NOAH

The bed at Cassian’s villa was a dangerous object. It wasn’t just soft; it was a place where gravity acted strange.

The sheets felt like they had been woven from clouds and expensive secrets, and the scent of cedar and cool rain, the scent that was purely Cassian, was everywhere.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

I just closed my eyes for a "strategic transition," and then the world disappeared.

When I woke up, the light in the room had shifted from the harsh gold of morning to a mellow, stretched-out afternoon glow. My body felt rearranged in that specific, heavy way that only happens after a nap that hit exactly where it needed to.

I checked my phone: 1:14 PM.

I’d been out for over two hours.

I sat up, pushing the hair out of my eyes, and realized the sheer absurdity of my situation. I was Cassian Wolfe’s executive assistant.

I was currently in Cassian Wolfe’s bed. In Cassian Wolfe’s sweatpants. While he was downstairs being a Titan of Industry.

Noah, you are a disaster, I thought, but I didn’t actually feel like one. I felt... rested. And curious.

I crept down the stairs, moving slowly in case I accidentally walked into a lingering board member or a very confused government official.

But the villa was a tomb of high-end minimalism. The sitting room was empty.

The study, where the heavy lifting usually happened, was dark. The kitchen was a pristine desert of basalt and chrome.

Even Miss Chen was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello?" I whispered.

The house didn’t answer.

The realization hit me like a shot of espresso: I was alone in the villa. For the first time, I could actually look at the place without Cassian’s intense blue gaze tracking my every move or Cyan’s erratic energy throwing me off balance.

My adventurous spirit, which usually stays tucked away behind spreadsheets and schedules, suddenly stood up and demanded a tour.

I started in the sitting room. Without people in it, the space felt like a gallery. The furniture was heavy, dark, and positioned with a terrifying amount of intention. There were no "accidents" here. No stray coasters, no mismatched pillows.

I looked at the art on the walls. It wasn’t just "expensive art"; it was specific. Abstract pieces that looked like frozen lightning, sculptures that seemed to be mid-movement.

There were no family portraits. No photos of a smiling young Cassian at a graduation.

Everything was a choice he had made for himself, a curated identity that owed nothing to anyone else.

Even the art is controlled, I thought. He probably interviewed the painters or something.

I found the library through a heavy door off the main room. It was floor-to-ceiling mahogany, and it smelled like old paper and something sophisticated, like the books themselves had opinions about who was allowed to touch them.

They weren’t organized by color or height like a decorator would do. They were organized by subject. Criminal law, architecture, classical philosophy. There was a section in the corner that looked centuries old, the leather cracked and gold-leafed.

"Of course he has a library," I muttered to an empty leather armchair. "Of course he does."

I followed a long, sun-drenched corridor that led toward the back of the house.

I passed a room that looked like a secondary operations center, screens, maps pinned with markers I decided were probably classified, and a wall of filing cabinets that looked like they belonged in a bunker.

I backed out of that one very quietly, making sure the door clicked shut exactly as I’d found it.

Then, I saw the glass doors at the end of the hall. I pushed them open and stepped outside.

"Oh," I said. The garden deserved at least that much.

It wasn’t a decorative garden. It was a considered one. A decorative garden wants you to look at it; this garden simply existed in a state of perfect, quiet balance.

The plants were positioned with the same careful arrangements as the kitchen tile. Each one was placed exactly where the light would hit it best, chosen for its texture and its breath.

I looked at a flowering shrub near the far stone wall and thought of the sad, wilting succulent currently dying on my apartment windowsill.

"My plant would have an inferiority complex just being in the same zip code as you," I told a very dignified-looking fern. The fern remained indifferent.

I walked the stone path as it curved toward a small water feature. It wasn’t a showy fountain; it was a low, stone basin where water bubbled softly over dark pebbles.

The sound was a constant, calming pulse. It felt like a space designed for someone who lived in a world of noise and needed one place where the volume was always zero.

As I rounded a tall, perfectly manicured hedge, the view opened up even further.

"He has a pool," I said, stopping dead. I took a beat. "Of course he has a pool. I’ve been using his shower like a peasant, and there was a POOL this whole time?"

It was long, minimalist, and filled with water that was a blue so vivid it looked like it had been imported from the Mediterranean.

The tiles at the bottom were visible, shimmering under the afternoon sun.

Everything around it, the lounge chairs that definitely cost more than what I could imagine, the side tables was covered or positioned with that same obsessive neatness.

I looked at the villa from this angle, taking in the full scope of what Cassian had built. It was a fortress of his own making.

After a lifetime of being told what to do and where to go by a father who didn’t love him, he had carved this out of the world. Every stone, every leaf, every drop of water was his.

I headed back inside, feeling a little like an intruder who had accidentally fallen in love with the crime scene. I found myself in a different wing, following the sound of a rhythmic, metallic clink-clink.

Metal on metal. And the sound of someone breathing, a controlled, heavy exhale.

Miss Chen appeared from a linen room, carrying a stack of perfectly folded towels.

She didn’t look surprised to see me wandering around in her employer’s clothes.

She just gave me a warm, knowing smile.

"Can I get you something, Noah?" she asked.

"No, no," I said, feeling the flush return. "I was just looking around. I... I didn’t realize how big the house was."

Does she know? The thought screamed in my head. Yes. She definitely knows. She saw the marks. She hears the bed. How is she this calm?

I felt a sudden spike of anxiety, imagining the scandal if anyone ever found out what was happening between Cassian Wolfe and his assistant.

I forced the thought into a box and locked it. "Do you know where Cassian is? I thought he had a meeting."

"The meeting concluded about an hour ago," Miss Chen said. "Mr. Cassian went upstairs to check on you, but you were asleep. He decided not to wake you. He’s in the gym now."

"The gym. Right. Of course."

"This way," she said, gesturing toward a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

I opened the door and was hit by a wave of cold air. The air in here was different, it smelled of exertion and ozone. The gym was massive, filled with equipment that looked like it belonged in a professional athlete’s training camp. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the afternoon light.

And then I saw him.

Cassian was at the weight bench. He was wearing black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, but he’d discarded his shirt. I stood frozen in the doorway, my brain suddenly forgetting how to process basic information.

I looked at the weights he was moving. I did the math on the plates. The math resulted in a number that should have been impossible for a human being to lift without a crane.

Cassian was moving them with a slow, grinding rhythm that made every muscle in his back and arms flare and cord.

The sweat caught the light, glistening on his shoulders and trickling down the deep groove of his spine.

I watched the way his abdomen rippled with every breath, my eyes tracing the lines down to the little trail of dark hair and veins that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

I found myself staring at the heavy, unmistakable outline beneath the fabric of his sweats, and my throat went dry.

A thought arrived, unbidden and primal: I want that in my mouth.

The heat in my body spiked. I was practically drooling, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I felt a sudden, sharp ache between my legs, my own body responding to the sight of him without my permission.

I will never go back, I realized with a jolt of terror. The person I was before this—the "normal" Noah—is gone. He’s dead. He left the building. I am a goner.

I slapped myself lightly on the cheek to snap out of it. Noah, stop. You are being a whore.

This is Cassian Wolfe, not a piece of meat. Even if he is... very high-quality meat.

Cassian set the weights down with a resounding thud that echoed through the room.

He sat up, grabbing a towel, and turned his head. He saw me standing there, flushed and wide-eyed, looking like I’d just been caught committing a crime.

He didn’t look surprised. He just smirked, that slow, knowing tilt of the lips that said he had tracked every single thought currently racing through my head.

"Looks like you’re finally awake," he said, his voice husky from the workout.

He stood up, unfolding to his full, intimidating height. He was still glistening, his presence filling the gym until there was no room for anything else.

"I... yeah," I stammered, trying to find my voice and failing miserably. "I didn’t know you had a gym. You didn’t tell me."

"I didn’t realize it was a requirement for the invite," he teased, walking toward me.

I tried to pivot, to find some shred of professional dignity. "Well, it’s a very... nice gym. I’ll just... leave you to it."

I turned to flee, but Cassian was faster. "Wait," he said, his voice stopping me in my tracks. "Didn’t you mention yesterday that you wanted to start working out more? To build some ’functional strength’?"

A sense of Impending doom washed over me. I remembered saying that. It had been a throwaway comment made while I was trying to look like I had a life of my own.

"I... I don’t think I meant today," I said, backing away.

"Actually, this is a perfect time," Cassian said, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light.

"I decline. I have... emails. So many emails."

"The emails can wait," he said, ignoring my protests. "Besides, we need to work on your stamina. It’s... lacking. Especially in the bedroom."

I turned bright red, my jaw dropping. "You are an animal! My stamina is perfectly fine! You’re just an insatiable monster with an abnormal libido! I’m leaving!"

I made a break for the door, but I only got three feet before I felt a large hand grip the back of my t-shirt. Cassian didn’t even have to try. He just hauled me backward, dragging me toward the mats.

"Let’s start with some cardio, Noah," he purred in my ear.

I screamed internally. I should have stayed in bed. I should have stayed in bed and watched telenovelas with Miss Chen. I was about to regret every single decision I had ever made.