Chapter 89: Gym escape

NOAH

I am officially at my breaking point. Actually, scratch that. I have bypassed the breaking point, sailed right over the edge of the cliff, and am currently sitting in the charred wreckage of my own sanity, and it is very much on fire.

It has been three days since the “incident.” Three days since Cassian decided to play action hero and then expected me to be his personal Florence Nightingale. But I’m not a nurse. I’m not a maid. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m a high-salaried performing monkey with a black silicone tail.

The worst part? According to Cassian, this is all my fault. Apparently, I was the one who forced him into a testosterone-fueled wager with Alex. I was the one who made him ride a horse while bleeding. At this point I waited for him to blame me for the Spanish Inquisition or the invention of the kale smoothie next.

“Noah,” a low, gravelly voice vibrated from the couch.

I closed my eyes for a second, praying for the sweet release of a lightning strike. I was currently in the middle of a task so ridiculous it defied the laws of physics: I was folding his T-shirts according to the color spectrum of a visible rainbow. Not alphabetically. Not by fabric. By the literal frequency of light.

“Yes, Cassian?” I asked, my voice tight enough to snap a piano wire.

“The thermostat. It’s too… aggressive.”

I stared at the wall. “Aggressive? It’s a temperature, Cassian. It doesn’t have an attitude.”

“It’s a dry 72 degrees. I want a moist 71.5. Fix it.”

I marched over to the wall unit, my teeth grinding so hard I was worried I’d need dental implants by Tuesday. This was the sixth time in an hour. We had gone from “Artic Tundra” to “Sahara Noon” to “Temperate Rainforest.” I clicked the button. “There. 71.5. Is it moist enough for you?”

“Marginally,” he sighed, not opening his eyes. “Now, fetch me that pen on the coffee table.”

I looked at the pen. It was approximately fourteen inches from his left hand. He could have reached it by simply extending a finger. Instead, he waited. I walked over, picked up the silver ballpoint, and placed it in his hand like I was presenting him with the keys to a kingdom.

“And Noah?”

“Yes?” I asked, my voice trembling with the effort of not screaming.

“The pillows on the other end of the couch. They’ve lost their structural integrity. Fluff them. With enthusiasm this time.”

I spent the next two minutes punching down feathers while Cassian “tested his depth perception” by tossing wadded-up balls of discarded meeting notes at the back of my head. Every time one hit, he’d murmur, “Slightly to the left. Re-calibrate.”

Just as I was about to commit a felony with a throw-pillow, the door to the suite didn’t just open—it erupted.

“CASSIE! My poor, broken, beautiful baby! How is the invalid today?!”

A whirlwind of neon pink, expensive glitter, and high-octane chaos exploded into the room. Cyan had arrived. He didn’t walk; he sashayed at terminal velocity. He rushed to the couch, smelling like a strawberry daiquiri and expensive hairspray, and planted two loud, wet kisses on Cassian’s cheeks.

I stood there, clutching a half-fluffed pillow, staring in horror. Oh god. Not him. Not again.

Cyan turned his high-beam energy on me, his eyes widening behind glittery frames. “Oh, you poor little Chihuahua! Look at you! You look like you’ve been run over by a tractor and then put through a blender!” He rushed over and pinched my cheeks with the strength of a lobster. “Has Cassie been working you too hard? You look positively haggard, darling. Like a Victorian orphan.”

“I’m fine,” I squeaked, trying to pry his fingers off my face. (Internal Monologue: I am not fine. I am dying. Send help. Send a priest.)

“You’re such a terrible liar! It’s adorable!” Cyan plopped down next to Cassian, nearly sitting on his bandaged ribs. “So! What are we doing today to torture the help? Oh, Cassie, make him fluff the pillows again! The way his eye twitches is priceless! It’s like a little Morse code for ’help me’!”

For the last three days, this had been the routine. Cyan would show up around 10 AM and stay until the middle of the night, acting as a hype-man for Cassian’s insanity. He wasn’t oblivious to my suffering; he was fueled by it. He treated my mental breakdown like a spectator sport.

“Noah,” Cassian said, a small, dark smirk playing on his lips as he watched Cyan poke at my ribs. “Go to the kitchen. I need my coffee. It needs to be exactly 78 degrees. Use the laser thermometer. If it’s 79, I’ll know.”

I turned on my heel and marched into the kitchen. I needed to get out. I needed a break from the pink glitter, the color-coded shirts, and the “moist” thermostat.

While the water boiled, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, hiding behind the refrigerator.

Alex: How are you holding up? Still stuck with the tyrant?

A wave of forbidden relief washed over me. Technically, Alex was supposed to stay away from me because of the bet. Cassian had “won” me. But at this point, I didn’t care about the rules. This was my small, petty rebellion.

Noah: You have no idea. I am currently folding T-shirts by the colors of the rainbow. I think I’m developing a nervous tic.

Alex: You know you don’t have to stay, right? You could just… leave. Come get a drink. Or a workout. Clear your head.

I stared at the screen. Could I? The idea of leaving the suite felt like a jailbreak. I looked back at the living room, where Cyan was currently trying to convince Cassian that we should order a life-sized ice sculpture of a swan for the bedroom.

“I need air!” I shouted, stepping back into the living room.

Cassian’s eyes snapped open. He raised a dark, judgmental eyebrow. “Air?”

“Yes. Fresh air. The stuff that exists outside this climate-controlled moist hellscape. I’m going to the gym.”

“We have a gym in the hotel, Noah,” Cassian said coolly.

“It’s… closed for maintenance,” I lied, the words tripping out of my mouth. “Leak in the… weights. Very dangerous. I’m going to the upscale one a few blocks away.”

Cyan clapped his hands. “Ooh, a gym! How fun! Can I come? I have a fabulous neon unitard that needs an outing!”

“I’m going alone!” I yelled, perhaps a bit too loudly. “I need to lift heavy things until my brain stops screaming!”

Cassian studied me for a long, quiet moment. He looked like he was about to deny me, to order me back to the color-coded laundry, but then he shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement of his ribs. “Fine. Take my card. Don’t be long. I expect my coffee to be the correct temperature when you return.”

I didn’t wait. I grabbed my bag and bolted out the door before he could change his mind.

Ten minutes later, I was standing in the lobby of a high-end, glass-walled gym. I swiped Cassian’s black card with a feeling of immense, petty satisfaction. Yeah, enjoy the notification for a day pass, you tyrant.

I hadn’t been to the gym since I tried to impress Lila but now…

It couldn’t be that bad as I remembered.

The gym was quiet, smells of eucalyptus and expensive rubber. Exactly what I needed. I changed into my workout gear, shorts and a tank top and headed straight for the free weights. I grabbed a pair of dumbbells and started a set of lunges, trying to channel all my rage into my quadriceps.

One. I hate the color red. Two. 71.5 degrees is not a real temperature. Three. I am going to poison Cyan’s glitter supply.

“Noah?”

I froze mid-lunge. I looked up, sweat dripping down my nose, and felt my jaw hit the floor. Standing there, looking like he’d just stepped off a fitness magazine cover, was Alex. He had a towel around his neck and was wearing a fitted grey shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“What are you doing here?” I gasped, setting the weights down.

“This is my gym,” Alex said, a surprised but delighted grin spreading across his face. “I come here every day at four. What a coincidence.”

I looked at him, then at the door, then back at him. Was it a coincidence? Or did he track my phone? Honestly, at this point, I didn’t care if he was a stalker as long as he wasn’t asking me to fluff a pillow.

“I needed to get out,” I said, wiping my face. “The suite was becoming… a lot.”

“Want a spotter?” Alex asked, stepping closer.

I hesitated. Cassian would absolutely lose his mind if he knew I was here with Alex. He’d probably add “Cleaning the grout with a toothbrush” to my list of chores. But the thought of Cassian’s inevitable fury only made the idea more appealing.

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep