CHAPTER 9
1138 Words
Chapter 9: The Cost of Winning
The cheers still rang faintly in Aria’s ears as she walked home, the applause from earlier feeling distant, hollow, even surreal. Mari and Lily had practically dragged her into a group photo after Mr. Baldwin’s announcement, their joy uncontainable. They had won. Their mural would be sponsored, promoted, and displayed downtown. It should’ve been the highlight of Aria’s academic career.
But instead of feeling elated, she felt like she was walking toward a guillotine.
The moment Cassian Blackwood had looked her in the eye after the announcement, she knew—he had chosen them on purpose.
Out of spite. Or worse—amusement.
She hugged her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picked up, brushing her face with a sharp chill. The gray clouds overhead mirrored her dread. The streets were mostly empty this time of day, just a few students on bikes and a distant food truck packing up its remaining stock. Her boots clicked softly against the wet pavement as she neared the corner of Tennyson and Vauxhall. She had just stepped into the crosswalk when she heard the low purr of a car engine.
A sleek black car slowed to a stop directly in front of her.
Her stomach dropped.
She recognized it instantly—the same one that had splashed her with muddy water a few days ago.
The driver’s door opened.
Out stepped Cassian Blackwood.
No coat. No umbrella. Just the unbothered confidence of a man who could own the rain if he wanted.
He shut the door behind him, his leather shoes clicking on the pavement as he walked straight toward her.
Aria froze.
He stopped a few feet away, watching her with that same unreadable expression.
“You’ll be working with me directly as of tomorrow,” he said casually, as if announcing the weather. “How does it feel?”
Her heart thundered in her chest. She forced herself to look away and resumed walking.
“I don’t need a ride,” she muttered.
Cassian followed her. “I didn’t offer one.”
Aria picked up her pace. “Then what do you want?”
Cassian matched her stride easily. “An apology.”
She stopped abruptly and turned to him. Her voice came out sharp. “An apology? For what?”
“For publicly embarrassing me. For calling me a briefcase. For spilling your drink on me and then pretending like it didn’t happen.”
She crossed her arms. “So you picked our mural to—what? Drag me into your office and make me grovel?”
“Something like that.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Consider it poetic justice.”
“Well, you’re not getting one.”
His smile widened slightly. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.”
She turned on her heel and kept walking. “Stay away from me.”
But he didn’t.
“Tomorrow morning,” he called after her. “Sharp. Don’t be late.”
---
The next morning, Aria stood in the lobby of Blackwood Holdings.
Her fingers gripped the strap of her bag as she stared up at the towering skyscraper. She had barely slept. Her thoughts had spiraled all night—what did working directly with Cassian even mean? Would he fire her if she refused to play along? Was he going to hold her mural hostage?
She stepped inside.
Everything smelled like polished marble and cold-brewed capitalism. The receptionist gave her a name badge and directed her to the thirty-fourth floor.
The elevator ride was smooth and silent.
When the doors opened, Aria was met with sleek hallways, minimalistic decor, and a strange, sterile tension that made her shoulders tense. Mr. Baldwin was already waiting for her by a glass wall that overlooked the city skyline.
“Aria,” he greeted warmly. “Welcome.”
She managed a smile. “Morning, Mr. Baldwin.”
“I just wanted to inform you—Blackwood Holdings has taken a personal interest in our project. As such, you’ll be working here until the mural’s installation and final promotion are complete.”
Aria blinked. “Here? At the company?”
He nodded. “Mr. Blackwood himself requested it. He wants to oversee the process closely. You’ll have access to resources, marketing, everything. It’s a great opportunity.”
Opportunity. The word twisted in her stomach.
“I—I wasn’t told that before.”
Mr. Baldwin chuckled. “The decision came late last night. Mr. Blackwood moves quickly.”
Of course he does.
She nodded numbly.
“I’ll leave you in his assistant’s hands from here.”
Moments later, a woman in sharp heels approached—brisk and professional.
“Miss Lane, follow me.”
She was led to a corner office—not Cassian’s, thankfully—but one clearly meant for client interfacing. It had floor-to-ceiling windows and a clean desk setup with a sleek computer and digital sketch tools.
Aria tried to settle her nerves as she set her bag down.
But even before she could log in, the door opened behind her.
Cassian Blackwood.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t greet her.
He simply walked in, leaned against the frame, and watched her.
“Well,” he said, tilting his head. “You showed up.”
Aria’s jaw clenched. “Don’t act surprised.”
“I’m not.” He pushed off the wall and stepped inside. “I’m impressed.”
“Let’s just get this over with.”
He laughed softly. “We’re going to be working together for weeks, Miss Lane. There’s no rushing this.”
“Why me?” she asked finally. “Why my mural?”
Cassian studied her for a moment. “Because you have talent. And because you need to be reminded that actions have consequences.”
She folded her arms. “You think humiliating me at work is a consequence?”
“No,” he said, walking closer. “I think you’re going to learn something about pride. And perhaps—about professionalism.”
Aria stood her ground. “If this is your way of controlling me, it won’t work.”
Cassian’s eyes darkened. “It’s not about control. It’s about accountability.”
She turned back to the desk, dismissing him. “Then I hope you’re holding yourself accountable too, Mr. Blackwood.”
A beat passed.
Then he chuckled lowly. “Touché.”
He left without another word.
And Aria exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
---
By midday, she had been given a full rundown of the mural’s promotion schedule, the marketing expectations, the digital adaptation requirements, and a thousand other corporate things she didn’t care for. But she kept working. Because this was her art. Her future.
Cassian didn’t show up again that day. But his presence lingered
- Writer
