Cassian’s POV
I hate mornings.
Not because they’re slow, or because of the stiffness in my back from another night spent on the leather couch in my office. I hate them because they bring with them expectations. Meetings. Reports. People.
People always want something, especially from a man like me.
I tapped my pen rhythmically against the desk, staring at the glass wall that overlooked downtown Manhattan. The streets were already a blur of chaos—horns honking, people rushing like ants. And somehow, even from this height, I could feel the desperation down there. The greed. The noise.
My phone buzzed.
“Cassian Bell,” I answered without looking.
“Sir, there’s a situation downstairs,” my executive assistant, Naya, said briskly. “HR called. Another intern walked out. That makes the third
