Signed to Obey

The crystal chandelier above the long, gleaming mahogany table sparkled like a warning. Everything in this room—right down to the polished silverware—screamed tradition, legacy, and suffocating control. And right now, Cassian Reid was the center of that very storm. He leaned back in his chair, long fingers curled around a glass of neat scotch. His suit, tailored in London, sat sharp on his body, the dark charcoal fabric blending into his mood. He wasn’t the type to raise his voice. He didn’t need to. One look from him could quiet a room. But tonight, his parents weren’t so easily silenced. “You’re turning thirty next month, Cassian,” his mother said, folding her manicured hands over her lap. Her diamond ring flashed under the lights—one of the many symbols of the empire they’d built. “It’s time.” “Time,” he echoed flatly, raising one brow. “Time for what? A lobotomy?” “Don’t be childish,” his father snapped from across the table. Harold Reid was all sharp jaw and sharper words. “You know exactly what we mean.” “I know exactly what you want,” Cassian said coolly, swirling his drink. “A bride. A pretty one, preferably with an impressive last name and a womb ready to pop out heirs for the family business. How quaint.” His mother let out a tight sigh. “This is not a joke. Investors are asking questions. The press keeps spinning stories. You’re in headlines more than your company is.” Cassian’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “I didn’t realize the board was so concerned with my s*x life.” “They’re concerned with the fact that you’re the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire and you treat relationships like a buffet line,” Harold said, voice hard. “This isn’t just about you. It’s about legacy, Cassian. Reputation. We built Reid Enterprises from the ground up. Do you think we’ll just hand it over to a man who treats commitment like a seasonal accessory?” Cassian sat forward, placing his glass down with a quiet clink that somehow sounded like a gun being c****d. “I made your company global,” he said, his voice ice. “While you were busy playing golf in Tuscany, I was in Shanghai locking deals. I turned a hundred million into five billion before I turned thirty. Don’t you dare lecture me about what I’ve earned.” Silence followed. His mother reached for her glass, trying to hide the slight tremble in her fingers. Harold didn’t back down. “Then prove it. Prove you’re more than just numbers. Be a man. Take responsibility. Get married.” Cassian exhaled slowly. “And if I don’t?” “You’ll be replaced,” his father said bluntly. “The board won’t support a scandal-ridden, single CEO for much longer. Your cousin Samuel is already being whispered about.” Cassian laughed. A short, humorless sound. “Samuel? The same man who tried to merge with a tech company that doesn’t even exist anymore? You’d hand the empire over to a man who can’t tell a real pitch deck from a fake Tinder profile?” “We’ll do what we must,” his mother said quietly. “But we’re giving you a chance.” Then she said the words that made his teeth clench. “We’ve already found someone.” Cassian’s jaw tightened. “What?” “She comes from an old-money family. The Miltons. Her name is Clarissa. Educated in France, well-mannered, and her father’s a major shareholder in Reid Enterprises.” “No,” he said flatly, standing. “You haven’t even met her!” his mother protested. “And I won’t. I don’t care if she’s a saint or Satan in Prada. I’m not marrying someone you handpicked like a stock investment.” “She’s flying in tomorrow night,” his father said, unbothered. “You’ll take her to dinner. Smile. Be polite. We’ll discuss further once you’ve met.” Cassian leaned forward slowly, planting both palms on the table, eyes locked on Harold’s. “I don’t smile on command. I don’t date on command. And I sure as hell don’t marry on command.” “You will, Cassian. Or you’ll lose more than just a title.” That was it. Cassian straightened, buttoning his suit jacket like he was sealing in his fury. “Fine,” he said. “You want a wife? I’ll find one.” Harold narrowed his eyes. “She’ll need our approval.” Cassian’s lips twitched. “Then lower your standards.” He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the tension trailing behind like smoke from a grenade. He didn’t look back. Didn’t care to. Let them scheme. Let them watch. Because if he had to put a ring on someone’s finger to shut them up, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Clarissa Milton. It was going to be someone unexpected. Someone poor. Desperate. Unattached. A woman with no designs on his empire. Just one year. Then she’d be gone, and he’d still be in control. As always The restaurant was one of those places where everything had a price—every sip of wine, every slice of truffle, every perfect setting. The kind of place that screamed, We know how to live, without needing to say a word. Every person who entered seemed to have their life together. Except, of course, for Cassian Reid. He leaned back in his seat at a corner table, the wine in his glass catching the light. He wasn’t sure what he hated more: the sterile perfection of the place or the fact that his parents had somehow convinced him to sit through this farce. A blind date, at thirty, because he apparently needed to “settle down.” His mother was too busy chatting away with the waiter about the menu, giving him the cold shoulder while she fed him the “This is good for you” line. Harold had already long since retreated into his phone, half-checking stock portfolios, as if any of that would matter in a few weeks when this would be over and done. The door chimed as a woman entered, and immediately Cassian knew exactly what his parents had been thinking. Clarissa Milton. Tall. Perfectly sculpted, as if her body had been carved out of stone with too many hours in a gym and too many hours spent on i********:. Her hair was platinum blonde, curled to perfection, the color screaming wealth, while her dress—an emerald green satin number—was every bit the ‘look-at-me’ luxury. She walked over, a polite, rehearsed smile on her lips, and extended a perfectly manicured hand to his parents, before her gaze slid toward him. She smiled again, though it looked more like a presentation than anything genuine. “Cassian,” she said in a voice that could’ve been made of silk, or more accurately, a tone Cassian associated with a well-spoken woman who knew the value of a good purse. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He stood slowly, his posture perfect, cold eyes never leaving hers. He wasn’t impressed. The moment her perfume reached him, all he could smell was money. The subtle hints of expensive florals with an undertone of desperation. It hit him like a slap, and the icy contempt slipped into his expression without even a thought. “Clarissa,” he said, his voice dry, lacking the faintest trace of warmth. “The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.” She smiled again, but there was a flicker of discomfort there—a tell. Cassian had learned to read people far too well, and that small flicker told him all he needed to know. This wasn’t her first meeting with someone like him. She knew how to play this game. Cassian sat back down, pushing the wine glass to the side without taking a sip. He wasn’t interested in the ritual. His parents might have been, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t even interested in her. His gaze briefly flicked to the waiter as he poured more wine into his mother’s glass, then back to the woman across from him. “So,” he said, his tone still cold, dismissive. “What brings you here tonight? Besides my parents’ impeccable matchmaking, of course.” Clarissa’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she composed herself. It was subtle, but Cassian caught it. She was fishing, looking for the angle, the angle that would make him want to bite. She was good at it. Too good. “I’m just… curious, really,” she said, with a soft laugh. “I’ve heard so much about you, Cassian. All the accomplishments… the empire. It’s incredible.” “I don’t take compliments from strangers,” he responded, deadpan. His eyes were calculating, focused, watching her every move. Her smile widened, and she leaned in slightly, eager to please. “Oh, of course, of course. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just thought we might have some common ground to talk about.” Cassian watched her carefully, his lips curling into something almost like a smirk. “Common ground?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “The only thing we have in common is that we’re both here because my parents have decided I’m not living up to their expectations. And I have no intention of making this any easier for you, if that’s what you’re hoping for.” The pause hung between them. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The mask of politeness slipped slightly, revealing the edge of disappointment. But Clarissa, as expected, was quick to recover. “Oh, I understand,” she said, her voice soft, but there was a coldness to it now. “I’m sure this isn’t easy for you. Your parents can be... a bit much, sometimes.” “Not just sometimes,” he replied sharply. “It’s all the time.” Clarissa laughed, the sound ringing a little too bright. “Well, I’m sure you’ll come around. Maybe when you see what a good match we are… you’ll change your mind.” Cassian leaned back, eyes flicking toward the waiter as he set down the plates. He didn’t touch his food, instead folding his arms across his chest, his gaze still locked on Clarissa. He let her words sink in for a moment, watching her carefully. "You think this is about us?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You think this is about some perfect match? My parents—they think they know what’s best for me. But the truth is, I couldn't care less about the 'perfect match.'" Clarissa blinked, her expression faltering. For a brief second, there was nothing but silence at the table. Then, Cassian leaned forward, cold and controlled. “The truth is, I’m not here because I need you. I’m not here because you can solve my problems. I’m here because my parents think they can control me. And I’m not about to let them have that satisfaction.”