NOAH

Cassian started rattling off options like he was reading from a five-star menu. Eggs Benedict, omelets with herbs I’d never heard of, avocado toast with some kind of specialty salt.

Can you actually make all of those? I wondered. Who are you?

"Just... eggs and toast," I said. "Simple."

He got to work.

It was the most surreal thing I’d ever seen.

Cassian Wolfe, the man who ran XUM with an iron fist, the man who probably had a body count higher than my GPA, was moving through a kitchen with the specific, quiet competence of a professional chef.

He knew exactly where the spatula was.

He cracked eggs with one hand. His movements weren’t a performance; they were just functional.

And somehow, that was worse. Seeing his broad back, the way the silk of his shirt strained across his shoulders as he leaned over the stove... it was attractive in a way that felt deeply unfair. He looked domestic.

He looked like a husband.

I rested my chin on my hand, the flush still warm on my cheeks. I told myself I wasn’t staring. I was definitely staring.

As I watched him flip the eggs, a thought arrived. It was the same one that had been hovering since that night on the sofa.

Him.

The unnamed person from Cassian’s past.

The one who had taught him how to be something other than a weapon.

I looked at Cassian’s back and wondered if the person who had made him comfortable in a kitchen was that same person.

Was he the one who had taught Cassian that a home could be something other than a battlefield?

I promised myself I wouldn’t dwell on it. Not this morning. This morning was too good to ruin with ghosts.

I was in a beautiful villa, wearing the clothes of a man I was terrifyingly close to loving, watching him make me breakfast on a Tuesday.

The version of Noah Bennett that existed six months ago, the one who was just a nervous analyst at the very same firm, wouldn’t even recognize this life.

A new thought drifted in. A dangerous one.

What if this were just... how it is?

What if I got to have this every Tuesday?

What if this wasn’t a temporary arrangement or a high-stakes game? The "marriage thought" flared up in my brain, completely ridiculous, utterly insane, and my heart did something embarrassing in my chest.

I looked down at the counter quickly, hoping my face wasn’t betraying the fact that I was mentally picking out flower arrangements.

"Here," Cassian said, sliding a plate in front of me.

It was perfect. The eggs were exactly the right consistency, the toast was golden, and he’d even sliced the fruit in a way that looked artistic. I looked at the plate, then up at him.

"How—" I started, then stopped. "Never mind."

"Just eat," he continued, sitting across from me with his own plate.

I took a bite. It was genuinely good. I wanted to find a flaw, some small thing to prove he wasn’t perfect at everything, but I couldn’t.

"This is good," I admitted reluctantly.

Cassian didn’t respond with words, but I caught the briefest flicker of a smile. A real one.

"What’s the meeting about today?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer, professional waters.

"The rehabilitation center project," Cassian said. "We’re finalizing the hospital involvement and the government funding. XUM is taking the lead on the infrastructure."

At the mention of the hospital, I felt a small flicker of unease. Nick. The hospital was Nick’s project. My expression must have shifted because Cassian stopped mid-bite.

"You won’t run into him again," Cassian said simply. There was a casual, absolute protection in his voice. Like he was stating a law of nature.

"You don’t have to do that," I said, meeting his eyes. "I can handle Nick. I’ve been handling Nick since before you existed in my life. He’s a thorn, but he’s my thorn. I know how his mind works." I paused, my voice softening. "My father is a different story. He’s... more difficult. But Nick? I’m fine."

Cassian studied me for a long moment, searching for a crack in my resolve. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, holding his gaze.

Cassian gave me a slow, real smile, the rare kind that reached his eyes. "Good."

"The meeting starts in twenty minutes," Cassian said as he stood to clear the plates. "The representative is coming here. You aren’t needed for this one, Noah. Go rest."

It sounded like an instruction, but the way he looked at me made it feel like a gift.

I headed back upstairs. The bedroom was still a mess, the sheets were crumpled, carrying the heavy scent of Cassian and the evidence of our night.

Miss Chen hadn’t been in to clean yet. I climbed back into the bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin reaching for the TV remote. I’d stopped pretending I didn’t love the way everything here smelled like him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Mason.

Hey, did you get home okay?? Haven’t seen you this morning.

I stared at the screen. The lie felt heavy in my thumbs as I typed.

Yeah, got home fine. Running a little late today. See you later.

I sent it, feeling a twinge of guilt. Mason would lose his mind, in the best way possible, if he knew where I was, but I wasn’t ready to share this. This Tuesday morning was mine.

I lay there as the sun moved across the curtains, listening to the low, distant murmur of voices from the kitchen downstairs. Cassian’s voice, deep, authoritative, present.

I felt happy. It was a specific, fragile kind of happy, the kind you feel when you know the floor could drop out at any moment.

But for now, I was choosing to ignore the floor. I was choosing to be in this bed, with these marks on my skin and this breakfast in my stomach.

You can worry about what this means later, I told myself. Right now, it’s Tuesday. And that’s enough.

I almost believed it.