Chapter 19: Therapist

He sat in a high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other. Tie gone. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A glass of amber liquid in one hand.

Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers.

He didn’t look at me immediately.

Just sat there, staring out at the city, tension rolling off him in waves.

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to the slow burn of his cigarette and the distant hum of the city.

The smoke curled around him like it belonged to him, softening the harsh lines of his face while somehow making him look even more dangerous.

Something in the room felt taut, stretched thin, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what version of him I’d walked into tonight.

I froze in the doorway.

Something was wrong.

Not wrong in the “I’m about to die” sense.

Wrong in the “he’s in a mood” sense.

And that was somehow worse.

“Close the door.”

His voice cut through the silence, low and controlled.

I obeyed, pushing it shut behind me with a soft click.

He still didn’t look at me.

Just took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled smoke toward the window.

The silence stretched.

My heart hammered.

Is he okay?

Wait. Why do I care? I hate him. Focus.

Finally, he turned his head. His eyes landed on me, sharp and assessing.

“You’re late.”

I blinked. Checked my phone automatically.

11:58 PM.

He’d called at 11:46. Given me ten minutes. I’d arrived at 11:58.

Two minutes late.

“I’m… not?” I said carefully.

His gaze didn’t waver. “I said ten minutes. You took twelve.”

I’m going to commit a felony.

I’m going to actually murder him.

I said nothing. Just stood there, jaw clenched, trying not to combust.

He gestured to the couch with his glass. “Sit.”

I moved forward stiffly and lowered myself onto the edge of the couch. Perched there like I might need to run at any moment.

Cassian stood, movements slow and deliberate, and walked to the bar.

Poured himself another drink.

Didn’t offer me one.

I watched him, trying to read the tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw.

Something happened tonight. Something that pissed him off.

“Bad night?” I ventured quietly.

His eyes cut to me immediately.

I regretted speaking.

“You could say that,” he said after a long moment.

He didn’t elaborate.

Just took another drink, looking out at the city again.

Great. Perfect time to summon me.

More silence.

Then, almost like he was talking to himself: “Do you know what it’s like, Noah, to sit in a room full of people who smile to your face while plotting how to stab you in the back?”

I blinked. “…No?”

“Of course you don’t.” He leaned back against the bar, glass in hand. “My father. My brother. My stepmother. Business partners. Investors. Everyone wants something. Everyone has an angle.”

Is he… venting to me?

Is this therapy?

Am I his therapist now?

Do I get paid extra for this?

“And they all think I’m too stupid or too reckless to see it,” Cassian continued, voice soft but edged with something dangerous. He smiled, but it was cold. Empty. “I see everything.”

The words hung in the air.

I didn’t know what to say.

So, naturally, I said something stupid.

“That sounds exhausting.”

His eyes snapped to mine.

I panicked. “I mean—not that I’m saying you’re—I just meant—”

“It is.”

Silence.

Did I just… bond with him?

No. No, that’s impossible. He’s a demon. Demons don’t bond.

Cassian straightened suddenly, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

He grabbed a tablet from the side table and pulled up something on the screen.

“I reviewed your work.”

My heart sank.

Here it comes. The third round of hell.

He scrolled through it, face unreadable.

I held my breath.

Finally, he looked up.

“You followed my corrections.”

“…Yes?”

“The structure is better. The data is clear. The flow is logical.”

My heart lifted slightly.

“It’s acceptable.”

ACCEPTABLE?

I STAYED UP UNTIL 10 PM REDOING THIS AND IT’S JUST ’ACCEPTABLE’?!

But outwardly: “Thank you, sir.”

He set the tablet down, eyes still on me. “You know how to take corrections. That’s more than I can say for most people.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

“Though it could still be better.”

My eye twitched.

Of course it could.

He smirked, clearly noticing my barely-contained frustration. “Relax, Noah. I’m not making you redo it again.”

I exhaled in relief.

“Tonight.”

My blood froze. “…What?”

“I’m not making you redo it tonight.”

I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM

THIS FUCKING BASTARD!

Cassian moved back to the bar, poured another drink.

Stood there watching me over the rim of his glass.

“Do you know why I called you here?”

I swallowed. “To review my work?”

He laughed. Low. Dark.

“That was a bonus.”

He walked closer, glass in hand.

I tensed.

He stopped in front of me, looking down.

“I had a very long, very irritating night.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want your apology.”

His eyes dragged over me slowly. Deliberately.

“I want a distraction.”

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Heat pooled low in my stomach, unwanted and immediate.

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

That infuriating smirk returned. “You’re so predictable.”

He set his glass down on the coffee table with deliberate slowness.

Reached up and loosened his tie completely. Pulled it off.

Unbuttoned another button on his shirt.

Sat back down in his chair, legs spread wide.

Looked at me with those dark, predatory eyes.

“Get on your knees, Noah.”

My throat went dry.

“Here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you see anyone else in this room?”

“I just—we’re in a hotel—”

“A hotel suite that I own.” His voice dropped, dangerous. “Now stop stalling. Or do I need to remind you what’s at stake?”

My hands trembled slightly as I stood.

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

But I didn’t.

I moved toward him.

Sank to my knees between his spread thighs.

Looked up.

He was watching me with dark, hungry eyes.

His hand came up, fingers threading through my hair almost gently.

Then his grip tightened. Firm. Possessive.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved.”

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