Chapter 87: “My little puppy.”

CASSIAN

I watched him from inches away, my lungs burning with more than just the physical trauma of the fall. Noah’s face was flushed a deep, frantic rose, his lips parted as he struggled to pull air into a chest that was rising and falling in jagged hitches.

His pupils were blown so wide they nearly swallowed the hazel of his irises. He wanted this. The realization hummed through me, more potent than the painkillers dulling the ache in my ribs.

He was pretending to hate it, clinging to that righteous, indignant fire he liked to wrap around himself like a shield, but he was leaning into my space, his body humming with a frequency that matched the device still nestled inside him.

I was enjoying this too much. The thought flickered in the back of my mind, a cold warning light in the middle of a heatwave. Toying with him, pushing his limits, watching him break under my gaze only to rebuild himself with a stuttering defiance, it was becoming a drug. When had it stopped being about simple corporate control? When had the line between a subordinate and a fixation become so blurred?

I told myself the same lie I’d told him. I hated losing. I hated Alex Hendrix, a man who thought pedigree and a charming smile could substitute for actual iron in his spine.

That’s why I’d pushed through the pain. That’s why I’d mounted a horse while bleeding. But as I looked at Noah, the truth I refused to admit pressed against the back of my teeth. I hadn’t ridden that course for a trophy or a business concession.

I had done it because the mere thought of Alex’s hands on him, the thought of Noah being “exclusive” to anyone but me, made my blood boil with a primitive, ugly possessiveness.

Looking at him now, trembling and expectant, I wanted to close the final inch. I wanted to taste the defiance out of his mouth and remind him exactly who had bled to keep him.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was sharp, loud, and utterly devoid of timing. It shattered the moment like a stone through a window. I pulled back instantly, my internal shutters slamming into place even as a smirk remained fixed on my lips.

“Get the door,” I commanded, my voice returning to its usual clipped, cool resonance.

Noah blinked, looking dazed, his eyes searching mine as if he were trying to find the man who had been a second away from devouring him. “What?”

I stood up, stepping away from the bed with a wince I hid behind a mask of indifference. “Someone’s at the door, Noah. Answer it. Do your job.”

Noah scrambled off the bed, his movements uncoordinated as he tried to regain his dignity. He smoothed his shirt with shaking hands and walked out of my room.

I stood quiet as he came back in after a few minutes with a silver cart. It was laden with the spoils of the De la Vega hospitality: bottles of heavy glass containing amber whiskey, chilled wine, and a humidor of premium cigars.

Noah wheeled the cart inside, his brow furrowed as he picked up a small, cream-colored card nestled among the bottles. He read it aloud, his voice still a bit breathless. “Cassian, wishing you a swift recovery. Enjoy these with my compliments. , Mateo de la Vega.”

I didn’t answer. I was already heading toward the balcony, the movement pulling at the stitches in my side. I needed the open air. I needed to move away from the scent of Noah’s skin before I lost control. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” Noah said, following me like a persistent shadow. “The medic said your lungs took a hit when you tumbled. It’s literally the worst thing you could do right now.”

I paused at the glass door, glancing at him over my shoulder. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long, amber shadows across the suite. “Is the toy still inside you?”

Noah’s face went from pale to a vivid, angry red in under a second. He stammered, his indignation momentarily derailed. “That’s, what does that have to do with your health? Why are you changing the subject?”

“Answer the question, Noah.”

He looked away, his jaw working as he stared at the floor. “…No,” he muttered.

I lit the cigarette, the first drag of smoke hitting the back of my throat with a familiar, grounding burn. I exhaled slowly, watching the gray cloud dissipate into the Spanish evening. “Then I suggest you stop telling me what to do. You aren’t in a position to give orders.”

Noah glared at me, his hazel eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and genuine worry that irritated me more than the pain in my ribs. “You know smoking can kill you, right? Especially with your injuries? It slows down the healing process. It’s basic biology, Cassian.”

“I don’t give a shit about biology,” I said, turning my back on him to look out over the sprawling estate. The city in the distance was beginning to twinkle with early lights.

“Well, I do,” he snapped. “So, ”

“Leave me alone, Noah,” I cut him off, my voice dropping to a warning growl.

I heard him huff behind me, the sound of a man who wanted to argue but knew he’d hit a wall.

“Fine,” he finally said, his voice tight. “But don’t come crying to me when you collapse. I’m going to go… watch TV. Try not to die while I’m in the living room.”

He turned and marched away, the heavy thud of his footsteps echoing my own irritation.

I stood on the balcony, the cigarette held between my fingers. Inside, I could hear the faint, melodic warble of a Spanish soap opera.

Noah must have turned on the television to drown out the silence, or to drown out me. I found myself smiling despite the ache in my side. My little puppy. So defiant, so stubborn, and so utterly trapped in a game he didn’t fully understand yet.

But he was mine. That was the only reality that mattered.

The vibration of my phone in my pocket killed the smile instantly. I pulled it out, looking at the caller ID.

Father.

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