Freeing the Billionaire: In Love with the Playboy

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore outside was drowned out by the steady thrum of the voice of his new conquest, rising with the desperation of someone who had been ignored for too long. Cassian stood by the large glass windows of his beach house, watching the city lights of Miami glitter in the distance, his silhouette a dark figure against the soft, warm glow of the house. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his designer blazer, and he didn’t move, not even when the girl—what was her name again? —collapsed onto the sofa behind him, her sobs echoing through the vast, empty space. She was beautiful, of course. They always were. Thin, tall, a picture of what he was supposed to want, and yet, the sight of her in tears didn’t stir anything inside him. He didn’t care. He couldn’t. “You don’t get it, do you?” her voice cracked, her words tinged with anger now, cutting through the silence. “I love you, Cassian. I thought... I thought maybe you’d feel the same. But I’m just a body to you, right? That’s all I’ll ever be.” His gaze didn’t waver from the view outside. “Of course you love me,” he said, his voice cool, detached. He spoke as if it were an inevitability, as if her love had no more meaning than the passing of time. He didn’t need to look at her to know the tears were still streaming down her face, that her chest was heaving with emotion. But it was all noise to him, something he could easily tune out. “I gave you everything, Cassian! And you—” Her voice trembled, and then she sniffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “I’m not just some—some... hookup. I wanted more. I thought we were—” He turned then, but his expression remained impassive. She was sitting on the couch now, hands clutching the fabric of her shirt, eyes wide, pleading. He could almost feel the weight of her gaze, but it didn’t move him. He stepped forward, just enough to block the view of the night sky, casting a shadow over her. His presence was a reminder of the gulf between them. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words. “Why does it always have to be about love?” he asked finally, his voice lower than before, edged with something she couldn’t quite place. “Why can’t it just be about the fun? The... the escape? Why can’t we just have that and leave it at that?” Her lip quivered. She looked at him like he was a stranger, the pieces of their past slipping through her fingers. “Because, Cassian... because I thought you wanted more, too. I thought maybe, somewhere in there...” She shook her head again, the tears welling up once more. “But I was wrong. I was stupid.” Cassian stood in front of her, unmoving. His eyes, cold and unfeeling, were locked onto hers, but there was no warmth in them, no recognition of the hurt she was in. He didn’t feel it. He never felt it. “I’ve always been clear with you,” he said, a quiet finality in his voice. “You wanted more. I never did. I told you that. We were never going to be anything more than this. Nothing’s changed.” Her lips parted in disbelief, but the words stuck in her throat. She shook her head slowly, as if the reality of it was something she hadn’t fully accepted until now. “I hate you,” she whispered, the words heavy with pain. She turned away, staring out at the waves, as if looking for something in the horizon that could offer her answers. But there was nothing. Nothing she could say or do would change what had already been decided. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. Cassian watched her, not with remorse, but with the quiet certainty that this was how it was always going to be. He couldn’t fix this. He wasn’t capable of it. The truth was simple, even if it hurt her: there was no room for love in his world. Not in the way she wanted it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just didn’t know how. Her voice broke through the silence, fragile but laced with frustration. “Do you ever wonder, Cassian, if it could have been more? If we could have had something real?” He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the door ahead. It was easier to focus on that than to look at her and see the hurt. He’d seen it too many times before, the hope in her eyes fading every time he shut her out. “I thought... I thought the way you touched me, the way you were with me—” Her voice trembled. “That meant something.” Cassian’s jaw tightened, but his face remained unreadable. He shifted slightly, his back still to her. “It does mean something,” he replied, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it. “It means... I wanted you. And you wanted me. I gave you everything you needed in bed. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that enough?” Her hand balled into a fist, pressing it into her lap as though the action might steady her. “No, Cassian. It’s never been enough. You think just because you—” She stopped, unable to find the right words. “You think just because you made me orgasm every time, that’s all it takes? That it’s enough for me to keep pretending it’s, okay?” Cassian didn’t turn around, but his lips pressed together tightly. He had been raised to see s*x as an exchange, a transaction. Pleasure given; pleasure received. It was simple. It was clean. He wasn’t built for anything else, not for love, not for emotions. He’d been trained—by his father, by his stepmother—not to feel, not to care. He shifted again, uncomfortable now, but not because of her words. It was because he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something he’d never learned to do right. Turning on his heel, he walked toward the door, his footsteps steady, measured. "Get some rest," he said quietly, not looking back. He didn’t wait for her reply.