Chapter 10 - What Really Happened to Cassian’s Wives
I learned the truth about Cassian’s six marriages over breakfast.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't beautiful.
It wasn't simple.
That was why I believed it.
Victoria had been twenty-three when she married him.
Cassian had been twenty-seven.
Their families expected the marriage.
Neither objected strongly enough to stop it.
They lasted fourteen months.
“We were terrible together,” Cassian said.
Victoria confirmed it through video call.
“You never listened.”
“You threw a vase at me.”
“It was ugly.”
“It was Venetian.”
“It deserved death.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Victoria smiled.
“There. He needs someone who laughs at him.”
Cassian ended the call shortly afterward.
Wife number two, Sofia, had been a protection arrangement.
Wife number three, Isabel, began as genuine affection.
That relationship might have survived if Richard and Adrian hadn't threatened her sister.
Wives four and five—Marina and Elise—had been short marriages linked to business alliances during a period Cassian now admitted was “spectacularly stupid.”
Their divorces were sealed because both women requested privacy after threats.
Wife six, Elena, had testified against her brother.
Cassian married her because his name provided immediate security.
She ran barefoot through the snow because assassins had located the house.
Cassian had ordered her evacuated so quickly she left without shoes.
The newspaper headline became:
TERRIFIED WIFE FLEES VALE ESTATE BAREFOOT.
“The truth was less interesting,” Cassian said.
“You were saving her.”
“I was trying.”
“Did she survive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“Witness protection means what it sounds like.”
I stared at him over my coffee.
“You let everyone think you're some kind of monster.”
“I didn't create every rumor.”
“You didn't correct them.”
“No.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Fear is cheaper than war.”
I sat back.
There it was.
The Mafia boss.
Not a misunderstood saint.
Not an innocent man.
Cassian had made choices.
Some ugly.
Some pragmatic.
He had benefited from his reputation.
“You've hurt people.”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Killed anyone?”
Mateo suddenly stood.
“I should leave.”
Cassian waved him back.
He looked at me for a long moment.
“I've ordered things I'm not proud of.”
That was not a confession to a specific crime.
It wasn't a denial either.
I appreciated that he didn't insult me with one.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because if you're going to remain here while Richard is loose, you should know whose house you're in.”
I looked around.
“Do you want me afraid of you?”
“No.”
“Do you care whether I am?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
He looked down at his coffee.
“I don't know yet.”
That answer frightened me for a completely different reason.
I changed the subject.
“Where are Margaret and Charles?”
“Charles surfaced.”
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Where?”
“His attorney arranged a meeting with federal investigators.”
I stared.
“He's turning himself in?”
“More accurately, he's trying to negotiate before Margaret or Richard does.”
Of course.
Charles Aldridge had spent his life surviving by finding the most profitable side of every crisis.
“What is he offering?”
“Testimony against Richard.”
“And Margaret?”
“He claims he doesn't know where she is.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
Evelyn entered.
She looked exhausted but steadier.
“I do.”
We both turned.
“My parents stopped trusting each other years ago.”
She poured coffee.
“My mother has accounts Dad doesn't know about.”
Cassian studied her.
“You knew?”
“I knew she had secrets.”
“Where would she go?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“London.”
“Too obvious.”
“Switzerland.”
“Monitored.”
She frowned.
Then looked at me.
“The lake house.”
“What lake house?”
“My grandmother’s.”
“Location?”
“Lake George. Mom inherited it privately. Dad hates it.”
Mateo was already searching.
Within fifteen minutes, cameras showed Margaret’s car entering a private road near Lake George the previous night.
Police were notified.
But Margaret wasn't there when they arrived.
The house had been cleared.
One thing remained.
A voice recorder.
And a message for me.
Cassian played it.
Margaret’s voice filled the library.
“Lydia, if you're hearing this, you've done something very foolish.”
I closed my eyes.
Even recorded, she could make me feel seventeen again.
“You think Cassian saved you. He didn't. He simply replaced one owner with another.”
Cassian's expression tightened.
“Your mother understood the arrangement. Your father did not.”
My hands curled.
“Thomas could have lived. All he had to do was sign.”
The room went silent.
I stopped breathing.
Margaret continued.
“He refused.”
My mother began crying behind me.
“He believed principles would protect his family.”
A pause.
“They didn't.”
My vision blurred.
Cassian reached toward the recorder.
I stopped him.
“No.”
I needed to hear it.
“Your father caused his own death by refusing to understand the world as it is.”
Margaret’s voice softened.
“You have the same flaw.”
Then:
“Come to me alone, Lydia. I'll tell you exactly what happened that night.”
The recording ended.
No location.
But Mateo found metadata embedded in the file.
It had been created forty-three minutes earlier.
At an abandoned Aldridge textile mill outside Albany.
Cassian said, “You're not going.”
I turned.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“She knows what happened to my father.”
“And she wants you emotionally compromised.”
“She's been emotionally compromising me for eighteen years.”
“That doesn't mean you walk into her trap.”
“You walked into Richard's.”
“With backup.”
“So will I.”
Cassian stared at me.
“You don't understand.”
“No. You don't.”
I stepped closer.
“For my entire life, people have decided what's best for me.”
“My father decided I shouldn't know.”
“My mother decided silence would protect me.”
“Margaret decided my labor belonged to her.”
“You decided I shouldn't go to River House.”
“And now you're deciding I don't get to face the woman who threatened me when I was eight.”
Cassian said nothing.
My voice shook.
“You said you wouldn't own me.”
“I never said—”
“You didn't have to.”
I held his gaze.
“So prove it.”
Something changed in his expression.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He nodded.
“All right.”
I hadn't expected agreement.
“You'll let me go?”
“I don't let you do anything.”
The distinction mattered.
“Then what?”
“I'll help you prepare.”
That was the moment I first understood how different he was from Margaret.
Margaret called control protection.
Cassian, when forced to choose, let protection exist without control.
The next morning, I went to Albany.
Not alone.
Not unprepared.
But by choice.
May you like
And Margaret Aldridge was waiting.
---
