Chapter 178: Unexpected guest

NOAH

The silence in the booth was so thick it felt like it had physical weight. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing the CEO of XUM in a neon-lit karaoke den; it was the way he stood there, radiating a cold, predatory stillness that made the upbeat pop music in the background sound like a funeral dirge.

I stared at the hand that had snatched the glass. It was steady, the skin pale and flawless against the charcoal wool of his sleeve. My eyes traveled up the arm, over the broad set of his shoulders, and finally landed on his face.

Cassian.

He didn’t say a word to me. He simply tilted the shot glass back, draining the clear, biting liquid in one effortless swallow. He set the glass down on the low table with a sharp clack that made every single person in the booth flinch as if a gun had gone off.

Oh god. Oh no. Oh god, my brain chanted in a frantic, unhelpful loop. Why is he here? How did he find us? When did he—?

“Is this how you all spend your evenings?” Cassian asked.

His voice wasn’t loud. He didn’t need to shout. It was a low, dangerous velvet that sliced right through the ambient noise of the bar. He looked around the table, his gaze slow and deliberate, lingering on each person just long enough to make them want to crawl under the sticky floorboards.

“Pushing someone to drink when they’ve clearly declined,” he continued, his eyes finally landing on Mason, who looked like he was about to faint. “Multiple times.”

A pause. The air In the room seemed to vanish.

“I’d have hoped the people representing this company understood something as basic as respecting boundaries.”

The effect was instantaneous. Mortification washed over the group like a tidal wave. These were people who spent their days trying to impress middle management; being scolded by the man who owned the building was a nightmare they hadn’t prepared for.

“We’re so sorry, sir—”

“We didn’t mean anything by it—”

“It was just a game, Mr. Wolfe—”

Apologies erupted in a frantic, overlapping mess. Cassian let them land, his expression unchanging, though a flicker of something, disgust? Amusement?… crossed his features.

“You all seem to be having fun,” he said, his tone making the word fun sound like a federal offense.

The senior staff members present scrambled. Two of them stood up simultaneously, gesturing wildly to their seats as if they were offering him a throne.

“Please, sir, take my seat!”

“Get the menu!” one of them hissed at a junior. “Clean glasses! Quickly!”

A poor junior staffer scrambled out of the booth, nearly tripping over their own feet to obey. The entire group was in a state of high-velocity reorganization, hiding drinks behind their backs, sitting up straighter, and smoothing their hair.

Eloise, who had been practically fused to my side moments ago, pulled herself together with startling speed.

She sat up, her face a bright, burning red, and began smoothing her hair with trembling fingers.

She tried to laugh nervously, dropping her phone in the process, catching it, and then knocking over an empty glass. She looked at Cassian, attempting a flutter of her eyelashes that looked more like a nervous tic.

Cassian didn’t react to any of it.

He stood there, unmoving, as if the frantic shuffling, the whispered commands, the near-reverent offering of seats were happening in another room entirely.

His expression remained perfectly blank, no irritation, no satisfaction, not even mild interest. He simply watched, his gaze steady and assessing, like a predator observing a panicked herd sort itself out.

“Don’t bother,” he said at last.

The words were quiet, but they cut straight through the chaos. Conversations faltered mid-sentence. Hands froze in place, one still halfway through pushing a menu toward him, another hovering uselessly over a stack of glasses.

Cassian’s eyes flicked briefly to the seats being thrust at him, then to the menu, as if cataloguing the effort before dismissing it outright.

“Go on about your business,” he continued calmly.

No one moved.

A faint crease appeared between his brows, not anger, just impatience. “Pretend I’m not here.”

That, somehow, made it worse.

The group exchanged helpless looks. Laughter attempted to restart and died immediately. Someone coughed. Someone else reached for a drink, hesitated, then set it back down as if unsure whether alcohol was still legally permitted in his presence.

The booth remained stiff and painfully alert, every person suddenly hyper-aware of their posture, their hands, their breathing, of the impossible fact that Cassian Wolfe was standing in the middle of them, watching.

I sat there, frozen, muttering under my breath so only the air could hear me. “How exactly are they supposed to pretend you’re not here?”

Cassian’s eyes flicked to mine. For a fraction of a second, the icy mask slipped, replaced by a spark of genuine amusement.

He ignored the spacious, offered seats at the head of the table. Instead, he looked at the narrow gap between me and Eloise.

Without asking, without explaining, he moved.

He squeezed into the booth, sliding in so he was bracketed between us. Eloise was forced to shift outward, nearly falling off the end of the bench, while I was suddenly pinned against the back of the seat.

Cassian’s thigh pressed firmly against mine, a solid, burning line of contact that made my heart do a frantic tap-dance against my ribs.

A clean glass appeared as if by magic. A beer was poured with the reverence usually reserved for communion wine. A menu was hovered in front of him.

Eloise, clearly trying to salvage her father’s 4% stake in the company through sheer charm, gathered her courage. “Mr. Wolfe, I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her voice breathy and careful. “Do you come to places like this often?”

Cassian didn’t even look at her. He didn’t answer. He picked up his glass, took a slow sip of the beer, and then set the menu aside as if it were a piece of trash.

“I’m Eloise Park,” she tried again, her voice rising an octave in desperation. “I’m an intern. You must know my father. He’s a major shareholder—”

Cassian turned his head, but not toward her. He turned to me. He gave me a warm, beautiful smile, the kind of smile that made my stomach drop because I knew it was the most dangerous weapon in his arsenal.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Noah?” he asked.

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