Chapter 111: Regret

My body went still. Every nerve ending in my body felt suddenly alert, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I tilted my head, a cold, empty smile touching my lips… the one that didn’t reach my eyes. “I see you did your homework.”

“You dug into my life,” Durant replied calmly. “It’s only fair I do the same.”

“Fair enough,” I said, leaning back and trying to ignore the way my heart was starting to pound. “Which brings me back to my question. Why would you trust me? After everything you found? After the blood and the prison and the dirt?”

Durant set his cup down and looked at me with those knowing eyes. Old eyes that had seen empires rise and fall. “Because I saw something the other day. At my daughter’s wedding. When we spoke about love.”

My chest tightened. I wanted to look away, but I was pinned by his stare.

“You pretend very well, Cassian,” Durant said. “You wear this mask of cold indifference. Of ruthless ambition. You play the role of a man who doesn’t care about anything or anyone. You do it so well that I suspect most people believe it.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t react. I remained a statue of stone and tailored wool.

“But I’ve lived long enough to recognize when someone is running from themselves,” he continued. The words hit like a physical punch… sharp, precise, landing right where the armor was thinnest.

“You don’t trust yourself. You don’t believe you’re capable of being good, so you’ve convinced yourself you’re not.”

My jaw clenched, my teeth grinding together until I heard the faint pop in my joints.

“You hide behind this image of a monster because it’s easier,” Durant said softly. “It’s easier than trying to be the man you could be. Easier than risking failure. Easier than getting hurt.”

“You’re pathetic,” Noah’s voice whispered in my ear. “You’re toxic. You take what you want and throw it away.”

Durant leaned forward, his voice a low, steady hum. “But I saw through it. When you spoke about love, about wanting to understand it… that wasn’t the voice of a man incapable of caring. That was the voice of someone who cares too much and is terrified of it.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to stand up and tell him he was a senile old man who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I wanted to dismiss his insight as the ramblings of a romantic who had lost his grip on the harsh realities of the world.

But the words stuck in my throat. They felt like stones.

Because maybe he was right. Maybe I was running. From the memory of Julian. From the look of regret in his eyes before the end. From the way Noah looked at me when he realized I wasn’t the savior he’d hoped I was. I was running from the possibility that I wasn’t just a Wolfe… that there was a human being under the title who was starving for something more than power.

“You remind me of someone I knew,” Durant said, his eyes turning distant and sad. “A long time ago. Someone who spent so long convincing himself he was unworthy of love that by the time he realized he was wrong, the person who could have loved him was gone.” He looked back at me, his gaze piercing. “Don’t make the same mistake, son.”

A strange, unwelcome emotion rose in my chest. It felt hot and suffocating, a pressure that threatened to crack the mask once and for all.

I shoved it down. I locked it away in the deepest, darkest cellar of my mind, right next to the memories of the prison cell and Julian’s lighter. I pulled the mask back over my features, smoothing out the lines of my face until I was once again the cold, efficient Cassian Wolfe.

I cleared my throat and straightened in the chair, my movements stiff. “I appreciate your… insight, Mr. Durant,” I said. My voice was controlled again. Professional. Distant. “Shall we proceed with the paperwork? I have a busy schedule today.”

Durant watched me for a moment longer, a flicker of disappointment… or perhaps pity… crossing his face. Then he nodded, letting it go. For now.

“Of course,” he said, reaching for a leather folder on the desk. “Let’s get the signatures out of the way.”

As he opened the folder, I sat there, staring at the fountain pen. My hand was steady, but inside, I felt like I was falling.

The following hour was a descent into the clinical, cold reality of high-stakes acquisitions. We moved through the paperwork with the practiced ease of men who used ink as a weapon.

Durant’s lawyers were a phalanx of polished professionalism, sliding contracts across the mahogany desk with synchronized precision. Terms were weighed, clauses were scrutinized, and I signed my name over and over… Cassian Wolfe… each stroke of the pen a tether binding me to a future I wasn’t sure I wanted.

I reviewed the integration clauses, making meticulous notes for my own legal team in London, but my focus was a frayed wire. My mind kept drifting, caught in the gravitational pull of Durant’s insight and Noah’s wrath. I was executing a perfect business maneuver, yet I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.

Finally, the last document was stamped. The deal was sealed, pending the final legal sweep. Durant stood, smoothing the front of his vest, and extended a hand.

“I look forward to working with you, Cassian,” he said.

I stood as well, my hand meeting his in a firm, dry grip. “Likewise,” I replied, the lie tasting like copper in my mouth.

I walked out of the mansion and into the mid-morning sun. It was blinding. The Spanish light was too bright, too unforgiving, exposing every crack in my composure.

Cyan’s car was idling right at the front of the driveway, some high-tempo pop song blasting from the speakers, the bass vibrating against the pavement. It was obnoxious. It was loud. It was exactly what I didn’t need.

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