An Unexpected Kiss
1231 Words
Rain pounded against the windows that night, casting jagged shadows across the high-rise penthouse. Thunder cracked overhead like a warning, but inside, the silence was deafening.
Elara sat on the floor of Cassian’s study, the folder still open in her lap. Her name stared up at her in clean, sharp letters: Elara Quinn, Subject 427 – Approved.
The printed pages detailed her background with chilling precision. Her academic records. Her part-time jobs. Her father’s legal troubles. A timeline of her decline.
And at the bottom, underlined and stamped: Pre-selected. Asset viable. Greenlit three days prior.
Her chest tightened.
She wasn’t chosen because she was the best fit.
She was chosen because she was convenient.
The walls seemed to press closer around her. She placed the folder back on the shelf and walked out of the study, barefoot and shaken. The echo of her footsteps followed her down the long hallway.
She had no idea where she was going. She just knew she needed air.
But when she stepped into the kitchen, she found Cassian already there.
He stood at the marble island, back turned to her, dressed in gray sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. His hair was damp, tousled from a recent shower, and his bare feet were silent on the floor.
It was the first time she’d seen him like this, stripped of his armor.
He poured a finger of whiskey into a crystal glass. His movements were precise. Controlled. Like everything else about him.
She lingered in the doorway.
“You don’t sleep?” she asked quietly.
Cassian didn’t turn. “Not often.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like what I see when I close my eyes.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. No drama. Just fact.
Elara stepped closer. “Guilt?”
He finally looked at her over his shoulder. “Conscience is a liability. And I have too many enemies to afford one.”
She leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed over her silk robe. “That’s a convenient excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse,” he said flatly. “It’s survival.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the ticking of the vintage wall clock and the occasional rumble of thunder.
Elara exhaled sharply. “I found the folder.”
Cassian said nothing.
“You knew everything about me before I even stood on that stage.”
Still, silence.
“You manipulated the auction.”
Finally, he met her gaze.
“I did.”
She blinked, thrown by his lack of denial. “No apology?”
“You’re not here for apologies.”
Her voice cracked. “Then why am I here, Cassian? Really.”
He studied her for a long moment, then took a sip of his drink before answering.
“You want the truth?”
“I think I deserve it.”
“I chose you because you were the only one who didn’t want me.”
The words knocked the air from her lungs.
“What?”
“You weren’t trying to impress anyone. You weren’t faking desperation. You looked at me like you saw through everything; the money, the suit, the performance.” He stepped forward, slowly. “Everyone else looked at me like I was their rescue. You looked at me like I was the storm.”
“I didn’t want to be rescued,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“And I sure as hell didn’t want to be owned.”
“I don’t own you.”
“Yes, you do,” she shot back. “You own the headlines. You own my image. You orchestrated this whole thing.”
“You agreed to it.”
“Because you gave me no choice!”
He moved closer again. “That’s not true. You could’ve walked away.”
“Into what? A ruined name? Homelessness? My father in prison while I scrape together tuition working three jobs?”
Cassian’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak.
“You gave me a lifeboat,” Elara said. “But you tied a chain around my ankle when I got in.”
The rain outside intensified. Lightning flashed, illuminating the conflict between them.
“Tell me something,” she said. “Did you ever plan to tell me I’d been pre-selected? Or did you think I’d stay easier if I believed in fate?”
His answer was a long time coming.
“I thought if you believed it was your choice, you’d resent me less.”
“Well, guess what?” Her voice trembled. “I still resent you.”
They stared at each other across the kitchen, two strangers entangled in a lie neither of them knew how to escape.
The lights flickered, then, as if following a rhythm, went out.
Power surged, then dropped, throwing the penthouse into velvet darkness. Only the lightning lit the room, followed by a long, rolling growl of thunder.
Neither of them moved.
The air was electric.
“I should go back to my room,” Elara murmured, her voice unsteady.
But when she turned, Cassian caught her wrist.
She stilled. Her pulse thundered beneath his fingers.
“Elara.”
She looked back, and saw something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Fear. Not of her. Of himself.
“I warned you not to get close,” he said.
“I’m not close.”
“You’re too close.”
And then, he kissed her.
It wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t patient.
It was full of everything he refused to say; rage, fear, desire, confusion.
His hand slid into her hair. Her hands clenched his shirt. His mouth claimed hers like he was trying to brand her soul.
For a moment, she didn’t resist.
For a moment, she wanted to drown in it.
Then she pulled back, breathless.
“That was a mistake,” she whispered.
He looked at her like he already knew it.
“This changes nothing,” he said.
“It changes everything.”
But he was already retreating. She watched the mask slip back into place.
Without another word, he left the kitchen.
She couldn’t sleep after that.
She sat on the edge of her bed, heart pounding, the kiss replaying on a loop in her head.
It hadn’t been a kiss of affection. It had been a breaking point. A warning. A fire too dangerous to touch.
And yet… part of her wanted to be burned again.
The next morning, Elara walked into the dining room to find it empty. A silent breakfast had been laid out: fresh fruit, croissants, eggs, and French-pressed coffee.
She sat alone, appetite absent, wondering if Cassian would show.
He didn’t.
Instead, his assistant arrived with a plain white envelope.
Inside was a handwritten note in Cassian’s sharp, slanted script:
We leave for the Hamptons at 2 p.m. Pack light.
-Cassian
That was it.
No mention of last night. No apology. No acknowledgment.
Typical.
She stared at the note until her eyes burned, then crumpled it and threw it into the fireplace.
If he wanted her to pretend like nothing happened, fine.
But pretending wouldn’t make her forget the kiss.
And it wouldn’t stop the questions swirling in her chest.
Because that kiss didn’t feel like a strategy.
It felt like the one honest thing between them.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
- Writer
