For a long second, nobody spoke.
Cassandra could feel Julian's breath just behind her ear—tense, ragged, ready to fight.
Margaret Beaumont stepped further into the conservatory, her heels making soft clicks on the marble tile. Her coat—a sleek grey cashmere lined with blood-red satin—billowed as she moved.
"Put the bravado down, darling," she said to Cassandra. "We didn't come to hurt you."
"No," Cassandra said coldly. "You just came to drug, manipulate, and experiment on your children."
Julian's father—Robert Ashford, the man with a face carved from secrets—chuckled. "Children. You make it sound so nefarious."
"It is," Julian growled. "You turned our marriage into a science project."
Margaret's eyes gleamed. "We turned it into the future. A perfect blend of legacy, loyalty, and innovation."
"You call this perfect?" Cassandra's voice cracked as heat swelled in her chest.
"No," Margaret said calmly. "But it's promising. Come with us. There's more you need to see."
Julian snorted. "You really think we're going to follow you underground?"
"Of course," Robert said smoothly. "Because if you don't, your memories will be wiped again. And this time, we'll separate you. Permanently."
Cassandra's breath hitched.
Julian looked at her.
They didn't say anything.
They didn't have to.
The elevator ride down felt like a descent into another world.
The walls were mirrored black glass. The music was classical, faint and distorted, like it was being played underwater.
Julian reached for Cassandra's hand and threaded their fingers together.
This time, it wasn't about safety.
It was defiance. Bond. Heat.
He looked at her, voice low. "No matter what they show us, don't let them rewrite what we are."
Cassandra swallowed hard. "What are we?"
Julian leaned closer. "A slow-burning fire they never saw coming."
Her heart thudded. She looked up at him.
"If they touch you again," he added, "they're going to learn what happens when a cold-blooded heir falls in love with the woman who was supposed to destroy him."
That silenced her.
Not because it was cheesy.
But because it felt true.
And she wasn't ready for the way her body responded to it—tight, hot, breathless.
This wasn't the kind of attraction they could contain with snark or sarcasm anymore.
This was dangerous.
This was real.
The elevator opened into a high-tech subterranean facility.
Stark white walls. Labs. Surveillance rooms. A massive chamber filled with screens showing live footage from the house above—bedrooms, kitchens, even the attic.
"Oh my god," Cassandra whispered. "They watched everything."
Julian's jaw tightened. "They planned it all. The flickering lights. The 'ghosts'. The snowstorm lockdown. Even the kiss—"
"No," she interrupted, voice sharp. "That wasn't scripted."
He turned to her.
Their eyes locked.
It hung there—between them. Heavy. Heated. Bare.
Julian stepped into her space, heat radiating off him like a pulse. "Say it again."
She tilted her chin defiantly. "The kiss. That was ours."
His hand brushed her hip.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"And if I kissed you right now—here, in the heart of their surveillance wet dream—you wouldn't stop me?"
She leaned up, eyes smoldering. "Try me."
His mouth was on hers before the last word fell.
It wasn't soft this time.
It was consuming.
Like a man tasting something forbidden and finding it addictive. Her hands buried in his hair, her body pressed to his, the kiss turning feral, fast—fire and defiance and something that tasted like claiming.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Margaret was staring at them with the cool detachment of a scientist observing rare specimens.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "They've imprinted."
Robert nodded. "We'll need to recalibrate."
Julian turned on them. "No. No more recalibration. No more injections. No more twisted experiments. We're done."
Margaret simply smiled. "You think you're in control, Julian. But you're still within the simulation."
Cassandra froze. "What does that mean?"
Robert sighed. "The snowstorm. The locked doors. Even this lab. It's all constructed—part real, part virtual. We've been testing your psychological thresholds."
Cassandra stared at the mirrored wall.
And for the first time, saw a faint flicker—her reflection lagging a half-second behind.
Julian's hand tightened around hers. "Then take us out."
Margaret's smile widened. "You'll need to unlock yourselves. Together."
Back in the elevator, neither of them spoke.
Not until the doors shut again and the music started—this time, a soft jazz version of "Winter Wonderland."
Cassandra burst out laughing.
Julian blinked. "Are you okay?"
"No," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "But if we die in a Matrix snow globe, I want to at least laugh about it."
Julian stepped close, pulled her into his arms, and pressed his forehead to hers.
"You won't die," he whispered. "Not while I'm breathing."
She shivered—not from fear this time.
"Julian—"
"I love you."
Her breath caught.
He didn't blink. "This isn't strategy. It's not the serum. It's not the stupid experiments. It's you. Your fire. Your mouth. Your mind. You make me feel alive—like I've never been a puppet. And I don't want to escape this place unless I'm escaping with you."
She stared at him, lips parted.
Then her hand slid behind his neck.
And she kissed him.
Slow, deep, and devouring.
"Okay," she whispered. "Let's burn the simulation to the ground."