Chapter 7: Monday Morning

NOAH

I woke up with a headache so vicious it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull and decided to redecorate the inside with regret.

For a blissful, disoriented moment, I thought maybe, maybe, last night had been a nightmare. A fever dream. A hallucination brought on by expired takeout and unprocessed heartbreak.

But then I turned my head.

And there was Mason.

Snoring.

In my bed.

Mouth open, drool pooling on my pillow, one arm flung dramatically over his face like he was auditioning for a tragic play.

Reality crashed back in like a freight train made of shame.

Oh God.

Oh no.

I bolted upright, immediately regretting it as my brain sloshed around in my skull. I grabbed my head, groaning, then scrambled out of bed like it was on fire.

My pants. Where were my pants?

I spotted them crumpled on the floor near the closet and practically dove for them, hands shaking as I rifled through the pockets.

Keys. Chapstick. A crumpled receipt from three months ago.

No wallet.

I checked again. Patted down every pocket. Turned them inside out.

Nothing.

“No, no, no, no, no—”

I dropped to my knees and started tearing through the room. Under the bed. Behind the nightstand. In the bathroom. Maybe I dropped it. Maybe it fell out in the club. Maybe I left it at the bar. Maybe…

“Dude,” Mason’s groggy voice cut through my spiral. “What the hell are you doing? It’s like… eight in the morning. On a Saturday.”

I whipped around, eyes wild. “My wallet. It’s gone.”

He blinked at me, still half-asleep. “Check your pants.”

“I did.”

“Check again.”

“I checked three times, Mason!”

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “Okay, okay. Calm down. When did you last have it?”

And that’s when it hit me.

All of it.

The club. The alley. The cigar. The VIP room. The smoke in my face. The way he pinned me down. The way he took my wallet like it was his and tossed cash at me like I was some…

“Oh my God,” I whispered, voice hollow. “He took it.”

Mason frowned. “Who took it?”

“Him. The guy. The guy from last night. The one I—” I stopped myself, cheeks burning. “The one I punched.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then Mason started laughing.

Not a polite chuckle. Not a sympathetic “oh no, buddy” laugh.

A full-blown, wheezing, gasping-for-air cackle.

“You—” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You punched that guy? Noah. Noah. That man looked like he could bench press a car and you punched him?”

“It’s not funny!” I snapped, face burning hotter.

“It’s a little funny.”

“He has my wallet, Mason! My ID, my cards, my address, everything!”

That sobered him up. A little.

He sat forward, still grinning but at least trying to look concerned. “Okay, okay. So what exactly happened?”

I told him. Most of it, anyway.

How I saw the guy. How I followed him. How I confronted him. How I swung. How he dragged me into that room and…

I stopped there.

I wasn’t about to tell Mason about the couch. The smoke. The way he held me down. The way my body betrayed me in the worst, most humiliating way possible.

Nope.

Some things go to the grave.

“So he just… took your wallet?” Mason asked, brow furrowed.

“Took it. Pocketed it. Threw cash at me like I was a stripper.”

Mason whistled low. “Damn. That’s cold.”

“I know!”

“But also, Noah…” He gave me a look. “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t just punch random rich guys at clubs. That’s like… rule number one of not getting murdered.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” I muttered, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I was drunk. And angry. And stupid.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

I buried my face in my hands. “What if he comes after me? What if he tracks me down? What if he, I don’t know, sues me? Or worse?”

“Worse?”

“What if he’s, like, a crime lord or something? What if he sends people to break my kneecaps? Or harvest my organs?”

Mason stared at me.

“Noah. You watch too many movies.”

“I’m serious!”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “Look. Let’s start simple. We file a police report. Say your wallet got stolen. Block your cards. you already have your phone, right?”

I nodded miserably.

“Then we’re good. You’ll be fine.”

“Will I?”

“Probably.”

I glared at him.

He grinned. “I’ll make sure to bury you properly if he shows up. I’ll even fight for your justice.”

“Not helping.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

I groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “This is a disaster.”

“Hey.” Mason nudged me with his foot. “It could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could’ve punched him twice.”

I threw a pillow at him.

But deep down, I couldn’t shake the image of that man’s face. The sharpness in his eyes. The way he smiled when he threatened me.

The way he said my name.

Noah Bennett.

Like he was memorizing it.

Like he wasn’t done with me yet.

…

I spent the rest of Saturday in a fog of dread.

Mason helped me file a police report online, cancel my cards, and put a fraud alert on my accounts. It felt like damage control on a sinking ship, but at least it was something.

I kept checking Lila’s Instagram.

The post with that guy? Gone. Vanished. Like it never existed.

Now it was just her solo shots. Her at brunch. Her in a new dress. Her living her best life while I spiraled into oblivion.

I stared at my phone, heart sinking.

“What if he made her delete it?” I muttered.

Mason, sprawled on my couch with a bag of chips, snorted. “Why would he care?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s… private. Or married. Or both.”

“Or maybe Lila just didn’t want it up anymore.”

I didn’t respond.

By Sunday, I’d convinced myself I was overthinking.

Maybe he threw my wallet away. Maybe he forgot about me entirely. Maybe Friday night was just a blip in his life and he’d already moved on to richer, prettier, less pathetic victims.

Maybe I’d never see him again.

…

Monday morning shattered that hope like a brick through glass.

I walked into the office building and immediately knew something was wrong.

The lobby was chaos.

Executives in tailored suits speed-walking with clipboards. Junior staff whispering in frantic clusters. Someone from HR practically sprinting toward the elevators.

Everyone looked like they were two seconds away from a breakdown.

I blinked, confused, and made my way to my desk.

Mason was already there, typing furiously, his usual laid-back vibe replaced with something that looked suspiciously like panic.

“What’s going on?” I asked, dropping my bag. “Is the president visiting or something?”

Mason looked up at me like I’d just asked if the sky was blue.

“You didn’t see the group message?”

“I muted the work chat.”

“Of course you did.” He sighed. “Dude. The new CEO is coming. Today.”

I frowned. “New CEO?”

“Yeah. Charles Wolfe’s son. The one everyone talks about. The black sheep. Apparently, he’s been MIA for like three years because he was in prison.”

My stomach dropped. “Prison?”

“That’s the rumor, anyway. No one knows for sure, but people are terrified. They say he’s ruthless. Cold. That he doesn’t tolerate screw-ups.”

I felt my palms start to sweat. “Great. Just great.”

“Yeah, so maybe don’t zone out during the greeting or whatever. Apparently, he’s big on respect.”

Before I could respond, our team manager burst through the door like her life depended on it.

“Everyone! Downstairs! Now!”

We all scrambled.

The main atrium was packed. Rows and rows of employees, all standing stiff and silent like we were about to meet royalty. Or a executioner.

I stood near the back with Mason, heart thudding in my chest.

But not because of the CEO.

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The man from the club. The one with my wallet. The one who could ruin my life with a single phone call.

What if he found me? What if he showed up at my apartment? What if—

“Noah.”

I blinked.

Mason was nudging me, hard.

“Dude. Bow.”

I looked up.

And froze.

Because there, standing at the front of the room, flanked by security and dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my rent, was him.

The man from the club.

The man I punched.

The man who pinned me down and took my wallet and whispered my name like a threat.

And now, apparently, my new CEO.

His eyes swept over the crowd.

Then landed on me.

And he smiled.

Not a friendly smile.

A knowing smile.

“You,” he said, voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Must be tired of your job to be so disrespectful.”

Every head in the room turned to look at me.

And I realized, with sickening clarity, that I was the only one still standing upright.

While everyone else bowed.

My mouth went dry.

Mason hissed under his breath. “Dude. Bow.”

But I couldn’t move.

Because Cassian Wolfe, my new CEO, was staring directly at me.

And I was so, so fucked.

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