Mr. Villain's Lovely Wife (Izzy) novel Chapter 226

Let me Out!

Let me Out!

Cassandra glared at the man seated across from her. He hadn’t said a single word since they brought her in. His posture was straight, hands resting on the armrests of the steel framed chair like he owned the place–and maybe he did. The room was blindingly white, sterile in a way that scraped at her nerves.

“What is this place?” she asked. The walls were padded, the kind found in psychiatric isolation units, smooth and seamless. with no sharp corners, no decoration. The lights buzzed faintly above her, bright and unforgiving. There were no windows, no mirrors, no visible cameras–just silence.

She sat on a narrow cot, her ankles shackled to the floor, wrists cuffed to a strap looped through the bedframe. She didn’t know where she was. A hospital, maybe, or some private mental facility–but not the kind with nurses and polite intake forms. This was the kind meant to break people.

Then she stared at the man again.

The man in front of her had a scar running down the left side of his face, sharp and pale against his tan skin. It ran from the edge of his temple to his jaw, clean but deep. His suit was plain. No tie. A dark button–up under a heavier coat. He looked like someone who didn’t bother with security because he didn’t need any.

Cassandra’s eyes darted toward the door. It was closed. No handle on her side.

“What is this?” she asked. “Who are you?”

He didn’t move.

“Why the hell am I here? What do you want from me?”

Still nothing.

She stood up. Her legs were unsteady, but she walked anyway. The man’s gaze followed her. No reaction. Just that flat stare.

“I said–why did you bring me here? If you think this is going to get you something, you’re wrong.”

He blinked once. That was it.

Cassandra clenched her fists. “You know who I am, right? You must know. Because no one else would pull a stunt like this unless they thought they had something on me.”

He still didn’t answer.

She started pacing. “If this is about the Italy job–fine. I get it. Naples wasn’t handled cleanly. But I did what they asked. I got the deal pushed. If someone higher up didn’t like the optics, that’s not on me.”

Nothing.

Her eyes narrowed. “You work for Vasili? Or Johnson? No–no, they don’t use people like you. You’re not a paper pusher. You’re the guy they call when someone stops answering emails.”

She stopped in front of him. “So what is this, then? A warning?”

The man said nothing.

Cassandra’s voice sharpened. “If this is about that girl in Prague, she was never supposed to end up in the room. That was on the agent. I cleaned it up.” She had seen these type of people in the past and most of them only wanted to scare her. Still no reaction.

“Or is this about Melinda?” she asked, turning away. “Please. She begged for that contract. I told her exactly what it was. She signed anyway. That wasn’t my fault either!”

The man exhaled slowly through his nose. His expression didn’t change.

Cassandra’s mind moved fast. What had she done lately? The twins in New York? They were protected. The producer’s daughter? No way. Her father got paid double. Everyone signed off.

She turned back toward the man. “So who did I offend? Tell me. Was it some senator’s mistress? Another model with a boyfriend in tech?”

The man leaned forward slightly but still said nothing.

Her heart pounded harder now. She didn’t show it, but she felt it. That cold pull in her gut.

“You don’t scare me,” she muttered. “You’re jus

Successfully unlocked!

He tilted his head. She didn’t know if that meant amusement or juuyment. She didn’t care.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Cassandra added. “Men who locked girls in penthouses for months. One who bought his own island and filled it with pageant dropouts. I know the game. I made it better. Cleaner. Professional. So you better let me go or else

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Let me Out!

She stepped forward again. “I gave them purpose. Exposure. Deals. I have contacts everywhere and they will help me once they hear that I am missing!”

She paused.

The man finally blinked again, slow and deliberate.

Cassandra crossed her arms. “So tell me. What is it? What do you want?”

Silence.

She backed up and sat on the edge of the bed again. Her fingers clenched around the edge of the mattress.

She looked at him once more. “You’re wasting your time. Whoever you’re working for… they should’ve sent someone smarter.”

The man finally shifted in his seat. He reached into his coat and pulled out a single envelope.

However, the man didn’t hand the envelope to her. Instead, he extended it behind him. One of the two men standing near the door stepped forward, took it, and opened it carefully. He pulled out the contents–several large, high–resolution photographs–and turned them toward Cassandra.

Her body stiffened.

They were photos of her. In bed. Pale. Eyes shut. Her head tilted unnaturally against the pillow. Her arms limp. Her nightgown twisted halfway up her thigh. The lighting was clinical, and cold, like the kind you’d find in surveillance shots. In one, her mouth hung open slightly. In another, her hand was hanging off the edge of the bed, still holding a bottle.

Cassandra stared at them, unblinking.

“What is this?” she demanded. Her voice cracked partway through. “Where did you get these?”

The man in the chair finally spoke.

“This is what the world thinks now. That you tried to end your life. These are the images they’ll reference. These are the images they’ll remember.”

Cassandra pushed off the bed and stood. “That didn’t happen. I didn’t do that. I would never do that.”

He didn’t look at her.