Page 39 of The Merciless Don's Bride

“He cares for you a lot,” Ana’s voice fills the room, making me jump.

I completely forgot they were still here. And that they witnessed that entire interaction. My cheeks heat and I feel a little embarrassed that they did.

“She’s right. I’ve never seen the Don act so gentle with anyone,” Lila adds.

“Well he did kidnap me and take me away from my family so I’m not so sure I’m a fan of his version of care.”

“The Don never does anything without reason. Maybe he was trying to save you. Protect you from something you’re not aware of,” Ana states. “He’s not the monster you think he is.”

My lips press down in a frown. Of course the first time she says a full sentence to me, she does in defense of her boss. I think I preferred it when she wasn’t speaking.

I turn to face the mirror, my eyes narrow on the embroidered C on the white robe I currently have on.

“Let’s go back to finding my wedding dress, ladies.”

***

The house feels quiet without Damien here. Almost empty.

Which goes to show just how big his presence is. It’s like I can feel him. In the walls, in the air. He’s like a virus seeping in everywhere. Even into my very being. Which is unacceptable.

The silence in my room is also starting to drive me crazy. I’ve already flipped through every channel on the TV, skimmed three books without absorbing a single word, and stared at the ceiling long enough to memorize every detail.

Safe to say I’m bored. I haven’t really had much to do today. And everyone’s mostly left me alone. I hate being alone. I need movement. People. Noise.

Plus, the more time I spend alone, the more time I have to dwell on my thoughts. And that’s the last thing I need right now.

I pull on a loose pink cardigan from my closet, deciding to step out of my room. I decide to head to one of the most comforting places in this huge, intimidating mansion.

Renata’s kitchen.

The smell hits me before I reach the double-swinging doors, warm butter, vanilla and something nutty. I smile despite myself. Renata’s probably the most amazing cook I’ve ever met. And she just had this loving, motherly energy that somehow makes me feel safe.

When I push open the doors however, I don’t find her alone. Sofia’s already seated on a stool by the counter, scrolling through her phone, a mug of coffee steaming beside her.

She looks up when I enter, and her eyes narrow just slightly. I’ve been here more than a week and her ice-queen persona has yet to let up. That sweet girl Lila was telling me about? Yeah, she doesn’t exist. At least not to me.

That hasn’t stopped me from being cordial though.

“Cassandra,” she says without warmth.

“Good evening to you too, Sofia,” I say keeping my voice level.

Renata bustles in from the pantry before I can say more, her face lighting up the second she sees me.

“Cassie! Come, come. I was just saying how we need more hands.”

“More hands for what?” I ask eagerly, moving towards her.

She offers me a warm smile and gestures toward the counter where ingredients are already laid out. Flour, sugar, bowls, cutters in all shapes.

“Cookies. My almond shortbreads. And maybe some chocolate. Sofia said she’d help me.”

I glance at Sofia, who shrugs. “She didn’t give me a choice.”

“You love them,” Renata scolds tapping Sofia’s wrist. “Now hush. Cassie, wash your hands and grab an apron.”

It’s oddly comforting, the domesticity of it all. I find myself tying the apron strings around my waist with something close to enthusiasm. Especially because I don’t think I’ve ever baked anything in my life.

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