A Substitute Bride For The Cold Hearted Billionaire

CHAPTER 16: THE HEADLINES

CASSIUS'S POV

I felt it.

That light, careless brush of her knee against me.

It should have meant nothing. It was just a mistake–something small.

But it didn’t feel small.

My gaze dropped without permission, settling on her legs. They were still bare, the soft skin exposed in a way that made me more aware than I should have been.

My jaw tightened slightly.

I lifted my eyes back to her face. She had gone completely still.

Her eyes were wide, her breathing uneven, and the faint flush on her cheeks told me she had realized something had happened, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

She looked nervous–like she was afraid to move again.

I watched her for a second longer.

Then, without meaning to, my mind dragged me back to a few minutes ago. The way she had pouted when the spirit touched her skin. The way she had looked at me when she asked about what she heard—soft but curious. There had been no hidden meaning in it. Just innocence.

That was the problem.

My expression hardened slightly.

She didn’t even know what she was doing. And yet, standing this close to her now, I was the one reacting.

I exhaled slowly and forced my thoughts back under control.

“You really don’t think before you move,” I said, my voice calm.

She swallowed.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly, her voice soft.

Her fingers tightened against the desk, and I noticed the way she tried to shift her leg away carefully, like she didn’t want to make things worse.

The small movement only made me more aware of how little space there was between us.

I looked away for a second, trying to steady myself.

This was unnecessary. She meant nothing. This marriage meant nothing. I had no reason to be standing this close to her, noticing things that did not matter.

But when I looked back at her, she was still watching me. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“Were you talking about him?” she asked quietly.

I didn’t answer immediately. Her voice was soft, but there was something steady behind it. She clearly wanted to understand.

I studied her for a moment. She seemed concerned and curious. And still unaware.

My gaze dropped briefly again before I could stop it, catching the same view of her legs, still distracting.

I clenched my jaw.

“You ask too many questions,” I said.

Her expression shifted slightly, but she didn’t look away.

“It sounded serious,” she said. “I thought security already handled it.”

“They did.”

My voice came out flat.

She hesitated. “Then why did you say—”

“That’s enough.” I cut her off before she could finish.

The words came out sharper than I meant.

Silence fell between us again.

Her lips pressed together, and I saw the moment she decided not to push further.

Good. That was how it should be.

I straightened slowly and stepped back, finally putting a small distance between us.

It helped, but not enough. Because the moment I stepped back, I became aware of something else.

The absence–the space where she had been close just seconds ago. I didn’t like that either.

I turned away slightly, running a hand through my hair before letting it fall back to my side.

This was getting out of hand. And I didn’t want to lose control. Not over something like this–not over her.

“Get down.” I said. My voice was cold again.

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the sudden change.

For a second, she didn’t move. Then she nodded quickly and slid off the desk. I heard her whimper lightly.

I didn’t look at her. I didn’t trust myself to.

“Go to your room,” I added.

There was a small pause. Then, quietly, “Okay.”

I heard her footsteps move toward the door. I stayed where I was, facing away.

Only when the door opened and closed did I let out a slow breath.

My jaw tightened again.

This was exactly why I needed to keep my distance.

Because the moment I didn’t, even something as simple as a careless touch became a problem.

And I did not intend to let that happen again.

I stood there for a moment,my thoughts drifting back to the earlier call–the man from the restroom.

My jaw tightened slightly.

Security had taken him. The law would do what it always did—ask questions, file reports and delay.

It was useless.

Men like that don't learn from warnings.

Instead, they wait for another chance. And next time, they would be more careful not to get caught.

My expression hardened.

I didn’t deal with things like that halfway. He had touched her.

That alone was enough. It had nothing to do with emotions. Nothing to do with whatever this arrangement between us was supposed to be.

It was simple. A line had been crossed, and I made sure people who crossed my lines understood the cost.

My hand rested briefly against the desk, my fingers tapping once.

The police would lock him up.

But I would make sure he never tried anything again.

My phone buzzed against the desk, cutting through the silence.

I picked it up. It was a text from Marcus.

“Check the headlines.”

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I opened my laptop, the glow from the screen lighting up the room as the page loaded.

The first headline appeared.

“Cassius Kings Walks Out of Billion-Dollar Gala Mid-Event.”

I read it once, and moved on.

The second followed.

“Top Investors Left Waiting as CEO Abandons Scheduled Speech.”

My expression didn’t change. I'd expected this. None of that mattered.

They would complain, they would talk. And tomorrow, they will still show up.

My fingers moved again.

The next headline loaded. And this time, I stopped.

“New Wife Disrupts Gala. Cassius Kings Chooses ‘Fragile Bride’ Over Business.”

My gaze darkened.

Fragile.

They had no right to define her at all. They weren’t just describing her. They were diminishing her.

I leaned back slowly, reading it again, my jaw tightening.

So that was how they chose to frame it. Not my decision but hers.

A faint, colder edge slipped into my thoughts.

They could question me. They could complain about business.

But dragging her into it? That was a mistake.

I reached for my phone and dialed. The line connected almost immediately.

“Find every headline that mentions my wife.” I said.

My gaze stayed on the screen, on that single word.

“Fragile.” It wasn’t the word itself—it was the fact that they thought they had the right to label her at all.

My gaze darkened, fury shimmering beneath my skin.

“Trace it to all media houses that published it. Shut them down. I want them erased.” I ordered.

“Understood sir.”

The line went dead, and so did their chance to exist tomorrow.