Chapter 45: Imposter

NOAH

The rooftop restaurant was the kind of place that made you acutely aware of how much money you didn’t have.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, refracting light across polished marble floors. A string quartet played something classical and elegant in the corner, the music floating through the air like expensive perfume.

Servers in crisp white uniforms moved through the crowd with practiced grace, balancing champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

And everywhere, everywhere, there were people who belonged here.

Men in tuxedos worth thousands of dollars. Women in gowns that shimmered under the lights. Politicians with practiced smiles. Investors with calculating eyes. Press photographers stationed strategically, capturing every “candid” moment of power and influence.

The entire city sprawled below us, glittering and alive, the proposed development site visible in the distance like a promise of even more wealth to come.

I stood at the edge of it all, nursing a glass of champagne I hadn’t asked for, feeling like an imposter in my own skin.

The suit Cassian had ordered for me fit perfectly, tailored within an inch of its life, dark navy with subtle pinstripes, a crisp white shirt, a silk tie that probably cost more than my first car.

I looked the part.

But I didn’t feel it.

I felt like a kid playing dress-up in his father’s clothes.

Cassian, on the other hand, looked like he’d been born for this.

He moved through the crowd with effortless authority, shaking hands, accepting greetings with minimal nods, his presence alone enough to command attention. People gravitated toward him, or maybe they were just pulled into his orbit whether they wanted to be or not.

I watched from our reserved table near the edge of the rooftop as he disappeared into yet another cluster of executives.

He hadn’t spoken to me since we’d arrived.

Hadn’t looked at me.

Just walked in, handed me a drink, and told me to “stay close” before abandoning me entirely.

Stay close.

Like I was a dog on a leash.

Tight when he wanted control.

Slack when he was distracted.

I took a sip of champagne, it was too dry, too bitter, and tried not to feel invisible.

Twenty minutes passed.

Then thirty.

I sat alone at the table, watching the room move around me like I was a statue.

Occasionally, someone would glance my way, curious, assessing, but no one approached.

Why would they?

I was nobody.

Just Cassian Wolfe’s assistant.

A footnote in someone else’s story.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling aimlessly through emails I’d already read, just to have something to do with my hands.

A text from Mason popped up.

Mason: Dude are you alive? Send proof of life

I smiled despite myself.

Me: Alive. Barely. At some fancy gala. Send help.

Mason: Fancy gala?? Are there celebrities? Hot people? DRAMA?

Me: Mostly just rich people talking about money.

Mason: Boring. Ditch it and go explore the city.

If only.

I pocketed my phone and glanced across the room.

Cassian was still deep in conversation with a group of investors, his expression cold and unreadable. Someone said something that made the others laugh, nervously, too quickly, but Cassian didn’t even smile.

Just stared.

And they all shut up.

I looked away.

Took another sip of champagne.

This is going to be a long night.

“You look a little overwhelmed.”

The voice came from beside me, warm and unexpected.

I turned, startled, and found Alexander Hendrix sliding into the seat next to mine with an easy smile.

He looked… different than he had at the construction site.

Still handsome, still polished, but softer somehow. Like he’d deliberately dialed down the “billionaire CEO” energy and replaced it with something more approachable.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, but he’d loosened his bow tie slightly, sleeves rolled up just enough to make him look less formal. Intentional, probably. Calculated.

But it worked.

“Mr. Hendrix,” I said, straightening in my seat. “I didn’t… um… hello.”

Smooth, Noah. Very smooth.

“Alexander,” he corrected gently. “Please. Seriously. ’Mr. Hendrix’ makes me feel like I’m about to get scolded by a teacher.”

I managed a weak laugh. “Okay. Alexander.”

He gestured to the room with a slight tilt of his head, his smile never wavering. “First time at one of these circus acts?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone paying attention.” His eyes were kind. Genuine. “These things are exhausting, aren’t they? Everyone pretending to care about each other while secretly calculating how much money they can extract from the person next to them.”

I blinked. “That’s… surprisingly honest.”

“I try to be.” He leaned back slightly, relaxed, like we were old friends catching up. “So. Tell me about you, Noah. Not the assistant version, the real one. What’s a guy like you doing tangled up in all this corporate chaos?”

The question caught me off guard.

Not because it was intrusive.

Because it sounded genuine.

Like he actually wanted to know.

I hesitated, fingers tightening around my champagne flute. “I… needed a job. Mr. Wolfe offered me a position. It seemed like a good opportunity to grow professionally. Learn from someone at the top of the industry.”

The words came out rehearsed.

Polished.

Exactly what I’d tell anyone who asked.

Alexander watched me for a moment, head tilted slightly.

His smile didn’t falter, but something shifted in his eyes.

A flicker of… knowing.

Like he could see right through the carefully constructed answer.

“A good opportunity,” he repeated slowly, still smiling. “That’s one way to put it.”

His tone wasn’t mocking. But it wasn’t believing me either.

The silence stretched for a beat too long.

I felt my face heat, fingers tightening on the champagne flute.

He knows I’m lying.

He knows and he’s just…

“What about your family?” Alexander said suddenly, smoothly pivoting. “Are they supportive of your career? Proud of you working on deals this big?”

The question hit me like a physical blow.

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