a beautiful captive

chapter 2

Cassian

“What’s your problem, Julian?”

I didn’t slow as I moved down the hallway, my steps sharp against the floor, my voice low but edged enough to make the warning clear without needing to raise it.

Julian kept pace easily, like he always did, like he had every intention of pushing this further, whether I wanted him to or not. “What’s my problem?” he shot back, almost incredulous. “I should be asking you that.”

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looked like you just dragged some innocent girl into a situation that’s already a disaster—and you’re acting like that’s somehow a calculated decision.”

I kept walking, saying nothing, not even sparing him a glance, knowing that the silence would irritate him more than anything I could say.

It worked.

“She’s got nothing to do with this,” he pressed. “And now she’s trapped in a room because you—what, needed a bargaining chip?”

I stopped in my tracks. Julian almost bumped into me.

“That’s enough.”

I kept my tone quiet and steady, which just made the warning clear.

Julian stared right back, refusing to back off. “Is it, though? Because this looks a lot less like strategy and a lot more like you’re making it personal.”

“Is it?” he challenged, holding my gaze. “Because this doesn’t look like a strategy. It looks like you’re making it personal.”

Something flickered in my chest—brief, unwelcome—but I shut it down before it had the chance to take shape.

“You’re crossing a line.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have, thick with everything neither of us was saying, and for a moment I considered ending the conversation the way I ended most things—quickly, decisively, without explanation.

But instead, I met his eyes.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Julian scoffed under his breath. “Do you? Because it looks like you’re taking a risk you never take.”

I turned slightly, my mind already running through variables, outcomes, consequences—none of them simple, none of them clean.

“She’s connected.”

Julian’s expression shifted, doubt settling in immediately.

“Barely.”

“It’s enough.”

He studied me for a moment longer, like he was trying to decide whether I believed that or was just convincing myself.

Then he shook his head.

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not. And you know it.”

I didn’t answer. He was right, and we both knew it.

That was all the answer he needed.

“Exactly. So why her?”

For a brief second—one I didn’t intend—I glanced back toward the hallway we had come from, toward the closed door at the end of it, toward her, and I immediately regretted it because Julian caught everything, he always did.

When I finally spoke, my voice had settled into something colder, harder, something that didn’t invite further questions.

“Because she’s already involved.”

Julian went still, his expression sharpening as he studied me more carefully now.

“And if she’s not?” he pressed.

I met his gaze without hesitation, holding it long enough to make the answer clear before I even said it.

“Then she will be.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, stretching just long enough to make the words sink in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Julian asked, stepping in front of me like he actually intended to stop me from moving forward. “You can’t drag her into this without your mother coming after you. You know that.”

I let out a quiet breath, something between a scoff and a dismissal, more irritated than concerned.

“She needs me to take over the company,” I said, my tone flat, almost careless. “She’s not in a position to do anything drastic right now.”

Julian didn’t move, didn’t look convinced, but I didn’t wait for him to argue.

“And get someone to clean the blood in her room,” I added as I stepped past him and continued down the corridor, already done with the conversation.

Behind me, he stopped.

“Wait—what?”

I barely glanced over my shoulder, my expression unchanged, my patience already thinning.

“Relax. It’s not hers.”

That didn’t help.

I could feel it in the way the silence shifted, in the way he didn’t immediately respond.

I shrugged slightly, my voice steady, unaffected.

“It’s someone else’s. He caused a problem. I dealt with it.”

There was a pause—longer this time—before Julian exhaled heavily, the sound edged with frustration as he dragged a hand down his face.

“Right,” he muttered. “Of course you did.”

We kept walking, the tension between us settling into something quieter but no less present, and for a while neither of us said anything, the silence stretching just enough to feel intentional rather than comfortable.

Then Julian spoke again, his voice lower this time, more serious.

“I mean it, Cass. I’m not getting involved. I can’t keep something like this from Ma D.”

I rolled my eyes, the irritation surfacing despite my effort to keep it buried, because he just wouldn’t let this go—of course, that would be his limit, the one thing he wouldn’t bend on.

“Oh, obviously,” I muttered, my tone edged with dry sarcasm. “Why would you ever hide anything from your one true love?”

Julian’s grin came quickly, sharp, and completely unbothered.

“You know she likes me better than you, right? I’m practically her favorite.”

“Sure,” I said under my breath, the word carrying more weight than I intended, though I didn’t bother correcting it.

I didn’t look at him.

I didn’t need to.

Because the truth was, the way Julian and Merinda were with each other had always been… off. Not in a way anyone could easily point to, not something obvious enough to call out, but something subtle and persistent, something that lingered just beneath the surface.

Too close.

Not in the way a mother and son should be, but in a way that felt more deliberate, more equal, like they operated on the same level while the rest of us were left guessing. Half the time, they spoke like they shared information no one else had access to, like there was an entire conversation happening underneath the one you could actually hear.

And I was never part of it.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

That it shouldn’t.

But it did.

More than I would like to admit.

What bothered me most wasn’t just how close they were—it was how easily Julian had gotten there, how effortlessly he had slipped past walls that no one else had ever managed to cross.

Merinda Davenport didn’t trust people.

She observed, calculated, tested, and only when someone proved themselves useful—or necessary—did she allow them any kind of proximity.

And yet Julian had walked straight through all of that like it was nothing.

Like her defenses didn’t apply to him.

It didn’t make sense.

It never had.

By the time we reached my office, the thought was still sitting there, unresolved, turning over quietly in the back of my mind in a way I couldn’t ignore, even if I tried.

“I need to get something done,” I said, already pushing the door open, not slowing down, not giving him room to respond. “We’ll get back to the plan after.”

And before Julian could say anything else, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.