The mole hadn’t just been feeding information to our enemies—they’d been planning this from the beginning.
And now they’d just raised the stakes in a game where losing meant death for everyone I cared about.
Including Cassie.
9
CASSIE
The black dress Roman’s stylist had chosen for me was way out of my league, more movie star than…well, an average person like me.
I stared at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror of our bedroom, trying to recognize the woman looking back at me. The silk clung to my curves like it had been painted on, the neckline just low enough to be elegant rather than scandalous. Diamond earrings—real ones—caught the light every time I moved my head.
I looked like I belonged in Roman’s world.
I felt like a fraud in designer heels.
"You look beautiful," Roman said from behind me, his reflection appearing in the mirror. He moved with a predatory grace that made my pulse spike, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced ease. The black tuxedo transformed him from a dangerous businessman into something even more lethal—a man who commanded empires while looking like he’d stepped off a magazine cover.
"I feel like I’m playing dress-up," I admitted, smoothing my hands down the silk.
His eyes met mine in the mirror, and for a moment, something softer flickered across his features. "You’re not playing anything, Cassie. Tonight, you’re my queen. Act like it."
The words sent electricity straight down my spine.Queen. Like I was something precious instead of a pawn in his inheritance game.
Roman stepped closer, his hands settling on my waist with possessive warmth. I could smell his cologne—expensive and dark, with notes that reminded me of whiskey and smoke. His mouth found the curve of my neck, pressing a kiss that made my knees weak.
"The Flanagan Foundation Gala is where the real power in this city shows its face," he murmured against my skin. "Politicians, judges, business leaders—all of them owing favors to the families that built this place. Tonight, they’ll see that the Creed name isn’t going anywhere."
I leaned back against his chest, feeling the solid strength of him. "And me?"
"You're proof that I’m thinking about the future instead of just surviving the present." His arms tightened around me. "But Cassie? Some of these people will smile to your face while planning your funeral. Stay close to me."
The warning should’ve terrified me. Instead, it made something fierce and protective flare in my chest. Let them try. I’d survived five months working for Roman’s world without even knowing the rules. Now that I understood the game, I wasn’t backing down.
The ride to the Four Seasons was quiet, Roman’s hand resting on my thigh while he reviewed something on his phone. Every few minutes, his thumb would stroke across the silk of my dress, an absent gesture that made heat pool low in my belly. By the time we arrived, my heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves.
The hotel’s ballroom had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale—if fairy tales included armed security and guests who looked like they could order hits between appetizers. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over tables draped in emerald green, and Celtic knots were woven into the floral arrangements. Everything about the space whispered old money and older secrets.
"Mr. Creed." A woman in a shimmering gold gown approached us, her smile bright and calculating. "How wonderful to see you. And this must be the famous fiancée we’ve all been hearing about."
Roman’s hand found the small of my back, a claiming touch that sent shivers up my spine. "Margaret Flanagan, meet Cassie James. Cassie, Margaret runs the foundation and half the charitable organizations in the city."
"All in service of our community," Margaret said, though her eyes were already cataloging every detail of my appearance. "I do hope you’ll consider joining our board, Miss James. We always need fresh perspectives."
Fresh perspectives. Code for young blood to replace the old guard. I smiled, channeling every lesson my mother had taught me about dealing with women who saw other women as competition.
"I’d be honored to contribute however I can," I said. "Roman speaks so highly of the work you do."
Margaret’s smile faltered —she’d expected me to be intimidated, not polished. "How lovely. I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss."
She glided away, and Roman’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Well done. She was expecting a trembling little mouse."
"I’m not trembling," I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. My hands were steady, but my stomach had been churning all evening. Nerves, I told myself. Just nerves.
The evening progressed like a choreographed dance. Roman moved through the crowd with effortless authority, introducing me to judges and city councilmen, business owners and charity board members. Everyone knew who he was, and, more importantly, they knew what he represented. The Creed name carried a weight that went back generations.
"To the sons and daughters of Éire," called out Judge Thomas O’Sullivan, raising his glass during the dinner toast. "May our heritage remain the last sacred thing in a world that’s forgotten the meaning of loyalty."
