HIS 6TH BRIDE FATAL OBSESSION

I knew what I was the moment Killian Thorne's black Mercedes pulled up outside our house. Collateral. My father had been sweating through his shirt all morning, pacing the length of our cramped living room like a caged animal.  Mom hadn't said a word. She just sat in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of cold coffee, staring at nothing.  I wanted to shake her, scream at her to do something, say something, but what was the point? We both knew she wouldn't. She never did. Lila was at school. I'd made sure of that. Told her I had errands to run, kissed her forehead, and promised I'd help her with her math homework later. The lie tasted bitter, but it was kinder than the truth. I stood at the window and watched him step out of the car. Killian Thorne didn't look like a monster. That was the first problem. He was tall, broad shouldered, dark hair swept back like he'd just stepped out of some luxury magazine. His suit probably cost more than our house. He moved with the kind of confidence that came from never being told no, never having to worry about consequences.  Men like him didn't live in the same world as people like us. They existed above it, looking down, deciding who stayed and who drowned. Today, he'd decided I was worth keeping. "Cassia." My father's voice cracked. He was trying to sound authoritative. Failing. "Come here." I didn't move. Not yet. Let him sweat a little longer. The doorbell rang. My father lurched toward the door like a desperate dog, but I was faster. I stepped in front of him, met his bloodshot eyes, and smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "Let me," I said softly. He opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Good. He should be afraid of me. If I was going down, I'd make sure he remembered what it cost him. I opened the door. Killian Thorne stood on our crumbling porch like he owned it. Like he owned everything. His eyes found mine immediately, and I watched something flicker across his face. Interest. Hunger.  Satisfaction. I'd seen men look at me before. Grocery store clerks, my father's drinking buddies, boys at school who thought they had a chance. But this was different.  Killian looked at me the way a collector looks at a rare piece he's been hunting for years. Like I was already his. "Mr. Thorne." I kept my voice steady, tilted my chin up just enough to show I wasn't cowering. "Please, come in." His lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it had reached his eyes. "Cassia." He knew my name. Of course he did. He'd probably known everything about me before he ever made the offer to my father. He stepped inside, and the room suddenly felt smaller. My father practically tripped over himself, gesturing to our sad excuse for a couch, babbling apologies about the state of the house.  Killian ignored him completely. His attention stayed locked on me. "Leave us," Killian said without looking at my father. My father froze. "I... I thought we should discuss..." It wasn't loud. Didn't need to be. My father stumbled backward like he'd been shoved, disappearing into the kitchen where my mother sat like a ghost. The door clicked shut behind him. We were alone. Killian moved closer, slow and deliberate, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.  I held my ground even though every instinct screamed at me to run. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he said quietly. I remembered the day he'd come to collect my father's debt three weeks ago. I'd been coming down the stairs, books in hand, heading to the library.  Our eyes had met for maybe five seconds. That was all it took. Five seconds, and my father's debt became irrelevant. "You came for your payment," I said. Not a question. "I came for you." "There's a difference?" I asked, letting ice creep into my voice. Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. "You're angry." "I'm realistic." I crossed my arms, and his gaze dropped briefly to the movement before returning to my face.  Point taken. Everything about me interested him. I filed that information away.  "My father made a deal he couldn't keep. You're here to collect. Let's not pretend this is anything else." "You think I'm here to drag you out by your hair?" He moved closer still, and I could smell his cologne now. Expensive. Suffocating. "That's not how this works, Cassia." "Then how does it work?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document.  Opened it slowly, deliberately, like he was unwrapping a gift. "You sign this. You come with me. You become my wife." Wife. The word hung in the air between us like poison. "Your sixth wife," I corrected. His jaw tightened slightly. So he didn't like that number being thrown around. Interesting. "The others are irrelevant," he said. "Are they dead?" "No." "Then they're not irrelevant. They're competition." For the first time, genuine surprise crossed his face. Then that dangerous smile returned, wider this time. "You're not what I expected." "What did you expect? Tears? Begging?" I took a step toward him instead of away, watched his pupils dilate slightly. "I know what I am to you, Mr. Thorne. I'm the payment for my father's cowardice. But if you think I'm going to make this easy for you, you're mistaken." He was silent for a long moment, studying me with an intensity that would have made most people look away. I held his gaze. "You're right," he finally said. "You are payment. But you're also the most exquisite thing I've ever seen, and I don't share. I don't compromise. And I certainly don't lose." He held out the contract.  "Sign this, Cassia. Or I'll take your sister instead." The world stopped. My carefully constructed mask cracked. Just for a second, but he saw it. Of course he saw it. "You wouldn't," I whispered. "Lila, isn't it? Fifteen. Sweet girl. I'm sure she'd..." "Don't." The word came out raw, sharp.  My hands were shaking now and I hated it, hated him, hated my father for putting us here. "Don't you dare say her name." Killian's expression softened into something almost gentle. "Then we understand each other." He knew exactly which button to push. Lila was my weak spot, my only weakness, and he'd found it in under five minutes. I snatched the contract from his hands. Didn't bother reading it. What did it matter? The terms were simple: my life for hers. "Pen," I said flatly. He produced one from his pocket, handed it to me with those long, elegant fingers.  I signed my name in sharp, angry strokes. Cassia Hale. For the last time. "Good girl," he murmured. I looked up at him, let him see the rage burning in my eyes. "Don't ever call me that again." Instead of being angry, he looked pleased. Thrilled, even. Like I'd just confirmed something he'd been hoping for. "We leave in an hour," he said. "Pack light. Everything you need will be provided." "I need to say goodbye to my sister." "No." "Excuse me?" "You'll write her a letter. I'll have it delivered." He tucked the contract back into his jacket, then reached out and caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up.  His touch was surprisingly gentle. "She can't know where you're going, Cassia. It's safer that way. For her." Another threat wrapped in silk. I jerked away from his touch. "You're a monster." "Yes," he agreed easily. "But I'm your monster now. Get used to it."