The elevator was too slow.
Or maybe I was too fast.
Every second between floors stretched like a held breath. I smoothed my dress, checked my reflection in the mirrored walls, and tried to look like I hadn't just betrayed the most powerful man I knew with nothing but a look.
Cassian's office took up the entire top floor. Polished marble. Black glass. The kind of view you didn't look at—you owned.
And yet, the moment I stepped out, I felt smaller than ever.
He was behind his desk. Hands clasped. Phone to his ear. Not speaking.
Just watching me.
I froze.
He said something—short, clipped—then hung up.
"Close the door."
It wasn't a request.
I obeyed.
The click behind me sounded louder than it should've.
He didn't stand. Didn't smile. Just leaned back in his chair, eyes on mine, and waited.
"You're late."
"I—"
"Don't," he cut in. "Whatever excuse you're reaching for—it's beneath both of us."
Silence.
I took a step forward.
"You said eight."
"I said sharp."
Another pause.
Then he rose.
Smooth, composed, slow. Like a blade being unsheathed.
He walked around the desk. Not toward me—past me. To the window. Arms behind his back, gaze sweeping the skyline like he was looking for answers in concrete.
"I smelled him on you this morning."
My stomach dropped.
He didn't turn.
"He didn't touch me," I said, too fast, too quiet.
Cassian turned his head, just slightly. Enough for me to see the curve of his jaw. The tightness there.
"You think that's the problem?"
I said nothing.
He turned fully then. Stepped close. Not touching—never touching unless it served a purpose.
"It's not about what he did," he said. "It's about what you let him make you feel."
I swallowed.
He leaned in, voice lower now.
"You've been off for days. Distracted. And now he shows up, and suddenly your eyes don't stay on me in meetings. Your voice has hesitation in it. Your fucking breath isn't synced to mine anymore."
That last part—unreasonable, impossible, insane. And still, I believed him.
Because Cassian didn't speak to be understood.
He spoke to dominate.
He brushed past me again, this time to the liquor cabinet. Poured himself a glass of something amber. Didn't offer me any.
"I built you a future," he said, swirling the drink. "I gave you structure, purpose. Relevance. And now you want to throw it away for someone who fucks in alleys and carries a gun in his glove box?"
"No," I whispered.
He smiled. Cold. Sharp.
"Good. Because I just locked your contract. Effective immediately, you're under 24-hour observation. Full-access badge revoked. My driver picks you up. Drops you off. No more solo trips. No more nights alone."
"Cassian—"
"This isn't punishment," he interrupted, stepping in close again. "It's protection. From yourself. From your weakness."
His hand cupped my chin.
Gentle.
Too gentle.
"I own your image," he murmured. "I own the story they tell about you. And you'll play the part, Lexa. Because without me, you're nothing but a headline waiting to happen."
I felt tears sting at the edges—but didn't let them fall.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
He stepped back. Straightened his cuffs. Already moving on.
"You have a photoshoot in an hour. Hair and makeup downstairs. They'll make you look like the girl I pay for."
I stood still.
Burning.
Breaking.
Needing to scream.
But I only nodded.
Because that's what pawns do when the king makes his next move.