Chapter 4 - The Midnight Confession
The kitchen timer ticked down with a rhythmic, deafening clack-clack-clack.
Marin didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for people who didn't have a sister waiting for heart surgery in a hospital bed. Her hands moved with blinding speed across the stainless-steel counter, dicing shallots, mincing garlic, and searing thick cuts of venison in a smoking cast-iron skillet. She didn't look at Cassius, who sat watching her every move from his wheelchair just a few feet away, his expression unreadable.
She poured a splash of dark red burgundy into the pan, watching the liquid hiss and foam as it lifted the caramelized bits of meat from the bottom of the iron.
Cooking with the whole heart. Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her memory. A meal isn't just fuel, child. It's a confession. It tells the person eating it who you are, and what you're willing to fight for.
With fifteen seconds left on the clock, Marin plated the venison atop a bed of parsnip puree, drizzling the rich, glossy reduction sauce in a precise arc across the white china. She garnished it with a single sprig of fresh rosemary.
She slid the plate across the marble island right in front of Cassius.
He didn't touch it immediately. He picked up his fork and knife, cut a small, precise piece of the meat, and brought it to his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as the flavors hit his palate.
The silence in the kitchen stretched out so long Marin could hear the hum of the industrial refrigerator in the corner.
Cassius set his silverware down. He looked up at her.
"You added juniper berries," he said.
"Yes, sir," Marin replied evenly. "Venison is gamey. It needs something sharp and earthy to cut through the richness, or the palate gets overwhelmed after three bites."
"My mother used to add juniper berries," Cassius murmured, his voice dropping into a register so quiet Marin had to strain to hear it. "Before she forgot how to cook. Before she forgot everything."
He picked up his fork again and finished the entire plate in silence.
When he was done, he pushed the plate away, looked up at Marin, and gave a single, slow nod. "You pass, Miss Holloway. You keep your job."
"Thank you, Mr. Vain," Marin said, letting out a long, ragged breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Don't thank me yet," Cassius added, wheeling himself back toward the doorway. "Because tomorrow, we leave the estate. And you are coming with me."
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Midnight descended on Chicago like a heavy velvet shroud.
Marin couldn't sleep. The encounter in the kitchen, the mention of the fire by Mrs. Edith, and the sudden announcement of a trip had her mind racing in a hundred different directions. Restless, she crept out of her third-floor staff quarters and walked down toward the grand library on the second floor, hoping to find a glass of water or a book that could dull her racing thoughts.
As she reached the top of the grand staircase, she noticed a faint sliver of light coming from beneath the library door.
She pushed it open quietly.
Cassius was sitting by the French doors that opened onto the second-floor terrace. The glass doors were pulled back, letting the freezing night wind whip through the room, fluttering the pages of open ledgers scattered across the Persian rug. He wore a dark wool sweater, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he stared out into the dark gardens.
He had a glass of amber whiskey in his hand, half-empty.
"I told you to stay out of my way after dark, Marin," Cassius said without turning around. He knew her footsteps by now.
"I couldn't sleep," Marin said softly, stepping into the room. She didn't run away. She walked over to the bar cart, poured a glass of water, and stood a respectful distance away from him. "And neither could you."
Cassius took a slow sip of his whiskey. "Men like me don't sleep, Marin. We just wait for the sun to come up so we have an excuse to keep moving."
"Why?" Marin asked, emboldened by the dark, quiet intimacy of the midnight hour. "You have an empire. You have money, power, fear—everyone in Chicago bows when you walk into a room. What is it that keeps you chained to that chair and this house?"
Cassius finally turned his wheelchair around. In the dim moonlight filtering through the terrace doors, his face looked older, harder, but utterly shattered.
"Power doesn't keep you warm at night, Marin," he said quietly. "And it certainly can't bring back a little brother who burned to death in a warehouse fire because his older brother was too arrogant to protect him."
Marin felt the air leave her lungs. The cold wind from the terrace suddenly felt freezing against her skin.
"That's what happened," she whispered.
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"That's what happened," Cassius agreed, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a devastating vulnerability. "And tomorrow, we go to the man who set that fire. A man who thinks I’m helpless because I can't walk. A man who is about to find out why they call me a monster."
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