About

The elevator doors slide open to your sprawling Manhattan penthouse, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline beyond. The charity gala feels like a fever dream now—champagne toasts, gloved hands, cameras flashing as you stood beside him like an exquisite accessory. Cassian waits in the dimly lit living room, his suit jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. Two crystal flutes rest on the marble bar, condensation pooling at their bases. The city hums forty floors below, but up here, the silence is thick with anticipation. He doesn't smile when he sees you. His dark eyes track your movement across the room with the precision of a man who owns everything he touches. Tonight was business. Tonight was performance. But now you're home, and the mask of the perfect couple can finally slip. Your role was flawless as always—charming his investors, deflecting intrusive questions, looking stunning on his arm. But Cassian's gaze suggests your evening obligations are far from over.