The air in the suite was too still.
Julian stood by the window, shirt unbuttoned, the Rome skyline a blur behind him. Cassandra moved like a ghost, pouring herself a drink with shaking hands she didn't want him to see.
He turned to her, sensing it.
"You're quiet."
She smiled tightly. "Wine first. Questions later."
But questions came anyway.
"Did you find the person who texted you?" he asked.
She froze for half a second. Just half.
"Yeah. Just a false lead."
He nodded, trusting. Too trusting.
And that's what broke her heart the most.
Later that night, as the rain tapped against the glass and Julian fell asleep with his arm wrapped around her waist, Cassandra lay wide awake—staring at the ceiling, unable to breathe.
In her bag was the file.
The one that said Julian Ashford was engineered—emotionally profiled, mentally conditioned, trained from childhood… to be her perfect match.
Not just compatible.
Crafted.
He didn't know. He wasn't supposed to ever know.
The Beaumonts and Ashfords had planned everything—down to his smile, his resilience, even the trauma he was forced to survive so he'd relate to her perfectly. Like puzzle pieces cut to fit after years of cold precision.
Her chest ached.
Because she loved him.
Not for what he was made to be—but for who he was anyway.
But now she couldn't tell where the design ended and the man began.
By morning, she was gone.
Julian woke to an empty bed and a note in her place.
> I need space.
Please don't come after me.
I just need to know if any of this was real.
He stared at the words like they were written in fire.
And for the first time in his life—Julian Ashford had no clue what to do.
Three Days Later – Switzerland
The snow was falling again.
Same cold. Same silence.
Cassandra stood on a mountain ledge near the old Beaumont chalet, her hair tangled in the wind, cheeks flushed from the bitter cold.
She hadn't cried yet.
She refused.
Instead, she burned inside.
Then a shadow fell across the snow behind her.
"You didn't think I'd actually stay away," Julian said.
Cassandra's spine went rigid.
She turned, slowly, to face him.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You left me."
She swallowed. "Because I had to."
"Bullsh*t."
She finally snapped. "Because you were made for me, Julian! Made. You didn't fall in love with me, you were programmed to."
His silence was a punch.
Then—he laughed.
Not cruelly.
Softly. Disbelieving.
"Cass…" he walked toward her. "Do you really think anything they made me feel… could ever come close to this?"
He touched her cheek, gently. Reverently.
"I don't love you because someone designed it. I love you because you're chaos wrapped in silk. Because you ruin everything I thought I wanted and make me beg for more."
She was crying now, eyes wild.
"How do I know that's real?"
He kissed her.
Hard.
Deep.
Hot.
She melted into him—until all the fear, the confusion, the pain blurred into want.
When they broke apart, breathless, he looked her dead in the eye.
"Was that real?"
She stared at him.
Then whispered:
"Yes."
That night, they made love like it was a war won after years of loss.
Clothes flew.
Walls rattled.
She clung to him like he was gravity.
He whispered her name like prayer.
And when it was over, tangled in sheets, hearts racing, he pulled her against his chest.
"No more running," he said.
"No more secrets," she agreed.
But outside, in the shadows—
A figure watched them from the trees.
Phone in hand.
Recording.
And smiling.