Chapter 93: Stockholm Syndrome/Test

NOAH

I sat there, my fork hovering over a plate of half-eaten smoked salmon, paralyzed by the sheer, shimmering audacity of Cyan’s offer.

The reception hall was a blur of expensive perfume, clinking crystal, and the soft, mocking strings of the quartet, but all I could hear was the ringing in my ears.

“I can take him off your hands.”

My rational brain… the part of me that still valued things like self-respect, a stable heart rate, and not being treated like a sentient pet… screamed at me to take the deal.

This was the exit ramp. This was the golden ticket out of the Wolfe-sized cage I’d been trapped in since I set up my own doom.

Cyan was offering me freedom. No lawyers, no “accidental” falls from horses, no color-coded laundry. Just… out.

I should have jumped at it. I should have been halfway out the door before he could even finish the sentence. But I didn’t move. My fingers were locked around the silver fork, and my breath was shallow.

Why am I hesitating?

I tried to tell myself it was because I didn’t trust Cyan. He was a creature of glitter and sharp edges; maybe this was just another game to him. Maybe he was just bored and wanted to see me scramble. Or maybe it was about Alex? I’d been putting off Alex’s offer for days, too.

But as I watched Cyan trace the rim of his glass, a slow, sickeningly cold realization began to crawl up my spine. It was a truth I had been burying under layers of indignation and sarcasm for weeks.

Oh. Oh no.

I wasn’t just staying because of the contract. I wasn’t just staying because of the threat of Charles Wolfe. I was… attached. I was attached to the man who threw wadded-up paper at my head and made me check the temperature of his coffee with a laser. I was attached to Cassian Wolfe.

When did that happen? Was it the way he looked at me in the bathroom? Was it the way his body felt like a wall of solid heat when he pinned me to the bed? Or was it the way he’d nearly died this afternoon just to make sure I didn’t end up in Alex’s villa?

No, I told myself, a desperate, frantic denial. That’s not it. You’re just… traumatized. Stockholm Syndrome. That’s a real thing. It’s not about Cassian. You just don’t like Cyan. He’s too colorful.

Liar.

“I don’t think that would work,” I finally said, my voice sounding thick and far away even to my own ears.

Cyan tilted his head, his eyes glinting behind his glittery frames. “Why not, sweetheart? I’m very persuasive. I have a certain… charm.”

“Because it’s Cassian,” I said, trying to sound measured and logical instead of panicked. “He’s stubborn. Controlling. If he decides he wants something… if he decides he owns something… he won’t let it go. He doesn’t like losing, remember?”

Cyan studied my face, his smile turning into something knowing and far too perceptive. “You’re trying to talk me out of it.”

“I’m being realistic,” I snapped, my face heating up.

“Or you’re being protective,” Cyan countered, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Which is fascinating. You hate him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him. How very Wolfe of you, Noah.”

“I’m not… ”

“Then… let’s test it,” Cyan interrupted, his eyes flashing with genuine mischief.

“Test what?”

“Whether Cassian would actually let you go. Whether you’re just a toy to him… or something more.” Cyan leaned in so close I could see the individual sparkles on his eyelashes. “Whether you’re a convenience or a complication.”

My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird. “How would we even test that?”

“Simple. I’ll ask him about you. I’ll offer to take your place maybe. I’ll give him the easy out.” Cyan grinned, a look that was more shark than socialite. “See what he says when you’re not around to witness it. See if he tosses you aside like a used tissue the second a more… compatible option presents itself.”

I swallowed hard. The thought of hearing Cassian dismiss me… of hearing him confirm that I was nothing more than a temporary distraction… made my stomach drop. But I needed to know. I couldn’t keep living in this state of “is he going to kill me or kiss me?”

“Okay,” I whispered, the word feeling like a betrayal of my own dignity. “Let’s do it.”

Cyan beamed, patting my hand. “Perfect. I’ll handle it tonight. We’ll get him a little loosened up with some of Mateo’s vintage reserves, and I’ll pull the trigger.”

I looked down at my plate. Suddenly, the smoked salmon looked like cardboard. I felt a cold, oily dread settling in my chest. Why did I care what he thought? Our arrangement was literally a high-class slave contract. It shouldn’t bother me if he saw me as a piece of furniture.

But it did. It bothered me so much I could taste the bitterness in the back of my throat.

Cassian reappeared a few minutes later, stepping out from the shadows of the estate like a ghost returning to a haunt. Louis Durant was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s expression was unreadable… calm, controlled, and utterly lethal.

As he walked toward the table, my stomach did a traitorous little flip. The black suit, the way the moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the sheer, unadulterated power he radiated… it was infuriating.

He sat down beside me, and I could feel the heat of him immediately. “Everything alright?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Fine,” I said, staring intently at a decorative sprig of parsley.

“We were just talking about you!” Cyan chirped, flashing a bright, dangerous smile.

Cassian’s eyes flickered between us, narrowing slightly. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not at all, Cassie. Just getting to know Noah better. He’s quite the conversationalist when he’s not being ordered to fluff things.” Cyan winked at me, and I wanted to crawl into the quiche and die.

The rest of the reception was a blur of high-society white noise. Cassian was on his phone, likely finalizing the destruction of Durant’s legacy, while Cyan flitted between guests like a neon butterfly. I sat in silence, my mind spinning.

Cyan wants him. They have history. They speak the same language. I’m just an assistant who doesn’t know how to reload a shotgun.

“You’re quiet,” Cassian noted, pocketing his phone and looking at me.

“Just tired,” I lied.

“We’re leaving soon,” he said, his gaze lingering on my face for a second too long.

“Good.”

The drive back to the suite was a graveyard of conversation. Cyan was humming a low tune, looking entirely too pleased with himself, while Cassian stared out the window. I felt like I was sitting on a ticking bomb.

When we finally got back to the suite, the lights were dimmed, the luxury of the room feeling oppressive. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and my nerves were frayed to the point of snapping.

“Come on, one more drink before bed!” Cyan suggested, heading straight for the bar cart and opening a bottle of wine with practiced ease. “To celebrate a successful wedding crashing!”

Cassian sat on the couch, looking more tired than he’d let on during the event. He took a glass from Cyan, his movements stiff. “One drink.”

I took a glass but only held it, the liquid sloshing around as my hands shook. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t sit here and wait for the “test” while Cassian was looking at me with that dark, heavy stare.

“I’m going to bed,” I said, standing abruptly.

Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Already?”

“I’m tired, Cassian. It was a long day of being a ’distraction’.” I didn’t meet his eyes. I turned and walked toward my room, my heart hammering.

I closed my door, but I didn’t latch it. I left it slightly ajar, just enough to see a sliver of the living room and hear every word. I knew it was pathetic. I knew it was masochistic. But I had to hear it.

I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, my ears straining.

In the living room, I heard the soft clink of glass against glass. A comfortable silence followed, the kind of silence two people who know each other deeply share.

“So,” Cyan’s voice broke the quiet, sounding casual and airy. “Noah.”

I felt my breath hitch.

“What about him this time?” Cassian’s voice was stiff, defensive.

This time?

Had they talked about me before?

“He’s interesting, don’t you think? A bit of a firecracker. Very different from the usual drones you keep around.”

“Is he?”

Cyan laughed, a light, melodic sound. “Don’t play dumb, Cassie. I see the way you look at him. You haven’t looked at an assistant like that since… well, ever.”

There was a long pause. I could imagine Cassian taking a sip of wine, his face a mask of indifference. He didn’t respond.

“You’ve said that before. What do you want from me?”

“You seem… attached,” Cyan pushed, his voice dropping to a more intimate register.

“Attached?” Cassian scoffed, and the sound cut through me like a blade. “To Noah? Don’t be ridiculous, Cyan. He’s an employee.”

“Is he just an employee? Because it didn’t look like that on the paddock that day. You nearly got yourself killed for him.”

“I got myself killed for my pride,” Cassian countered. “I don’t like Hendrix. And I don’t like people touching my property. It’s a matter of principle.”

“Property,” Cyan repeated, his tone thoughtful. “So that’s all he is? A useful piece of the collection?”

“He’s a distraction,” Cassian said, and I heard the sound of him leaning back into the couch cushions. “A useful one, granted. He’s stubborn enough to keep things interesting, and he’s useful for keeping people like Alex at a distance. But at the end of the day, he’s just a distraction.”

I felt a sharp, cold ache bloom in my chest. There it was. The truth. I was a human shield. A placeholder. A way to pass the time until he got back to the “real” world. I gripped the edge of my mattress, my knuckles white.

“You sure about that?” Cyan asked softly.

“I’m sure,” Cassian said, though his voice sounded lower now, strained.

“Because it seems like he’s more than that. It seems like he’s under your skin, Cassie. And I know what happens when things get under your skin. You either destroy them or they destroy you.”

I heard the sound of a glass being set down hard on the table.

“What do you want me to say, Cyan?” Cassian’s jaw sounded tight, his voice dangerously close to a growl.

“The truth,” Cyan whispered.

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