His Assistant. His obsession

Chapter 3

Call me creep. I don't care but.

I've been staring at Isabella for the past five minutes.

She wore jeans and a hoodie, something cheap and worn, yet she still stood out like a flame in the dark.

Her dense, dark curls spilled from beneath her hood, cascading down her stomach in wild waves. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

Her pink lips glistened with a discreet gloss, and her eyes, those deep, impossible eyes, were locked on the guy standing too close to her.

My heart clenched.

His hand was extended toward her. And she was smiling at him. A smile I could never freely claim. A smile that belonged to a world where I didn't exist as her captor.

Fuck.

She reached for his hand, then flinched, as if sensing something. Her head turned, and our gazes collided across the crowded room.

She pulled her hand back.

Good.

Then she lifted her chin, glanced at me again, and took his hand with the brightest smile she could muster.

The guy, Julian, I knew his name, I knew everything about her, beamed back, and they disappeared into the throng of bodies.

My grip tightened around my glass until my knuckles went white. She was teasing me. Pushing back. Testing the leash I'd wrapped around her throat.

What if she actually liked him?

"Oh, hi, babe."

I turned. Catherine had materialized at my side, her body pressing against mine like a second skin. I set down my glass and gripped her hips, firm, impersonal, mechanical.

"What's wrong, Catherine?"

She tossed her blonde hair, her red lips curving into a smile that was all teeth. "Can't I visit my babe whenever I want?"

I chuckled, a hollow sound. We both knew she was deluding herself. Before every relationship, I made the rules clear: I didn't do serious.

They got with me because they thought they could change me, or because they wanted the name, the money, the proximity to power.

For Catherine, it was all three. We'd f****d a few times this year, and she showed up whenever she needed something, or on the days she convinced herself I might trade cuddles for s*x.

She picked up my glass, pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the lipstick stain away without a word. I never pretended we were anything more. The fling ended months ago, but Catherine couldn't accept that I'd moved on.

I stood, my eyes already scanning the crowd where Isabella had vanished.

Catherine grabbed my wrist. "You're leaving? So early?"

I didn't answer. I freed my wrist and walked away.

****

I followed the exact path Isabella had taken. Outside, in the garden, she was laughing, actually laughing, at something Julian had said.

His hand rested on hers on the table.

My heart stopped.

She was letting him touch her.

I froze for a second. The contract was clear. No one touched her. No one.

So why couldn't I stand the sight of her living in a world that didn't revolve around me?

I leaned against the bar, forcing myself to breathe. I was in no mood to deal with Catherine's clinginess or Julian's pathetic attempts at courtship.

For three years, I'd watched Isabella from a distance. Three years of cataloging her smiles, her frowns, the way she bit her lip when she was stressed. And now, the only opportunity I had to truly approach her, I'd botched it with blackmail and threats.

I'd made her my assistant. I'd made her warm my bed.

And it still tasted like ash.

I checked my watch. Ten PM. Pulling out my phone, I typed a message before I could stop myself.

"Get to the penthouse. Now."

If I said please, she'd laugh. She'd ask what happened to the arrogant bastard who owned her.

My eyes drifted back to the table. Her phone was face down beside her drink. She picked it up, read my message, and placed it back as if she'd received nothing at all.

Nothing.

Five minutes passed. Ten.

She was still smiling, still talking, still touching Julian's hand.

I smiled despite myself. It was infuriating but I loved watching her push back. It would be boring otherwise, wouldn't it?

I finally stepped outside. The air was crisp, almost cold. They were seated near the garden, the area practically deserted except for a few drunkards hooking up in the shadows.

So she trusted him that much?

I strolled to the table, making sure to approach from behind Julian. The moment Isabella saw me, her smile vanished, replaced by something wary, something guarded.

"Oh, hi." I flashed the widest smile I could muster.

I sat down without waiting for an invitation. I turned to Julian, whose face had drained of all color. Cassian Hale never said hi with that much warmth.

I ignored his expression. "I'm Bella's friend. Cassian."

Bella. Let him chew on that. We were close. Intimate. I avoided Isabella's gaze the entire time. I could feel it burning into me, but I wasn't finished yet.

"Oh, then I'll leave you to catch up." Julian scrambled to stand. "Isabella, see you next time." His fingers brushed her arm.

She nodded stiffly.

The moment he was gone, Isabella's glare could have cut glass.

"What the f**k was that? Since when are we friends?"

I leaned back, stretching my arms across the back of the bench. "Would you have preferred 's*x secretary'? Too bad, our arrangement requires absolute secrecy."

"What do you want?" Her tone was sharp, biting. All the playfulness she'd shown Julian was gone, replaced by something cold and defensive.

"I want you at the penthouse. Now." I stood to leave, then paused, turning back. "Oh, wait. It's late. Nothing should happen to my secretary. You'll get up, get in the car, and we'll go."

She didn't budge. "You said you wanted absolute secrecy. So what happens now? People saw you sit with me."

I smirked. "Oh, they'll talk regardless. Yesterday you left my penthouse alone, if I'm not mistaken." My voice dropped to a murmur, velvet and danger. "The rule is for you, Isabella. Not for them."

I extended my hand. "Now get up. Let's go."

****

The ride was suffocating. Only the cloying perfume in the car and the weight of her silence. She sat in the back, curled into herself like she was bracing for an attack.

How could I make her trust me?

I killed the engine as we reached the penthouse. She walked slowly behind me, keeping a careful distance, her footsteps soft on the marble floor.

I pointed to a door at the far end of the living room. "The guest room is there. You'll have everything you need."

She blinked, bewildered. "That's it?"

"Did you expect something else?"

She shrugged, a defensive gesture. "I thought you had work or something. If it's just sleeping, I can sleep in my dorm."

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could see the pulse fluttering in her throat.

"Well, I can give you a little work right now, before you sleep." My voice dropped, rough and low. "It'll help you sleep better, too."

I kissed her.

She didn't push me away. Her hands came up, threading through my hair, pulling me deeper. A soft sound escaped her throat, half protest, half surrender.

My hand slid between her thighs, palm flat against the denim, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp against my lips.

"Cassian..." she breathed.

"I know," I murmured against her mouth. "I know you hate me."

I kissed her harder, swallowing whatever answer she might have given.

Her fingers tightened in my hair.

And I let myself believe, just for a moment, that the hate wasn't the only thing burning between us.