Hellcat
1156 Words
A rooftop lounge, dim skyline, jazz humming low in the background. Cassian leans on the balcony with a tumbler of scotch in hand.
The city didn’t care who married who. It blinked and buzzed and burned without pause, neon lights pulsing like heartbeats that weren’t his.
Cassian Trent exhaled slowly, the drink untouched.
An arranged marriage.
To her.
The pistachio thief.
Hellcat, the words drifted softly in his head. It suited her – dark, dry and usually served with side-eyes.
He let out a low, humorless chuckle. Of all the entitled heiresses and stiff-lipped debutantes in the Morvain bloodline, fate had tied him to the one who squared up over frozen dessert like it was a duel.
“Loss is loss,” he muttered, sipping at last.
Dora Morvain. Sharp tongue, fire in her eyes, a walking contradiction. She was everything he didn’t want—and exactly the type to keep his world interesting for all the wrong reasons.
His phone buzzed. He didn’t look.
It would be his father or hers, reminding him to play nice. Smile for the press. Behave like the alliance was a privilege.
But Cassian didn’t smile.
He played for legacy, not love.
This wasn’t about romance. This was about empires. His father had built theirs from luxury steel and clean power. The Morvains brought old money and political insulation.
The deal was clear.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the unease simmering beneath the logic.
Dora wasn’t docile. She’d chew through a leash and spit it back in your face.
He could already feel it—this wouldn’t be a partnership. It would be war.
She even had the guts of a lion to reject him outrightly in front of both families.
And for some reason…
He wasn’t entirely opposed to that.
Cassian’s lips curled faintly, but not into a smile. More like a warning. To himself.
Let’s see what she does next.
---
Cassian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. The invitation had been simple. A reservation at a discreet rooftop restaurant, name under Trent. Sent through official channels. Formal enough to respect her boundaries, casual enough to imply let’s settle this like adults.
And yet—no reply.
He checked his phone again.
Nothing.
He smirked, slow and dangerous. “So that’s how we’re playing it.”
Most people scrambled to please the Trents. Dora Morvain, on the other hand, treated him like an expired loyalty card.
He downed the rest of the drink, tossed the glass onto the bar cart, and shrugged into his coat.
She didn’t want dinner?
Fine.
He’d bring the conversation to her doorstep.
---
Dora and Aanya’s Apartment – That Same Evening
The doorbell rang once. Then again. Longer. Sharper.
Aanya groaned from the couch, still half-buried under a blanket, “If that’s another parcel for Dora’s unnecessary skincare—”
“I didn’t order anything,” Dora said, padding toward the door in leggings and an oversized shirt that said Don’t Talk to Me. She cracked the door open—then yanked it wider with visible irritation.
Cassian Trent stood there, too smug for someone not standing on a yacht.
He lifted a paper bag like it was a peace offering. “You skipped dinner. I brought it to you.”
“You’re joking.”
“Tragically, no.”
Aanya lifted her head from the couch. “Is that—?” She blinked, then grinned. “Oh, it’s the ice cream funeral guy.”
Cassian blinked, caught off guard. Dora scowled. “He’s not staying.”
“Shame,” Aanya said, stretching. “He’s prettier than the last guy who came to the door.”
Cassian gave a half-smile and tilted his head at Dora. “See? Your roommate has taste.”
“She also has a head injury from last night. Don’t take it personally.”
He stepped inside without waiting for permission—again.
Dora blocked his path. “You seriously think crashing my evening will make me say yes to the marriage?”
“No. But avoiding me isn’t going to make it go away either,” he said smoothly. “Might as well argue like civilized people. Over food.”
Dora crossed her arms. “You don’t even like pistachio.”
“Luckily, I didn’t bring ice cream. I brought pasta. You’re welcome.”
Aanya cleared her throat from the couch. “You two need alone time? I could crawl back into the grave I came out of.”
“Stay,” Cassian said before Dora could speak. “It might help having a witness when Dora eventually throws something at me.”
Dora threw her hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”
“Still better than texting you twelve times like some desperate ex,” he said, strolling to the kitchen and setting the food down. “Don’t worry, Hellcat. I’m not here to flirt. Just negotiate.”
Aanya’s brows shot up. “Hellcat?”
Dora snapped, “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
Cassian only smirked. “Good thing I wasn’t asking permission.”
Dora looked at the heavens.
This wasn’t a fiancé.
He was a walking migraine.
************
After Cassian Leaves.
-------
As soon as the door clicked shut, Dora turned, fists clenched. “Who just walks into someone’s home like that?”
Aanya was already halfway into the pasta, fork twirling with practiced ease. “Someone who knew you wouldn’t slam the door in his face with food in his hands.”
“I should have. He’s insufferable.”
“Insufferably tall. Insufferably well-dressed. Insufferably hot.”
Dora threw a cushion at her.
Aanya dodged it, laughing. “I’m just saying. He came all the way here with food—and called you Hellcat. That’s personal, that’s cute.”
“It’s unoriginal,” Dora snapped. “And manipulative.”
“Is it manipulative if it works?” Aanya asked, mouth full.
Dora stormed off toward her room, muttering, “I hope he steps on a Lego.”
---
Cassian slid into the backseat of his car, the door closing with a solid thunk behind him. The silence was comforting, but it didn’t stop the ghost of Dora’s glare from dancing in his mind.
Fiery, defensive, and absolutely allergic to compromise.
He hadn’t meant to call her Hellcat out loud.
But it fit too well. The way she hissed at his presence, ready to pounce if provoked. She was elegant chaos wrapped in leggings and sarcasm.
He liked order.
Schedules. Silence. Obedient deals.
Dora Morvain was none of those things.
And yet… when she looked at him like she’d like to strangle him with her shoelaces—he didn’t feel offended.
He felt interested.
Cassian exhaled sharply, letting his head fall back against the seat.
“Hellcat,” he muttered to himself again, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “You’re going to be a problem.”
- Writer
