For the next forty-five minutes, we actually had a normal ti. It was the most normal I’d felt in days. Alex helped with my form, offered tips on my grip, and didn’t ntion the word "assistant" once. It was just two guys at the gym.
But as we moved to the bench press, the tone shifted.
"You look stressed, Noah," Alex said, his voice dropping as he stood behind the bar. "Like, physically wound tighter than a spring."
I let out a bitter, jagged laugh. "That obvious? I thought I was doing a good job of hiding the impending stroke."
"You’re not. Cassian is still being difficult, isn’t he? Even with the injury?"
"You have no idea," I muttered, pushing the bar up. "He’s... he’s recovering. He’s just a bit particular."
"Particular?" Alex scoffed, helping rack the weight. He leaned against the rack, his expression turning serious. "Noah, you know you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to stay with him and put up with whatever psychological gas he’s playing."
"I’m not— it’s just a job—Alex."
"Isn’t it?" He leaned in, his eyes searching mine. "I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you’re a piece of property he’s trying to break. He controls your ti, your clothes, your every move. It’s not healthy."
"He doesn’t control ," I replied, though the words felt hollow even to .
"Really? Then why are you still there? Why did you look like you were escaping a prison camp when I saw you walk in?" Alex sighed, his voice softening. "Look, I’m serious. You could work for . I need a real assistant, not a personal servant. I’d pay you double, and I promise I won’t make you fold my socks by the Dewey Decimal System."
I looked at him, my heart hamring. The offer was tempting. It was so incredibly tempting to just walk away and leave Cassian and his moist thermostat behind. "I can’t, Alex. It’s... it’s complicated."
"Why?"
"Well... uhm.... it’s... Hard to say out loud."
I struggled to explain it. How could I tell him I was being bound by a contract from punching Cassian in the face.
"Noah, just think about it," Alex said, reaching out to touch my arm. "You deserve better than, "
Suddenly, the world exploded in my pocket. My phone was vibrating with such violence I thought it might lt through my shorts. I pulled it out.
The screen read my newest na for him: The Tyrant.
"Hello?" I panted, trying to sound like I was in the middle of a grueling cardio session and not a borderline treasonous conversation.
"Where are you?" Cassian’s voice didn’t just co through the speaker; it felt like it reached through the airwaves to wrap a cold hand around my throat.
"I went to the gym," I said, trying to inject so steel into my voice. "Like I told you. Humans need movent, Cassian. I’m not a decorative houseplant."
"Get back here. Now."
I looked at Alex, who was watching with a mix of pity and concern that made want to scream. I felt like a teenager being grounded by a dad who also happened to own my soul. "I wish I could just, " I started to mutter, the words throw this phone into the diterranean dying in my throat.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing! Nothing!" I squeaked, my spine snapping to attention. "I’m on my way. I’m practically at the door. I’m teleporting as we speak!"
I hung up and practically fled the gym, leaving Alex standing there looking like a discarded puppy. Great, I thought as I jogged back toward the estate.
Another ridiculous errand. What now? Does he need to alphabetize his socks? Does he need to count the individual bubbles in his sparkling water? I was so irritated I didn’t even care that I was still in my gym clothes and probably slled like a locker room.
I burst into the suite, ready to be greeted by a man in a bathrobe demanding a foot rub. "What do you want?" I barked, wiping sweat from my forehead. "The thermostat is at 71.5, the pillows are structurally sound, and the coffee—"
I stopped dead. Cassian was standing by the window, but he wasn’t in a bathrobe. He was wearing a black suit so sharp it could have cut glass.
He looked like he’d been carved and polished by angels. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes scanning my sweaty, disheveled state with a look of profound disappointnt.
"We’re going to a wedding," he said, adjusting his cufflinks.
I blinked. "A wedding? What the fuck? Whose wedding? I haven’t seen an invitation. I haven’t even seen a card!"
Suddenly, Cyan exploded out of the bedroom, looking like a human highlighter in a fuchsia blazer. He was holding a garnt bag on a hanger like it was a holy relic.
"Yours, sweetheart! Well, not your wedding. But you’re going to one!" He thrust the suit at my chest, nearly knocking the wind out of . "This is what you’re wearing. Go change. Now. You sll like a gym teacher’s disappointnt."
"I—what—why—" I stamred, clutching the expensive fabric.
"We’re leaving in ten minutes," Cassian interrupted, his voice like the closing of a vault. "Move, Noah. Unless you want to attend in your gym shorts."
What ss am I being dragged into now? I thought as I scrambled into the bathroom. My life in Spain was just one unpredictable disaster after another. I didn’t sign up for this.
I signed up for spreadsheets and scheduling. I didn’t sign up for wedding-crashing with a glitter-bomb and a man who treated hospitality like a hostile takeover.
Ten minutes later, I was shoved into the back of a luxury SUV next to Cyan. The suit fit perfectly, which was terrifying because it ant Cassian knew my exact asurents down to the centiter.
Cassian was in the front, silent and brooding, staring at his phone as the Spanish countryside blurred past.
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