Taming the billionaire's heart

found her

The bar was quieter than it had been earlier. Low lights. Soft jazz humming like a heartbeat. Cassian Wycliffe Reynolds slid onto the stool at the end of the counter, loosening the top button of his shirt. He looked like he’d just walked off a film set—sharp jawline, undone tie, eyes heavy with thoughts that didn’t belong in polite conversation.

The bartender, an older man with neat salt-and-pepper hair and a knack for reading moods, slid him a glass of scotch without being asked.

“Found her, then?” he said, drying a tumbler.

Cassian took a sip before answering. “Yeah.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “So? Is she the one?”

Cassian’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Yes… and no.”

The bartender stilled. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cass leaned his arms on the bar. “She’s the girl. The one who went head-to-head with Lucian the other day.”

That earned a pause. “The girl who told your cousin off? What about her?”

“She works in the same building now. As a hostess.”

The bartender frowned. “Still not seeing the connection.”

Cassian looked up, eyes steady. “I want to marry her.”

The bartender blinked. Once. Twice. Then let out a sharp, short laugh and leaned against the back wall.

“Are you in love or just clinically insane?”

“I’m not in love,” Cass said, tone flat. “Since when does Cassian Wycliffe Reynolds get carried away by love?”

“Exactly my point.” The bartender leaned forward, voice low. “Then I don’t get it. Why her?”

“Because she stood up to Lucian like she didn’t care who he was. She didn’t flinch. You know what that means for someone like me?”

The bartender tilted his head. “No. But I feel like you’re about to tell me.”

“It means she won’t be a pushover. It means if she can face Lucian, she can balance me out. Keep me from losing my damn mind when the politics start closing in.”

The bartender made a face. “You sure it wasn’t just the tequila talking? She took three shots and forgot where fear lived.”

Cassian grinned slightly. “Maybe. But what matters is she said what she felt. I can work with that.”

The bartender poured himself a drink. “And what about when she’s sober, Cass? What about gala dinners, red carpets, a thousand cameras and a million opinions? You think she’s built for that? She’s not from this world. She’ll drown in it.”

“She’ll learn.”

“You don’t train a girl for this life like you’re teaching her to drive.”

Cassian shrugged. “She’s got fire. It just needs to be dug out.”

“Fire’s not enough. You need someone who speaks this language, someone who’s worn the mask so long it fits like skin. Not a country girl who’ll get chewed up the moment someone calls her out.”

“She won’t be chewed up.”

“Oh, so now you’re her knight in shining arrogance?”

“I’m just saying, don’t underestimate her.”

“And you think she’ll even say yes? Why are you so damn sure of yourself?”

Cassian chuckled. “Because I’m me. And when I decide something, I make it happen.”

The bartender rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who gives a damn about your name, or your money, or your god-tier face. If she did, she’d be in Lucian’s bed by now.”

Cassian leaned back, amused. “Exactly. She’s not. Which means she’s different. And I like different.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’ll get her.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead.”

The bartender smirked. “Fine. Tell me the wedding date and I’ll send you my suit measurements.”

Cass raised his glass. “I expect you to be front row. Best man.”

“Only so I can see your face when she leaves you standing at the altar.”

Cassian laughed. “Watch the space, old man. Watch the space.”

Cassian was halfway through his second drink when a presence slid into the stool beside him without a sound.

He didn’t need to turn. Only one man moved like that.

“Renzo,” he muttered.

The man was in his fifties, his silver-streaked hair slicked back, expression always unreadable. Family butler? More like family shadow. He’d been around since Cass was born, knew too much, spoke too little.

“You need to come home,” Renzo said lowly. “Now.”

Cassian frowned. “What happened?”

“An emergency. Your mother sent me.”

Cass didn’t ask further. If his mother had sent Renzo herself, it wasn’t something minor.

He tossed a few bills on the bar, downed the last of his drink, and gave the bartender a nod. “Rain check on that wedding suit.”

The man raised his glass without a word, his eyes watching Cass with the sort of worry people wore like armor—quiet but heavy.

Cassian left without another glance.

---

The Reynolds estate was chaos beneath the surface. The lights were soft, the furniture gleamed, the air smelled of lavender and money, but the energy—God, the energy was tight. Wound like a violin string that might snap at the wrong note.

He stepped inside, and it hit him—nearly every branch of the family tree had gathered. His father’s three sisters sat together, all in their designer mourning black, husbands beside them like accessories. Their children whispered in corners. His two uncles were in deep conversation, their wives clutching handbags and pearls like something might be stolen from under them.

And then, the sharpest cut of them all: his uncle Julian—Lucian’s father—stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, Lucian next to him, as if they owned the air in the room.

But Cassian only looked for one person.

His mother.

She stood by the staircase, eyes darting between conversations, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked paler than usual, as though waiting had sucked the color from her bones.

Cassian crossed the room quickly.

“Mother,” he said.

She turned, and relief broke across her face for a moment before she swallowed it.

“Cassian. Thank God.”

“What happened?”

Her eyes flickered toward the upper floor, then back to him. “Your grandfather. He fainted this afternoon. The doctors think it’s a stroke… or something close. They’re not sure. He’s been moved to the private hospital.”

He blinked. “Can I see him?”

“Not yet. He’s in the ICU.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “We spoke yesterday. I—maybe I said something I shouldn’t have.”

She reached for his arm, gently. “Cass. Don’t do that. Not now. Be patient. Your grandmother will explain everything to us soon.”

Cassian nodded, then scanned the room again. The voices, the fake concern, the hushed glances—it all made his stomach turn.

He leaned closer to his mother. “They’re already scheming.”

She sighed. “Always are.”

And then the doors opened.

Everyone turned.

His grandmother walked in like a queen returning to her court—dressed in deep navy, every pearl around her neck perfectly aligned, her cane striking the floor with authority. Her face didn’t show grief—it showed steel. And that scared Cassian more than anything.

She stopped in the center of the room and looked at them all, one by one. Measured. Calculated.

“Your father,” she began, “is stable for now. But he will be in intensive care for a long while. The doctors say it could be months.”

Whispers buzzed in the air like flies.

She raised a hand and silence fell.

“Until he recovers, I will serve as temporary patriarch—” she paused briefly, “matriarch—of this family. When the time is right, and after speaking with the board, we will decide on the successor. Whoever is chosen will be officially announced when my husband regains consciousness.”

That was it. She turned and left the room, her cane echoing against marble.

And the murmurs began.

This time louder. Some rushed to whisper into ears. Others left the room to make calls.

Cass stood there, still.

His mother leaned close. Her voice was barely a breath.

“You know your father should’ve been heir. And you’ve been walking in his shadow ever since.”

He said nothing.

She touched his hand.

“But don’t fight for this, Cassian.”

He turned to her, surprised by the crack in her voice. she wasn't usually like this it seems waiting had turned her into something she was not.

“Look around this room,” she said. “Every smile hides a knife. Some of them already have the board’s backing. Some may even do worse. Ever wondered what they’re capable of?”

He stared at the floor.

“I don’t want to lose a son too, I already lost a husband over this family legacy,” she whispered.

Her grip was gentle, but her eyes were pleading.

Cassian looked up at the staircase. Where his grandfather used to stand during family holidays, proud. Laughing.

Now… silence.

He wished his sister was here. She would’ve known what to say. Or at least made his mother smile again. It had been a year since she left for Europe. A year of silence and absence.

Cassian swallowed the stone lodged in his throat.

“I’ll behave,” he said.

But even he wasn’t sure if he meant it.