[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl Chapter 38: Impending doom

I squeezed my eyes and wished, sincerely and wholeheartedly, for the universe to do a favor and crack the floor open so I could fall straight in and never be seen again.

Anything, anything, would have been better than kneeling under Cassian Wolfe’s scrutiny with the humiliating mory of last night hanging over like a guillotine.

"You were so desperate, Noah," he murmured, his voice low and cruelly amused. "So needy. Grinding against like a bitch in heat."

Heat flooded my face so fast it felt like my skin might combust. "I was drunk," I whispered, clinging to the excuse like it could save .

"Is that your excuse?" he asked, sharp as broken glass.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat had closed up, and my tongue felt like it had turned into sandpaper. Any attempt at speaking would’ve just resulted in sounds that resembled choking.

"And to top off your spectacular performance," Cassian continued, gesturing lazily toward the stain on the carpet, "you vomited. On my carpet. Do you have any idea how much this carpet cost?"

I glanced at the faint stain, the one that likely cost an entire month’s rent to scrub out. "...a few hundred dollars?"

Cassian laughed. The sound was cold, hollow, and held exactly zero humor.

"Try adding more zeros."

I felt my pulse stutter. "A few hundred thousand?"

"Custom-made," he said, tilting his head slightly, watching my face like this was entertainnt. "Imported. One of a kind. And you ruined it."

"I... I’ll pay for it... "

"Oh, you will." His smile sharpened, all white teeth and predatory delight. "It’ll co out of your salary. Along with compensation for the dry cleaning, the emotional distress, and the general inconvenience of babysitting a grown man who can’t hold his liquor."

My stomach twisted. "How much?"

"Let’s say... fifty thousand should cover it."

Fifty thousand. The number hit like physical force. It was everything, every bit of savings I’d managed to scrape together, gone in an instant because I couldn’t handle tequila.

"But don’t worry," Cassian added smoothly, faux sympathy dripping from every word, "you’ll have plenty of ti to work it off. Starting now."

He turned toward the closet, his posture relaxed, unhurried, as if he hadn’t just detonated a financial bomb in my life.

I stayed where I was, still kneeling on the plush carpet like an idiot, mind spiraling into a slow-motion ltdown.

This is a nightmare. This has to be a nightmare. There’s no way this is real. Fifty thousand dollars? For vomit? I’m going to kill him. No wait, I can’t afford a lawyer. Oh my god. Oh my actual god...

"Are you going to stay on your knees all day," Cassian’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, "or are you going to get up?"

I scrambled to my feet so fast I nearly tripped, clutching the blanket like it was the last shred of dignity I had left.

Cassian pulled on a black shirt, the fabric molding itself over his torso like it had been tailored with obsessive precision. He buttoned it slowly, deliberately, covering up the intimidating sprawl of tattoos, piece by piece, until the man in front of looked like the immaculate CEO again rather than the half-naked fever dream who’d just ruined my equilibrium.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he asked without looking up.

"I... ho? To change?"

He turned his head just enough to raise one eyebrow at . The expression alone made feel stupid.

"If you’d bothered to read your ssages yesterday, you’d know we should be in Spain by now."

I stared at him like he’d announced we were relocating to the moon. "Spain?"

"Yes. Spain. The country in Europe? You’ve heard of it?"

"I... why... "

"Business trip. Three weeks. Hendrix Corporation. Luxury developnt deal." His tone was painfully slow, like he was explaining colors to a toddler. "I sent you the details yesterday."

Yesterday. When I’d ghosted him and then cried into his shirt. Fantastic.

"I need to pack... "

"No ti."

"But my passport... "

"Already arranged."

"My clothes... "

"Also arranged."

"But I can’t just... "

Cassian stepped closer, and every sound in my body shut off instantly. The air felt colder with him that near.

"You have twenty minutes to shower and get dressed," he said. "There’s a suit in the bathroom. Put it on. et in the living room. We leave in twenty minutes whether you’re ready or not."

He moved past toward the door, crisp and controlled as always.

"And Noah?"

I turned instinctively.

He smiled, that cold, dangerous smile that promised suffering with a bow on top.

"Don’t keep waiting."

I moved through the shower in record ti, letting the scalding water hit my skin in a way that was almost violent. It stung, it burned, and it cleared so of the fog clouding my thoughts.

The heat was a cruel sort of rcy, washing away the physical remnants of yesterday’s sha, but the mories and the anxiety remained, clinging stubbornly to my mind like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

As I scrubbed, every motion felt chanical, desperate, as if scrubbing hard enough could erase more than just dirt and sweat.

Spain. Three weeks. A business trip.

With Cassian.

Alone.

For three weeks.

The thought hit with the weight of a freight train, and I couldn’t breathe for a mont. I was so utterly, completely fucked. Not just a little fucked, not just in trouble... I was in full-blown disaster territory.

When I stepped out of the shower, the suit was waiting, laid out ticulously on the bed as if it had been expecting . Charcoal gray, impossibly tailored, probably worth more than my entire wardrobe put together.

It fit like it had been made for ... and of course it had, because Cassian was ticulous about everything. He orchestrated life down to the smallest detail, including the way I looked, the way I moved, the way I existed. Including owning .

I slid into the jacket, adjusted the tie, and studied myself in the mirror. Professional. Put-together. A person who seed like they had their life under control.

I stared at the reflection, felt the irony clawing at , almost funny if it weren’t so bitter. Everything about was calculated, precise, neat... but inside, I was unraveling, a ssy ball of sha, regret, and anxiety that no amount of tailoring could cover.

Cassian was waiting when I finally made my way to the outer room. He was scrolling through his phone, casually leaning against the back of the couch like he owned the room... and, in a way, he did. The mont he looked up, his gaze swept over , sharp and clinical, like a surgeon evaluating a patient.

"Better. Let’s go," he said, his voice flat, devoid of warmth but carrying the weight of authority.

The car was waiting downstairs, sleek and black, reflecting the morning sun like a liquid mirror.

The ride to the airport passed in near silence. Cassian worked on his tablet, fingers flying over the screen, ignoring completely, while I stared out the window, trying to process everything I had left behind.

My family had disowned . Lila had betrayed by sleeping with my brother. I was buried fifty thousand dollars in debt. And sohow, on top of all that, I was about to spend three weeks in Spain with the man who was systematically dismantling my life.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, hoping against hope it might be sothing comforting. It wasn’t.

Mom: Noah, you need to apologize to your father. Stop being childish. This is embarrassing for the whole family.

I stared at the words as if the screen had physically struck . Childish. Embarrassing.

Not "Are you okay?" Not "We need to talk." Just another demand. Another expectation. Another reminder that I was failing even at existing the way they wanted to. I flipped the phone off, shoved it into my pocket, and exhaled, sharp and bitter.

"Problem?" Cassian’s voice cut through the quiet, casual, uninterested.

"No," I said flatly, the word hollow but accurate. "No problem."

By the ti we arrived at the airport, the private jet was waiting on the tarmac, gleaming in the early light like a predator.

Of course it was a private jet.

Everything Cassian touched exuded wealth, power, and control, and I was painfully aware of my own inadequacy standing next to it.

He boarded first, moving with the assuredness of soone who always got what he wanted. I followed, feeling like a child wandering into a palace.

Inside, the plane resembled a luxury lounge more than an aircraft: leather seats, polished wood panels, every detail screaming refinent, efficiency, and wealth.

Cassian settled into one of the seats and handed his tablet, his motion precise, commanding.

"Here. Familiarize yourself with the project details. Site specs, investor profiles, eting schedules. I expect you to be caught up by the ti we land."

I took it, the weight of responsibility hitting imdiately. The screen was filled with endless docunts, spreadsheets, architectural renderings... everything I needed to know about the Hendrix Corporation Joint Venture, a luxury developnt project along Spain’s Costa del Sol valued at $4.2 billion. High-end hotels, exclusive condominiums, comrcial spaces, all in pri beachfront locations. Weeks of negotiations, site inspections, investor etings, architect presentations, high-profile events... all of it my responsibility to docunt, schedule, coordinate, and sohow keep my panic from showing.

I scrolled, my chest tightening, my mind spinning. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Everything about this was perfect... for Cassian. For , it was a disaster wrapped in silk and leather, a trap disguised as opportunity.

The jet engines roared to life, vibrating through my bones. I buckled in, clinging to the tablet like a lifeline, forcing my mind into focus.

Work. I could focus on work. Work didn’t demand I confront my family’s betrayal, Lila’s betrayal, Nick’s betrayal, or the undeniable, terrifying mory of last night... of kissing Cassian and not being able to stop thinking about it.

Just focus on work. Just survive the next three weeks.

How hard could it be?

I was about to find out.