Lucio was a part-time event staffer, a nobody in the Delacroix machine, 19, with a shy laugh and a habit of wiping his hands on his jeans before touching anything expensive. He worked catering gigs at the estate.

She met him once by the infinity pool during a fundraiser. He brought her a drink with shaky hands and didn't look at her like she was a goddess, just human. He didn't follow her on social media. He didn't ask for a picture. He asked if she was tired. She was. Their affair bloomed like a bruise, secret, sore, and growing.

She met him once by the infinity pool during a fundraiser. He brought her a drink with shaky hands and didn't look at her like she was a goddess, just human. He didn't follow her on social media. He didn't ask for a picture. He asked if she was tired. She was. Their affair bloomed like a bruise, secret, sore, and growing.

She met him once by the infinity pool during a fundraiser. He brought her a drink with shaky hands and didn't look at her like she was a goddess, just human. He didn't follow her on social media. He didn't ask for a picture. He asked if she was tired. She was. Their affair bloomed like a bruise, secret, sore, and growing.

Lucio met her in a pool house, behind blackout curtains and beneath security blind spots. He spoke of escape. She spoke of fear. He's buying me, she whispered one night, curled beneath him like a folded letter, like I'm an investment portfolio with legs. I'll get you out, Lucio had promised. You don't owe him anything. Cassia knew better. Girls like her didn't run.

Lucio met her in a pool house, behind blackout curtains and beneath security blind spots. He spoke of escape. She spoke of fear. He's buying me, she whispered one night, curled beneath him like a folded letter, like I'm an investment portfolio with legs. I'll get you out, Lucio had promised. You don't owe him anything. Cassia knew better. Girls like her didn't run.

Lucio met her in a pool house, behind blackout curtains and beneath security blind spots. He spoke of escape. She spoke of fear. He's buying me, she whispered one night, curled beneath him like a folded letter, like I'm an investment portfolio with legs. I'll get you out, Lucio had promised. You don't owe him anything. Cassia knew better. Girls like her didn't run.

They got renamed, repackaged, disappeared in luxury. The wedding was scheduled in the Whitmore Estate's private chapel, a reconditioned church high in the Berkshires. Exclusive guest list, NDA-bound staff, no press. Cassia wore couture white. Her father held her arm like a man escorting a doll down a runway.

They got renamed, repackaged, disappeared in luxury. The wedding was scheduled in the Whitmore Estate's private chapel, a reconditioned church high in the Berkshires. Exclusive guest list, NDA-bound staff, no press. Cassia wore couture white. Her father held her arm like a man escorting a doll down a runway.

They got renamed, repackaged, disappeared in luxury. The wedding was scheduled in the Whitmore Estate's private chapel, a reconditioned church high in the Berkshires. Exclusive guest list, NDA-bound staff, no press. Cassia wore couture white. Her father held her arm like a man escorting a doll down a runway.

She walked stiffly, her vision narrowing as the stained glass windows blurred with tears she wouldn't let fall. Halfway down the aisle, Christopher leaned in and said softly, "'You'll thank me for this.'" She looked up, following his gaze to the old bell tower.

She walked stiffly, her vision narrowing as the stained glass windows blurred with tears she wouldn't let fall. Halfway down the aisle, Christopher leaned in and said softly, "'You'll thank me for this.'" She looked up, following his gaze to the old bell tower.

She walked stiffly, her vision narrowing as the stained glass windows blurred with tears she wouldn't let fall. Halfway down the aisle, Christopher leaned in and said softly, "'You'll thank me for this.'" She looked up, following his gaze to the old bell tower.

The window yawned open like a mouth mid-scream, and from it, something dangled, slack-limbed, swaying, casting a shadow that twitched when the wind didn't. Lucio. His head alone hung from the iron crossbeam. His curls were matted, his mouth agape in a silent scream, his skin gray with death. She didn't scream, only gasped, like something had reached inside her and squeezed.

The window yawned open like a mouth mid-scream, and from it, something dangled, slack-limbed, swaying, casting a shadow that twitched when the wind didn't. Lucio. His head alone hung from the iron crossbeam. His curls were matted, his mouth agape in a silent scream, his skin gray with death. She didn't scream, only gasped, like something had reached inside her and squeezed.

The window yawned open like a mouth mid-scream, and from it, something dangled, slack-limbed, swaying, casting a shadow that twitched when the wind didn't. Lucio. His head alone hung from the iron crossbeam. His curls were matted, his mouth agape in a silent scream, his skin gray with death. She didn't scream, only gasped, like something had reached inside her and squeezed.

Her knees buckled as if gravity had turned cruel. Somewhere, a candle flickered out without wind. She collapsed mid-aisle in a heap of silk and sequins. Her father caught her and smiled tightly for the guests. The ceremony continued. Magnus barely blinked. The guests whispered, but no one left. Later, during the reception, Cassia was gone. There was a crash, glass high above, and then silence.