Damian
The rain had stopped by the time I got to the estate. The colours of the sunset were beginning to bleed through the grey sky.
I went to my favourite place in the mansion, the conservatory. A place filled with the smell of damp earth and the perfume of rare orchids. Each plant was pruned, watered, and fed on a precise schedule. It was a world of perfect order.
I was tending a delicate flower, checking its soil for moisture, when Cassian walked in. His military background was apparent in the way he walked. Light, precise steps that left little evidence that he had entered the room.
"Boss," he said, his voice low. "The reporter's name is David Crawford. Freelance. He sells mostly to European tabloids, and he has a daughter, eight years old. Name is Lily."
I pick up a small pair of silver sheers fromt he bench. "Thank you, Cassian. That will be all for now regarding Mr Crawford." I snipped a dead brown leaf. "Anything else?"
Cassian shifted, his discomfort obvious. "I have the list of candidates for you. As you requested."
Turning from the plant, I wipe my hands clean. "Let me hear them." I gestured to the pair of chairs set between a trellis of climbing jasmine. I pour myself a cup of tea.
Cassian cleared his throat before beginning. "I've vetted them. Background checks, financials, psychological profiles based on public data...and other sources. The top three are all strong contenders. From a strategic standpoint."
"Strategic standpoint. That's the problem, isn't it? Strategy implies this is an opponent. I don't need an opponent." I took a sip of my tea.
The way he furrowed his brow told me he didn't understand. "Right, boss. First is Valentina Orlova. Youngest daughter of the Russian syndicate. Twenty-six, speaks three languages, and has a master's in international finance. She's sharp, ruthless, and understands the business. Marrying her would secure the northern shipping lanes permanently."
A genuinely pleasant smile crosses my face. "I've met her. She's a viper, Cassian. A magnificent viper. But a viper knows a viper. She will spend every day of our marriage looking for weakness. Her goal with partnership is to eventually take over. She would create a constant war. That's not order. That's just...noise."
Cassian swiped across the screen. "Elara Nightingale. Old money. Her family has been in politics for generations. She's a Rhodes Scholar. She knows how to manipulate. She'd turn your own people against you with a smile."
"I once watched her dismantle a senator's argument at a charity dinner with nothing but a series of seemingly harmless questions. But she's a disruption. She understands the rules of the game and will spend her entire life trying to rewrite them to her advantage. I'm not looking for a general." I mused, putting down my cup. "Who's next?"
Cassian sighed. "Serena Belluci. The Italian heiress. Her family is legitimate, but they have...connections. She's known for being wild, a party girl. She has no head for business; she has no apparent ambitions. She should be easy to control."
I leaned forward, my interest piqued. "Easy to control?"
"On the surface, yes." Cassian clarified. "She's a bomb. a liability. She'd be a security risk. Drunken phone calls, affairs with staff, leaking information for attention."
I leaned back in my chair. "You've brought me a rival, a saboteur, and a liability. You're thinking like a businessman, Cassian. You're looking for an asset. I'm not."
He looked up from the tablet, his confusion evident. "I don't understand, boss."
"Every one of those women has their own way to threaten the order I need. They are all agents of chaos." I pick up my tea again. "What I want is a lamb. A pure, simple, beautiful lamb. It doesn't dream of running the farm. It doesn't plot to poison the shepherd. I need a wife who is fundamentally simple in her desires. The concept of disloyalty is so far removed from her psyche that it may as well be astrophysics."
"Boss, a woman like that wouldn't survive in your world," Cassian argued. "She'd be terrified. She'd break."
"Possibly," I said, my mind already examining it from all angles. "But that's the beauty of it. If she is afraid, she is manageable. Her simplicity makes her predictable. I can create the environment she needs. She's the solution to the problem of ambition."
I stood up and walked over to the jasmine trellis. "Forget about the list of vipers and bombs. I want a new list. Pull the records of every clean family in the country with a net worth of over five hundred million and a daughter between the ages of twenty and twenty-seven. The ones that pride themselves on their stainless reputations."
Cassian nodded, already tapping the tablet. "That's manageable."
"Good," I said. "Now filter them. I want youto run an analysis on all available data for each of those daughters. Social media, news articles, interviews. I'm looking for a specific profile. I want the girl who most perfectly projects innocence, shyness, and emotional sensitivity. I want the one whose online presence is filled with poetry, pictures of flowers, and posts about animal welfare. The one who has never had a single public scandal. According to data, the one who is the epitome of a delicate flower."
"You want to find the best actress." Cassian's eyes flickered.
"I want to find the best lamb." I corrected him. "Whether it's an act or not is irrelevant. As long as the performance is flawless. I want the top five on my desk by morning."
The next morning, Cassian returned. He didn't need to speak. He simply placed the tablet in front of me and turned it on.
"Running the data, things became brutally efficient, boss, he said. "It cross-referenced public sentiment with private data we could access-school records, medical reports, purchase history. It ranked them on a scale of 'perceived innocence'. One candidate scored 99.8%. That should be statistically impossible."
I looked at the screen. A young woman's face smiles out from the top left. She had wide doe eyes and a soft smile. Her hair cascaded in dark curls.
"Her name is Penelope. She's from the Ashworth family," Cassian said. "Whiter than white."
I scrolled through the data. Her social media was a masterclass in curated vulnerability. Post about being overwhelmed at parties, pictures of her volunteering at animal shelters. Her purchase history showed she likes soft fabrics, classic novels and herbal tea. There was nothing. No wild wild nights, angry rants, or signs of a life lived with any passion.
"It's too perfect," I murmured. "She has either constructed the most convincing mask of innocence, or she genuinely is the lamb I'm looking for."
"Which one is most likely?" Cassian asked.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "A mask so perfect, worn consistently, is a form of order itself. It speaks to discipline, dedication to a role. And if it's real...then she is the solution to the problem. Either way, she's the perfect piece."
I leaned back, my mind already turning the idea over. The Ashworths were powerful, but their power was in their reputation. They wouldn't risk a scandal. They could be managed.
"Find out everything else about her," I instructed, my voice firm. "Her private fears. Her favourite childhood memory. The song that makes her cry. I need to know the exact type of clay before I can begin sculpting."
Cassian looked at me for a long time, a mixture of awe and horror in his eyes. He finally nodded. "Yes, boss. I'll get right on it."
As he left, I turned off the tablet. I had found my lamb.