Chapter 128: Masterpiece

He was wearing a suit I’d never seen, a perfectly tailored black pinstripe that made him look older, sharper, and dangerously beautiful.

His hair had been styled back, revealing the elegant lines of his face. He looked like he belonged here. He looked like a masterpiece.

But something was wrong. I could see the tension in his shoulders from thirty feet away. He was holding himself with a brittle stiffness, his eyes darting toward the exits. He looked like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

And then I saw the cage.

Alex Hendrix was standing behind him, his hand resting firmly, possessively on the small of Noah’s back. He was smiling, charming a group of investors, his posture radiating a smug sense of ownership. He was touching him like he had every right in the world.

My jaw tightened so hard I felt the muscles ache. My fists clenched at my sides, the fabric of my trousers straining against the movement.

Noah looked up. Across the crowded room, through the haze of champagne and ego, our eyes met.

The connection was a physical blow. It was instant, electric, and terrifyingly intense. The noise of the ballroom faded into a dull roar, leaving only the two of us. I saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, the sudden intake of breath, and that same magnetic pull that had been ruining my life since the night he walked up to me.

Then, he looked away. He broke the contact, turning back to the group, back to Alex.

I forced myself to look away too. Don’t pay attention. Don’t care. He’s just an assistant. He’s just a liability.

I didn’t have time to dwell on the sight of Alex’s hand on Noah’s waist. The sharks were already circling.

A Senator approached first, his hand extended with practiced political warmth. “Mr. Wolfe. A pleasure to see you on your feet. My father sends his regards from the capital.”

I shook the hand. I gave the required nod. Then came a famous architect, gushing about the “vision” of the new development, followed by a financier from London who wanted to discuss “future opportunities” for my family’s portfolio.

They asked about my father. They asked about the company. They put in good words for themselves and their associates, all of them angling for a piece of the Wolfe empire.

It was exhausting. It was a performance. I played my part to perfection, shaking hands, smiling when the script called for it, giving nothing away. I was the CEO. I was the successor. I was the man they all feared and wanted to be.

Eventually, the lights dimmed, and a subtle announcement guided the guests to their tables. I was seated last, at the head table in the very center of the room. It was the “throne” of the event, a place where I was on display for every person in attendance.

The program began with a polished host introducing the partnership. On the massive screens behind the stage, architectural renderings of our project appeared, sleek, modern structures that promised a future of luxury and prestige. Scale models were wheeled out, illuminated by spotlights to look like gleaming jewels.

But I wasn’t watching the screens. My eyes kept drifting back to Noah.

He was at a table ten yards away, sitting next to Alex. Every few moments, his gaze would flicker toward me, a quick, darting movement before he looked back at the stage. Our eyes met again and again, a silent, charged conversation happening over the heads of the elite.

He would look away first, every time, but he always looked back. It was like a magnet.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Alex Hendrix leaned over, his lips nearly touching Noah’s ear. He whispered something, his hand shifting from Noah’s back to the curve of his waist. It was an intimate gesture, designed to be seen. He was marking his territory.

Noah flushed, a deep, visible crimson that I could see even from my seat. He looked flustered, his eyes flickering to me with a look of guilt before he dropped his gaze to the table.

Alex didn’t stop smiling. He looked directly at me over Noah’s shoulder, his expression one of pure, unadulterated triumph. He knew I was watching. He was enjoying every second of my silent fury.

My knuckles turned white under the table. A hot, consuming rage rose in my chest, threatening to burn through the “Wolfe” mask I worked so hard to maintain. He was doing this on purpose. He was using Noah to get to me, to prove that he could take the one thing I hadn’t even admitted I wanted.

“And now,” the host’s voice boomed through the speakers, “we are honored to formally announce the partnership between Wolfe Properties and Hendrix Corporation!”

The room erupted in polite, orchestrated applause. On the screen, our logos appeared side by side, a union of two empires. To the world, it was a business triumph. To me, it felt like a sentence. The media’s cameras flashed, documenting the moment we were publicly bound together.

“We’ll now hear from Mr. Cassian Wolfe,” the host said. “CEO of XUM Properties.”

I stood up. I buttoned my jacket, the motion crisp and final. Every eye in the room followed me as I walked toward the stage. I could feel Noah’s gaze burning into my back.

As I climbed the stairs and took the microphone, the stage lights blinded me. But I could still see them. Noah, looking up at me with those wide, conflicted eyes. And Alex, sitting beside him, his hand still possessively on Noah’s chair, smiling like he had already won the war.

I looked away from them and faced the crowd. I had a speech to give. I had a performance to deliver. I had to be the CEO. I had to be the Wolfe.

But as I opened my mouth to speak, all I could think about was the heat of Alex’s hand on Noah’s skin, and how much I wanted to tear this entire room down.

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