[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 161: Nice

NOAH

I was about to walk toward the revolving doors when I saw a flash of movement. The side executive exit opened, and Cassian stepped out.

He was wearing a black suit that looked like it cost more than my apartment building, looking as untouchable and perfect as the day I first met him. He was alive. He was here.

"Cassian!" I shouted, my voice cracking as I broke into a run. "Wait!"

He stopped, his hand already on the door handle of a waiting car. He turned, and for a split second, I saw his composure fracture. His eyes widened in genuine, unadulterated surprise.

"Noah?"

I reached him, panting, my lungs burning. My brain finally caught up with my feet, and I realized how insane I must look... disheveled, breathless, and shouting at one of the most powerful men in the country in the middle of a public street.

"I—I wanted—I need—" I stammered, the words tangling in my throat. I was panicking, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Cassian watched me struggle for a moment, a small, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. But underneath the amusement, there was a flicker of concern.

He didn’t ask what I was doing there. He didn’t scold me for the public outburst.

He simply opened the car door wider. "Get in."

"What?" I blinked, still gasping for air.

"Get. In," he repeated, his voice firmer. It wasn’t a request; it was a command that brooked no argument.

I obeyed. My body seemed to recognize his authority better than my mind did. I slid into the backseat, and he followed, sitting so close that I could feel the heat of him. The door thudded shut, sealing us in a quiet, leather-scented cocoon.

The car pulled into traffic, the partition between us and the driver sliding up with a silent, mechanical hiss. Silence stretched between us, heavy and thick. Cassian didn’t look at me; he was casually scrolling through his phone as if we were just two colleagues sharing a commute.

"I heard what happened," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I paused, swallowing hard. "To Alex."

Cassian didn’t look up. "Did you?" His tone was perfectly neutral, entirely unbothered.

I studied his profile, looking for any crack in the mask. I wanted to see guilt, remorse, or even a glimmer of satisfaction.

I found nothing. His expression was a blank slate, the face of a man who had just finished a routine business meeting.

"Sir, are we still heading to the bar?" the driver’s voice came through the intercom. "Or your new residence?"

"The residence," Cassian said, finally pocketing his phone. "Directly."

The car wove through the city, eventually leaving the commercial district for the lush, gated hills of the upper class. We pulled through a set of massive wrought-iron gates, and I gasped.

It wasn’t a house; it was a palace. A sprawling, white-stone villa with manicured lawns, a tiered fountain, and architecture that belonged in a high-end travel magazine.

"What the—" I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

We exited the car, and I stood there gawking at the double doors as they were opened by an elderly, impeccable butler.

"Welcome home, sir," the man bowed.

A warm-faced woman in a neat apron... the housekeeper... appeared behind him. "Mr. Wolfe! Young master! I’ve prepared dinner as requested. Would you like it served after you settle?"

"Not yet, Mrs. Chen," Cassian said, handing his jacket to the butler. "I’ll call when we’re ready."

He gestured for me to follow him into the interior. If the outside was a palace, the inside was a museum. Marble floors that shone like mirrors, high ceilings with crystal chandeliers, and art on the walls that I recognized from history textbooks.

"Do you like it?" Cassian asked, catching me staring.

"What’s there not to like?" I snapped, my defensiveness rising to meet my awe. "It’s basically a palace."

"I acquired it shortly after we left for Spain," he said, leading me toward a private, well-stocked bar area. "I’ve come to despise hotels."

"Must be nice," I muttered under my breath, "buying palaces on a whim."

Cassian heard me... I saw his lips twitch in a smirk... but he didn’t comment. He stepped behind the bar and selected a crystal decanter of amber liquid.

"Mrs. Chen!" he called out.

The housekeeper reappeared instantly. "Yes, sir?"

"Freshly made juice for my guest," he said, glancing at me. "Something tropical."

"Right away, sir," she smiled, disappearing toward the kitchen.

I stood there, feeling like a toddler. He was having expensive whiskey, and I was being served "tropical juice" with an umbrella.

It was considerate, sure, but it also felt pointedly domestic.

"You’ve been acting strange," I blurted out. I hadn’t meant to say it, but the last twenty-four hours had been a fever dream of "nice" Cassian.

He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. "Strange how?"

"You’re—nice," I struggled with the word. "To me. Why?"

Cassian’s smirk returned, playful and challenging. "Would you have preferred I act the way I usually do?"

"No!" I said, far too quickly. "I just—it’s weird. You’re being weird."

He chuckled... a low, warm sound that vibrated in the quiet room... and took a sip of his whiskey. Mrs. Chen returned then, placing a tall, vibrant glass in front of me. It was a masterpiece of mango, pineapple, and passion fruit, garnished with fresh mint and a tiny paper umbrella.

It was delicious. I drained half the glass before I even realized I was doing it, the cold sweetness momentarily distracting me from the grim reason I had come here.

For a second, I felt like a kid at a theme park, pampered and safe.

Cassian watched me, a strangely fond expression on his face as he watched me enjoy the simple pleasure of a drink.

Then, I set the glass down. The satisfaction faded, replaced by the cold weight of reality. My expression shifted, turning serious. I looked at him directly, drawing in a long, steadying breath.

"Cassian."

He set his whiskey down on the marble counter. "Ask."

My voice was quiet, but it didn’t tremble. "Did you kill Alex?"