Chapter 227: Favors

“You seem very protective of that boy,” Charles observed, his voice sliding into a smooth, oily register.

“Noah is nothing,” I said, the words tasting like ash. I forced a cold, dismissive sneer onto my lips. “I already told you. He’s a toy. An amusement. That’s all. I don’t need you scrutinizing who I choose to take to bed.”

Charles studied me for a long moment, his gaze searching for the lie. “That’s precisely what concerns me, Cassian. You have total freedom. You have a city full of options, women and men who would kill for a seat at your table. And yet, there is only him. Repeatedly. Exclusively.” He pushed off the desk, his voice dropping an octave. “That doesn’t sound like a toy. That sounds like an anchor. And anchors are things that pull men under.”

“Stay out of my sex life,” I snapped. The first crack appeared in my composure, small, but unmistakable. “The fact that you monitor it closely enough to have developed a thesis is disgusting. Even for you.”

Charles raised a hand in a mocking gesture of concession. “Fine. Who you sleep with is your business, as long as it doesn’t compromise the Wolfe interests.” He paused, the concession vanishing. “But you will do this project. You will work with Nicholas Bennett. Whether it suits your domestic arrangements or not.”

“There are other surgeons,” I argued. “Better ones. Men with more experience and less ego. Why must it be him?”

“We’re not discussing this further,” Charles said, turning his back to me and walking back toward his chair. It was the ultimate dismissal, the way he ended conversations he decided were no longer productive.

I didn’t move. I felt the weight of twenty years of being the “other” son, the mistake, the shadow. I looked at his back, at the arrogance of a man who thought he could still control the weather.

“I’m here because I choose to be,” I said to his back. My voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a funeral toll. “Not because you summoned me. I’m not Preston, Charles.”

The name landed In the room like a grenade. Charles froze, his hand hovering over the back of his chair.

“I don’t bend my back because you call,” I continued, the words pouring out of me with a sudden, jagged honesty. “I don’t make myself small because it’s convenient for the family brand. Preston has no spine, and you’ve spent twenty years being grateful for his cowardice because it makes him easy to manage. I’m not him. I was never him.”

I took a step forward. “So you need to remember who you’re dealing with. Because I’m not the boy you used to look down on. I’m not the embarrassment you tried to hide in the cracks of the city.”

Charles remained still for a long, agonizing beat. Then, he turned. Slowly. He removed his glasses and set them on the desk with a click that sounded like a gunshot. He didn’t sit. He walked around the desk and leaned against the front of it, crossing his arms. He was finally giving me his full, undivided presence.

“You seem to be forgetting something vital, Cassian,” he said. His voice was even, controlled, the voice he used when he was about to destroy a competitor. “I was the one who pulled you out of that cesspit.”

He used the word like a slur. Cesspit. A reminder of where I came from, and who I was before he put me in a suit.

“I don’t care,” I said, my frame vibrating with held tension. “If you hadn’t come for me, I’d have gotten out myself. I was already halfway to the surface.”

Charles let out a low, mocking chuckle. “And then what? Continued living like a rat in the walls? Hunting your enemies from the shadows until a stray bullet found you in an alleyway? Every family in this city was looking for your head, Cassian. You were a dead man walking.”

“I’d have gotten the job done,” I countered. “The method doesn’t matter. I didn’t need your marble floors to find my mark.”

“The method always matters,” Charles said, pushing off the desk and taking a step toward me. “Don’t pretend I didn’t do you a favor by giving you a name and a fortress.”

I felt a cold, sharp smile spread across my face, the one that carried no warmth, only the promise of a blade. I was done performing the role of the dutiful son.

“A favor,” I repeated, letting the word sit in the air like a bad smell. “Let’s talk about favors, Charles.”

I took a step closer, matching his space. “You didn’t come to me out of the goodness of your heart. You came to me because you were drowning. You have a wife who wants you dead and a legitimate son who wants your money but lacks the stomach to protect it. You have a company full of vipers who would let both of those things happen if it meant a bump in their stock options.”

I took another step, my eyes locked onto his. “You needed a wall. You needed something between you and the world, something they couldn’t predict, couldn’t manage, and couldn’t buy. You came running to the son you spent twenty years pretending didn’t deserve a seat at your table and asked him to be your shield.”

The room went deathly silent. Not a clock ticked; not a breath was audible.

“So let’s be honest about who did who the favor,” I whispered. “You gave me a suit. I gave you a life. I am the reason you still sleep soundly at night, Charles. Never forget that.”

Charles looked at me, and for the first time in my life, I saw something complex move across his face. It wasn’t rage. It was a compressed, heavy realization. He looked at me and saw the monster he had invited into his home, the one he had trained and sharpened, only to realize he no longer held the leash.

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