The Grim Sovereign

Chapter 10

Half an hour later, after leaving the imposing Lannister building, Cassian and Sandra found themselves side by side on a rattling city bus that crawled toward the outskirts, the windows streaked with dust and the air inside thick with the smell of exhaust and sweat. The ride was long, the kind that made you question every decision you’d ever made halfway through, but Sandra’s face remained calm and unreadable, a mask she wore with careful precision. The file in her hands was pressed tightly against her chest, as though the mere weight of the papers inside could shield her from what awaited them outside.

When the bus finally groaned to a stop, they stepped down in front of a sprawling compound that stretched across the horizon like a miniature town, fenced in with high, rust-streaked iron. A signboard hung crookedly at the entrance, its bold letters reading HARROGATE GROUP, chipped and faded from years of sun and neglect. Behind the gate, a massive factory rose from the earth, its brick walls scorched and cracked, while bulldozers, excavators, and dump trucks lay parked in neat rows like colossal beasts at rest beneath the harsh glare of the sun.

Three security guards lounged beneath the sparse shade of a mango tree near the entrance, cards in hand, the rhythmic clink of bottled drinks mixing with their laughter. Their attention was consumed entirely by the game; Cassian and Sandra could have been ghosts for all they cared.

Cassian, ever composed, stepped forward with a controlled politeness that made the tension in the air seem almost out of place. “Hello,” he said evenly, his voice carrying just enough authority to be heard over the distant hum of machinery. “Is this Harrogate Group? We’re with Lannister Group. We’re here to collect a debt.”

The three men froze mid-laugh, the cards slipping from their fingers onto the dirt beneath them. When their eyes finally lifted and landed on Sandra, the shift in their expressions was instant and pronounced, as though someone had turned a dial from casual amusement to predatory curiosity. Their gaze lingered too long—hungry, assessing, unashamed.

One of the guards leaned back, letting out a low chuckle that did not reach his eyes, and grinned with a slow, deliberate leer. “Debt collection, huh? Sure… go right on in.”

The words were casual, almost friendly, but the tone held the unmistakable edge of warning, a subtle challenge that made it clear this was no ordinary office, no ordinary company—and definitely no ordinary encounter.

Cassian’s eyes flicked toward Sandra, calm but alert, noting the almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders as she tightened her grip on the file. He offered her the faintest nod, a silent reassurance that whatever awaited them inside, they would face it together.

Sandra inhaled slowly, squared her shoulders, and followed him past the gate, knowing already that every step forward was a step deeper into a world where debts were measured in power, leverage, and danger—and that one wrong move could cost far more than money.

Sandra blinked, slightly stunned. Was it really this easy? She had heard stories about Harrogate—stories filled with thugs, broken noses, and companies that never recovered. She had expected to be turned away before she could even explain her purpose. But now… they were just letting her in?

She glanced at Cassian, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

They walked through the compound together.

They followed a narrow path that led to a five-story building. A receptionist, a young woman with bright red lipstick and tired eyes, didn’t ask many questions. She simply picked up the phone, murmured something, and motioned for them to take the elevator.

At the top floor, a secretary escorted them to a large, imposing office. The door creaked open, and the first thing Sandra noticed was the man inside—a huge, bald-headed figure seated behind a mahogany desk, a cigar clamped between his thick fingers. His left hand toyed lazily with a string of rosewood beads, the kind that didn’t look spiritual in his grip—more like trophies from the lives he’d crushed.

“Mr. Harrogate,” Sandra began, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I’m Sandra from Lannister Group. I’m here today to collect the debt your company owes us.”

The man—Gideon Blackwell, the infamous CEO—lifted his head slowly, his lips curving into amusement and lust. His small eyes flickered over Sandra’s face, then drifted lower, tracing the curve of her fitted blazer, the grace in her posture, and the effortless confidence in her stance. His gaze lingered too long on her legs—bare beneath her skirt, pale and shapely under the fluorescent light.

“Well, well,” Gideon murmured, leaning back in his chair, smoke curling from his cigar. “Miss Sandra, you’re even more charming than I expected. Please—have a seat.”

Sandra managed a polite smile and took the chair across from him, crossing her legs carefully. Cassian stood behind her, silent but watchful. His jaw tightened when Gideon’s gaze refused to move.

“As for the money,” Gideon continued, chuckling softly, “you don’t need to worry. I’m a man who keeps his word.”

He rose from his chair—slowly, heavily—and extended his hand. It was thick, damp, and glistening with sweat. Sandra hesitated, then briefly shook it, pulling her hand back as quickly as manners allowed. Gideon’s grin widened, his fat fingers twitching as if already missing her touch.

Without sparing Cassian a glance, Gideon turned toward the door. “Secretary! Check how much we owe the Lannister Group and bring it here.”

The secretary nodded and disappeared. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Gideon sat back down, his eyes never leaving Sandra’s face. “I must say, Miss Sandra,” he said, his tone syrupy, “you don’t look like the kind of woman who deals with debts. You look more like someone who makes men owe her instead.”

Sandra’s lips tightened into a faint smile. “I’m just here to do my job, Mr. Blackwell.”

“Of course you are,” he said with a smirk, taking another puff from his cigar.

A few minutes later, the door burst open. Two burly men walked in, each carrying a large woven nylon bag.

Bang!

The bag split open slightly, revealing bundles upon bundles of cash. Green bills spilled out like a flood of temptation, the smell of money thick in the air.

Sandra’s eyes widened, her breath catching in disbelief.

What shocked Sandra the most wasn’t just the sight of the cash—it was how easily Gideon handed it over. It all happened so smoothly that it felt unreal, like she had stepped into a dream.

Gideon leaned back in his chair. A grin stretched across his fleshy face. He enjoyed this—the power, the control, the way people’s pride melted in front of him the moment he brought out money.

“Miss Lannister,” he said in a voice as oily as the cigar smoke curling from his lips, “the money is right here. You can take it anytime you wish.”

He waved a hand lazily, as if it meant nothing to him. “And if you’re willing to… discuss a few of my conditions, I can even advance payment for your next two years of projects. Imagine that—two years paid in full.”

Sandra’s breath hitched slightly. His gaze wasn’t one of business—it was predatory. The kind that made her skin crawl. Her instincts screamed that there was a price behind his generosity, one she wasn’t willing to pay.

Before she could respond, Gideon leaned forward across the desk, lowering his voice. “You’re a smart woman. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sandra saw movement—two large men stepping forward from the shadows near the door. They moved with mechanical precision, the kind of men who didn’t need to be told twice. One of them approached Cassian, forcing a tight smile.

“Sir,” the man said coldly, “please come with us. There are some… formalities we need you to handle.”

Cassian’s body went rigid. His sharp blue eyes darkened like a storm about to break. He could read the situation instantly—this wasn’t about paperwork. These were Gideon’s dogs, trained to separate and intimidate.

Every muscle in his jaw tightened, his fists flexing slightly. But then, with a slow exhale, Cassian forced himself to stay calm. He glanced at Sandra, then back at the men.

If he reacted now, she’d never get out of this place with the money—maybe not even alive. So, he decided to endure it. For now.

Gideon noticed the tension and smiled wider. “No need to worry,” he said smoothly. “Just a few procedures to make everything official.”

Sandra, realizing the trap closing around them, straightened her posture. “Thank you for your trust, Mr. Gideon,” she said quickly, her voice calm but her heart racing. “I’ll report the cooperation to my company. But for today, I’ll need to return immediately to settle the accounts.”

She turned to Cassian, her tone sharp with urgency. “Cassian, take the money.”

Cassian nodded and stepped forward, bending down to lift the heavy woven bag. The rough texture of the nylon bit into his palms—but before he could even straighten up, a heavy boot slammed down on top of the bag.

Bang!

The sound echoed like a gunshot through the room.

Cassian froze, his head slowly lifting to meet the burly man towering above him. The man’s voice was deep and flat.

“Can you take this money? Put it down.”