A Principessa's Funeral Pyre

I always thought that if I just held on a little longer, I could see this marriage through—a union meant to secure our family's interests.

But my fiancé, Ronan, and my brother, Sebastian, showered Amber and her mother with their protection, leaving me with nothing but cold indifference.

They demanded I accept the daughter of a traitor as my duty, a humiliation that was unbearable.

In a moment of wild self-destruction, I did the unthinkable. I dragged my suitcase away and let the manor, a place saturated with our memories, be consumed by a consuming fire.

News reports stated the manor had been burned to the ground. The family's internal investigation found that security footage showed no one leaving the premises, leading them to the preliminary conclusion that I had perished in the blaze.

Ronan refused to believe it.

It wasn't until he and Sebastian saw the box of my belongings at the family Consigliere's office that the truth sank in. Seeing the things I cherished most—a family heirloom, a custom pen from my father—finally made them realize this wasn't just another tantrum. I was gone for good.

A real pity.

By then, it was far too late.

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1

My fiancé, Ronan, from a family of equal standing, and my own brother, Sebastian, had both fallen for a woman with no status named Amber.

One of them betrayed the marriage contract our families had arranged. "A Principessa like Cassandra? Forget it, she's out of my league."

The other forgot his vow to our mother on her deathbed. "Amber is so vulnerable," he’d said. "I'm just extending my protection to her as well. Is that too much to ask?"

On my birthday, my fiancé Ronan chose to be with Amber.

On the anniversary of my mother's death, Sebastian was also with Amber and her mother.

The last time I brought up our postponed wedding date to Ronan, the entire VIP room of the dinner party fell silent.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and Ronan's undisguised, overbearing presence, an invisible hand tightening around my throat.

Ronan's friend, Liam, noticing his impatience, immediately started to jeer.

"Still thinking about your wedding?"

"Our Cassandra has always carried herself like a queen, hasn't she? What, has reality finally started to set in?"

I ignored the piercing laughter and noise.

I just stared at Ronan on the sofa, the engagement he’d so carelessly dismissed sending a dull, constant ache through my heart.

I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice, shards scraping against my bones. It was a Griffin instinct—a primal response to having my dignity trampled.

His shirt collar was slightly open. On the side of his neck was a cheap lipstick stain that wasn't mine.

This man has betrayed our family's covenant, a cold voice roared in my mind.

It felt like a needle, so fine it was almost imperceptible, piercing my skin. The pain arrived a moment later, sharp and cruel.

"We were young and foolish," Ronan said, lifting his eyes. The corner of his lip curled into a thin, mocking smile.

"We were naive enough to think the family's arrangements were always for the best."

He looked at me with a bored indifference. "Cassandra, we're all adults now."

"Let's just forget about those childish family games."

He rejected me, just like that.

I stared at him in shock, about to speak, when the door to the room was pushed open.

Amber walked in, wearing a skimpy performance outfit.

With her brown hair and slender waist, she swayed seductively to the center of the room.

The cloying sweetness of her perfume cut sharply through the masculine scents in the room.

When she saw me, her body trembled. "Cassandra…"

Her eyes instantly reddened, and she shot a quick glance at Ronan.

"I'm… I'm sorry. Am I interrupting you?"

Her voice trembled as she spoke, looking like a frightened fawn, and she turned as if to leave.

Ronan suddenly stood up and kicked a bodyguard who was in his way.

The bodyguard lost his balance and crashed into the table behind me, shattering the wine glasses all over the floor.

Glass fragments flew, and one of them sliced my arm. Blood welled up, hot and fast, streaming down my arm as the sting sharpened into a vicious pain.

The scent of blood hit the air, and instinct—sharp and cold—straightened my spine. The Griffin in me was ready to strike.

But Ronan didn't even glance at me.

His face was as dark as a storm as he strode straight toward Amber.