Chapter 125: Stranger in the Mirror

NOAH

The person staring back at me from the full-length mirror was a stranger. He was polished, refined, and looked as though he belonged in the upper echelons of Barcelona society… the kind of person who didn’t blink at a four-figure dinner tab or a six-figure donation.

The suit was a masterpiece of tailoring: deep black with pinstripes so subtle they only caught the light when I moved, hugging my shoulders and tapering perfectly at my waist. It was the kind of suit that demanded respect.

My hair had been wrestled into submission by a professional Alex had sent to the suite. It was slicked back, every stray strand cemented into place, revealing the sharp lines of my face that usually hid behind a messy fringe. It wasn’t me. It was a costume.

I stared at my reflection, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. I looked put together, but inside, I was a landslide of nerves and unresolved grief. My hands, usually steady when I was drafting blueprints, fumbled with the silk tie. I couldn’t get the knot right. It was either too loose or so tight it felt like a noose. I had to start over for the third time, my breath hitching as I struggled with the simple task.

My mind refused to stay in the room. It kept drifting to the hospital room, to the smell of antiseptic, and to the cold, blue eyes of a man who had looked at me like I didn’t exist. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not after what he said. Not after he’d basically handed me over to Alex like a piece of unwanted luggage. But the more I tried to push Cassian out, the more he occupied the empty spaces of my mind.

The past forty-eight hours had been a blur of choreographed activity, and Alex Hendrix had been the director. He had been everywhere… bringing me coffee in the morning, checking on my progress with the project files, and ensuring I didn’t have a single moment to spiral into my own thoughts.

He had arranged everything for tonight. The suit, the stylist, the private car.

“You need to look the part, Noah,” he’d said yesterday, leaning against the doorframe of my room with that perfect, easy smile. “This gala is as much about the people behind the project as the project itself. You’ve worked hard. You deserve to stand in the spotlight.”

I had let him do it. I had let him dress me and direct me because the alternative was too painful to contemplate. Sitting alone in the suite, staring at the door Cassian had walked out of, waiting for a phone call that would never come? No. I chose the distraction. I chose the man who actually seemed to want me around.

Cassian had become a ghost. A phantom presence felt only through the ripple effects of his orders. I heard he was recuperating from a grade-two concussion… that he was under doctor’s orders to stay in bed.

All communication regarding the project had shifted. It was virtual, sterile, and filtered through three different layers of people before it reached me. I received emails from “The Office of Cassian Wolfe,” but never a direct message. Never a phone call. I never heard the low, gravelly vibration of his voice or felt the sudden drop in atmospheric pressure that always accompanied his entrance into a room.

I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself that the distance was exactly what I’d asked for. I told myself I was better off without the manipulation and the coldness. But as I stood in that expensive suit, I realized I was lying to the stranger in the mirror. I was hoping he would show up tonight. God help me, I was looking for him in every shadow.

My phone buzzed on the vanity, a harsh vibration against the marble. I picked it up, and my heart sank when I saw the name on the screen.

Nick.

I considered ignoring it, but the habit of being the “disappointment” was hard to break. I opened the thread, and a barrage of messages flooded the screen.

“Where are you? Went by your apartment. You weren’t there. Your landlady says you’ve been gone three weeks now. What is going on?”

Before I could even process that one, another followed.

“Stop being childish. Mom is upset.”

Then: “You need to apologize. You’re being selfish and spoiled as usual.”

And finally, the kicker: “Did you see the news? About me? Of course you did. Everyone did. Dad has been in a good mood. This might be the perfect time for you to regain your status in the house.”

The condescension was palpable. It dripped from every word, every punctuation mark. Nick didn’t talk to me like a brother; he talked to me like a failing project.

A stupid, disappointing child who couldn’t keep his life together while he was busy saving the world. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. He just wanted to make sure I knew he was still the golden child.

“She’s your mother too. You owe her respect.”

My fingers hovered over the digital keyboard. I wanted to type back something that would draw blood. I wanted to tell him I was currently in Barcelona, working on one of the most high-profile architectural projects in Europe. I wanted to tell him I didn’t give a damn about his news.

But I didn’t. I locked the phone and tossed it onto the bed. He wasn’t worth the energy. Not tonight.

A sharp knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Bennett? It’s time. The car is downstairs.”

It was the driver Alex had arranged. I took one last, lingering look at the stranger in the mirror. I straightened the lapels of my jacket, checked the pinstripes one last time, and headed out.

The car was a sleek, black Maybach, the interior smelling of expensive leather and silence. Everything Alex provided was top-tier, a constant reminder of the world he moved in. As we drove through the winding streets of Barcelona, the city lights blurred past the window in a smear of gold and white. My stomach was tied in knots.

I’ve never been good at this. The networking, the schmoozing, the art of saying a thousand words while saying nothing at all. Even though my work often required public appearances, I had always felt like an interloper. A fraud.

Just breathe, I told myself, clutching my hands in my lap. You can do this. It’s just one night. Represent the firm, smile for the cameras, and then you can go back to being invisible.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep